Esalen CTR: Phantasms of the Living, Volumes I & II
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PHANTASMS OF THE LIVING.

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PHANTASMS OF THE LIVING

BY

EDMUND GURNEY, M.A.

LATE FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,

FREDERIC W. H. MYERS, M.A.

LATE FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,

AND

FRANK PODMORE, M.A.

VOLUME I.

LONDON:

ROOMS OF THE SOCIETY FOR PSYCHICAL RESEARCH,

14, Dean’s Yard, S.W.

TRÜBNER AND CO., LUDGATE HILL, E.C.

1886.

The right of translation and reproduction is reserved.

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    *** In the later copies of this edition, a few mistakes which occurred in the earlier copies have been corrected, and some additions have been made. Of these, by far the most important is the record which appears on pp. lxxxi-iv of this Volume.

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    PREFACE.

    A LARGE part of the material used in this book was sent to the authors as representatives of the Society for Psychical Research; and the book is published with the sanction of the Council of that Society.

    The division of authorship has been as follows. As regards the writing and the views expressed,—Mr. Myers is solely responsible for the Introduction, and for the “Note on a Suggested Mode of Psychical Interaction,” which immediately precedes the Supplement; and Mr. Gurney is solely responsible for the remainder of the book. But the most difficult and important part of the undertaking—the collection, examination, and appraisal of evidence—has been a joint labour, of which Mr. Podmore has borne so considerable a share that his name could not have been omitted from the title-page.

    In the free discussion and criticism which has accompanied the progress of the work, we have enjoyed the constant advice and assistance of Professor and Mrs. Sidgwick, to each of whom we owe more than can be expressed by any conventional phrases of obligation. Whatever errors of judgment or flaws in argument may remain, such blemishes are certainly fewer than they would have been but for this watchful and ever-ready help. Professor and Mrs. Sidgwick have also devoted some time and trouble, during vacations, {i-vi} to the practical work of interviewing informants and obtaining their personal testimony.

    In the acknowledgment of our debts, special mention is due to Professor W. F. Barrett. He was to a great extent the pioneer of the movement which it is hoped that this book may carry forward; and the extent of his services in relation, especially, to the subject of experimental Thought-transference will sufficiently appear in the sequel. Mr. Malcolm Guthrie, Professor Oliver J. Lodge, and M. Charles Richet have been most welcome allies in the same branch of, the work. Professor Barrett and M. Richet have also supplied several of the non-experimental cases in our collection. Mr. F. Y. Edgeworth has rendered valuable assistance in points relating to the theory of probabilities, a subject on which he is a recognised authority. Among members of our own Society, our warmest thanks are due to Miss Porter, for her well-directed, patient, and energetic assistance in every department of the work; Mr. C. C. Massey has given us the benefit of his counsel; and Mrs. Walwyn, Mr. Hensleigh Wedgwood, the Rev. A. T. Fryer, of Clerkenwell, the Rev. J. A. Macdonald, of Rhyl, and Mr. Richard Hodgson, have aided us greatly in the collection of evidence. Many other helpers, in this and other countries, we must be content to include in a general expression of gratitude.

    Further records of experience will be most welcome, and should be sent to the subjoined address.

    14, Dean’s Yard, S. W.

    June, 1886.

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    SOCIETY FOR PSYCHICAL RESEARCH.

    1886.

    PRESIDENT.

    PROFESSOR BALFOUR STEWART, F.R.S.

    VICE-PRESIDENTS.

    THE RIGHT HON. ARTHUR J. BALFOUR, M.P.

    PROFESSOR W. F. BARRETT, F.R.S.E.

    THE RIGHT REV. THE BISHOP OF CARLISLE.

    JOHN R. HOLLOND, M.A.

    RICHARD H. HUTTON, M.A., LL.D.

    THE HON. RODEN NOEL.

    LORD RAYLEIGH, M.A., F.R.S.

    THE RIGHT REV. THE BISHOP OF RIPON.

    PROFESSOR HENRY SIDGWICK Lit. D., D.C.L.

    W. H. STONE, M.B.

    HENSLEIGH WEDGWOOD, M.A.

    HONORARY MEMBERS.

    J. C. ADAMS, M.A., F.R.S.

    WILLIAM CROOKES, F.R.S.

    THE RIGHT HON. W. E. GLADSTONE, M.P.

    JOHN RUSKIN, LL.D., D.C.L.

    LORD TENNYSON.

    ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE, F.R.G.S,

    G F. WATTS, R.A.

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    CORRESPONDING MEMBERS.

    H. BEAUNIS, Professeur de Physiologie à la Faculté de Médecine de Nancy.

    DR. BERNHEIM, Professeur à la Faculté de Médecine de Nancy.

    HENRY P. BOWDITCH, M.A., M.D., Professor of Physiology, Harvard University, U.S.A.

    THEODORE BRUHNS, Simferopol, Russia.

    NICHOLAS M. BUTLER, M.A., Ph.D., Acting Professor of Philosophy, Ethics, and Psychology, Columbia College, New York, U.S.A.

    A. DOBROSLÁVIN, M.D., Professor of Hygiene in the Imperial Academy of Medicine, St. Petersburg.

    THE CHEVALIER SEBASTIANO FENZI, Florence.

    DR. C. FÉRÉ, Hôpital de la Salpêtrière, Paris.

    GEORGE S. FULLERTON, M.A., B.D., Adjunct Professor of Philosophy, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, U.S.A.

    GRENVILLE STANLEY HALL, M.A., Ph.D., Professor of Psychology and Pædagogics, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, U.S.A.

    Dr. EDUARD VON HARTMANN, Berlin.

    WILLIAM JAMES, M.D., Professor of Philosophy, Harvard University, U.S.A.

    PIERRE JANET, Professeur agrégé de Philosophie au Lycée du Havre.

    MAHÁDEVA VISHNU KÁNÉ, B.A., Bombay.

    P. KOVALEVSKY, M.D., Professor of Psychiatry in the University of Kharkoff.

    Dr. A. A. LIÉBEAULT, Nancy.

    JULES LIÉGEOIS, Professeur à la Faculté de Droit de Nancy.

    EDWARD C. PICKERING, M.A., S.B., Phillips Professor of Astronomy, and Director of the Observatory, Harvard University, U.S.A.

    TH. RIBOT, Paris.

    DR. CHARLES RICHET, Professeur agrégé à la Faculté de Médecine de Paris.

    H. TAINE, Paris.

    Dr. N. WAGNER, Professor of Zoology in the Imperial University, St. Petersburg.

    THE REV. R. WHITTINGHAM, Pikesville, Maryland, U.S.A.

    COUNCIL.

    J. C. ADAMS, M.A., F.R.S., Lowndean Professor of Astronomy, Cambridge.

    W. F. BARRETT, F.R.S.E., Professor of Physics, Royal College of Science, Dublin.

    WALTER H. COFFIN.

    EDMUND GURNEY, M.A.

    RICHARD HODGSON, M.A.

    OLIVER J. LODGE, D. Sc., Professor of Physics, University College, Liverpool.

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    A. MACALISTER, M.D., F.R.S., Professor of Anatomy, Cambridge

    FREDERIC W. H. MYERS, M.A.

    FRANK PODMORE, M.A.

    LORD RAYLEIGH, M.A., F.R.S.

    C. LOCKHART ROBERTSON, M.D.

    E. DAWSON ROGERS.

    HENRY SIDGWICK, Lit. D., D.C.L., Knightbridge Professor of Moral Philosophy, Cambridge.

    HENRY A. SMITH, M.A.

    J. HERBERT STACK.

    BALFOUR STEWART, F.R.S., Professor of Physics, The Owens College, Manchester.

    J. J. THOMSON, M.A., Professor of Experimental Physics, Cambridge.

    JAMES VENN, D.SC., F.R.S.

    Hensleigh Wedgwood, M.A.

    HONORARY TREASURER.

    HENRY A. SMITH, 1, New Square, Lincoln’s Inn, W.C.

    HONORARY SECRETARY.

    EDMUND GURNEY, 14, Dean’s Yard, Westminster, S.W.

    In addition to the above, the Society includes over 600 Members and Associates. The privileges and conditions of membership are thus defined in the Rules:—

    Rule IV.—The Society shall consist of:—

    (a) Members, who shall contribute not less than two guineas annually, or a single payment of twenty guineas, and who shall be entitled to hold any of the offices of the Society; to vote in the election of the Governing Council; to attend all meetings of the Society; to use its Reading Room and Library; to borrow books from its Library; and to the free receipt of any journal, transactions, or periodical publication which may be issued by the Council.

    (b) Associates, who shall contribute not less than one guinea annually, or a single payment of ten guineas, and who shall be entitled to attend all meetings of the Society, except such as are convened for business purposes only; to use its Reading Room and Library; and to the free receipt of the ordinary published Proceedings of the Society, and of the monthly Journal.

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    Rule V.—All Members and Associates of the Society shall be elected by the Council. Every candidate for admission shall be proposed by two persons who are Members or Associates of the Society, or shall give such references as shall be approved by the Council.

    Rule VI.—The subscription shall become due immediately on election, and afterwards in advance on the first day of January in each year. In the case of any Member or Associate elected on or after the 1st October, the subscription then paid shall be accepted as for the following year.

    Ladies are eligible either as Members or Associates.

    Members and Associates are entitled to purchase copies of all the periodical publications of the Society at half their published price.

    The following note appears on the first page of the Society’s Constitution:—

    “To prevent misconception, it is here expressly stated that Membership of this Society does not imply the acceptance of any particular explanation of the phenomena investigated, nor any belief as to the operation, in the physical world, of forces other than those recognised by physical science.”

    Reports of investigation, or information relating to any branch of the Society’s work, should be addressed to the Hon. Secretary, 14, Dean’s Yard, Westminster, S.W.; letters of inquiry, or applications for Membership, should be addressed to the Assistant-Secretary at the same address.

    The Proceedings of the Society (of which ten parts have been published—the first nine making three bound volumes) may be obtained from all booksellers through Messrs. Trübner and Co., Ludgate Hill, London, E.C.; or on direct application to the Assistant-Secretary, 14, Dean’s Yard, Westminster S.W.

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    SYNOPSIS OF VOLUME I.

    INTRODUCTION.

    I.

    § 1. The title of this book embraces all transmissions of thought and feeling from one person to another, by other means than through the recognised channels of sense; and among these cases we shall include apparitions . . xxxv–xxxvi

    § 2. We conceive that the problems here attacked lie in the main track of science . . xxxvi

    § 3. The Society for Psychical Research merely aims at the free and exact discussion of the one remaining group of subjects to which such discussion is still refused. Reasons for such refusal . . xxxvi–xxxix

    § 4. Reasons, on the other hand, for the prosecution of our inquiries may be drawn from the present condition of several contiguous studies. Reasons drawn from the advance of biology . . xxxix–xli

    § 5. Specimens of problems which biology suggests, and on which inquiries like ours may ultimately throw light. Wundt’s view of the origination of psychical energy . . xli–xlii

    § 6. The problems of hypnotism . . xlii–xliii

    § 7. Hope of aid from the progress of “psycho-physical” inquiries . . xliii–xliv

    § 8. Reasons for psychical research drawn from the lacunæ of anthropology . . xliv–xlv

    § 9. Reasons drawn from the study of history, and especially of the comparative history of religions. Instance from the S.P.R.’s investigation of so-called “Theosophy” . . xlvi–xlviii

    § 10. In considering the relation of our studies to religion generally, we observe that, since they oblige us to conceive the psychical element in man as having relations which cannot be expressed in terms {i-xii} of matter, a possibility is suggested of obtaining scientific evidence of a supersensory relation between man’s mind and a mind or minds above his own . . xlviii–li

    § 11. While, on the other hand, if our evidence to recent supernormal occurrences be discredited, a retrospective improbability will be thrown on much of the content of religious tradition . . li–liv

    § 12. Furthermore, in the region of ethical and æsthetic emotion, telepathy indicates a possible scientific basis for much to which men now cling without definite justification . . liv–lvii

    13.[sic] Investigations such as ours are important, moreover, for the purpose of checking error and fraud, as well as of eliciting truth . . lvii–lix

    II.

    § 14. Place of the present book in the field of psychical research. Indications of experimental thought-transference in the normal state. 1876–1882 . . lx

    § 15. Foundation of the Society for Psychical Research, 1882. Telepathy selected as our first subject for detailed treatment on account of the mass of evidence for it received by us . . lxi

    § 16. There is also a theoretic fitness in treating of the direct action of mind upon mind before dealing with other supernormal phenomena . . lxii–lxiii

    § 17. Reasons for classing apparitions occurring about the moment of death as phantoms of the living, rather than of the dead . . lxiii–lxv

    § 18. This book, then, claims to show (1) that experimental telepathy exists, and (2) that apparitions at death, &c., are a result of something beyond chance; whence it follows (3) that these experimental and these spontaneous cases of the action of mind on mind are in some way allied . . lxv–lxvii

    § 18.[sic] As to the nature and degree of this alliance different views may be taken, and in a “Note on a Suggested Mode of Psychical Interaction,” in Vol. II., a theory somewhat different from Mr. Gurney’s is set forth . . lxvii–lxix

    § 20. This book, however, consists much more largely of evidence than of theories. This evidence has been almost entirely collected by ourselves . . lxix–lxx

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    § 21. Inquiries like these, though they may appear at first to degrade great truths or solemn conceptions, are likely to end by exalting and affirming them . . lxx–lxxi

    Additions and Corrections . . lxxiii–lxxxiv

    CHAPTER I.

    PRELIMINARY REMARKS: GROUNDS OF CAUTION.

    § 1. The great test of scientific achievement is often held to be the power to predict natural phenomena; but the test, though an authoritative one in the sciences of inorganic nature, has but a limited application to the sciences that deal with life, and especially to the department of mental phenomena . . 1–3

    § 2. In dealing with the implications of life and the developments of human faculty, caution needs to be exercised in two directions. The scientist is in danger of forgetting the unstable and unmechanical nature of the material, and of closing the door too dogmatically on phenomena whose relations with established knowledge he cannot trace; while others take advantage of the fact that the limits of possibility cannot here be scientifically stated, to gratify an uncritical taste for marvels, and to invest their own hasty assumptions with the dignity of laws . . 3–5

    § 3. This state of things subjects the study of “psychical” phenomena to peculiar disadvantages, and imposes on the student peculiar obligations . . 5–6

    § 4. And this should be well recognised by those who advance a conception so new to psychological science as the central conception of this book—to wit, Telepathy, or the ability of one mind to impress or to be impressed by another mind otherwise than through the recognised channels of sense. (Of the two persons concerned, the one whose mind impresses the other will be called the agent, and the one whose mind is impressed the percipient) . . 6–7

    § 5. Telepathy will be here studied chiefly as a system of facts, theoretical discussion being subordinated to the presentation of evidence. The evidence will be of two sorts—spontaneous occurrences, and the results of direct experiment; which latter will have to be carefully distinguished from spurious “thought-reading” exhibitions . . 7–9

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    CHAPTER II.

    THE EXPERIMENTAL BASIS: THOUGHT-TRANSFERENCE.

    § 1. The term thought-transference has been adopted in preference to thought-reading, the latter term (1) having become identified with exhibitions of muscle-reading, and (2) suggesting a power of reading a person’s thoughts against his will . . 10–11

    § 2. The phenomena of thought-transference first attracted the attention of competent witnesses in connection with “mesmerism,” and were regarded as one of the peculiarities of the mesmeric rapport; which was most prejudicial to their chance of scientific acceptance . . 11–13

    § 3. Hints of thought-transference between persons in a normal state were obtained by Professor Barrett in 1876; and just at that time the attention of others had been attracted to certain phenomena of the “willing-game,” which were not easily explicable (as almost all the so-called “willing” and “thought-reading” exhibitions are) by unconscious muscular guidance. But the issue could never be definitely decided by cases where the two persons concerned were in any sort of contact . . 13–17

    § 4. And even where contact is excluded, other possibilities of unconscious guidance must be taken into account; as also must the possibility of conscious collusion. Anyone who is unable to obtain conviction as to the bona fides of experiments by himself acting as agent or percipient (and so being himself one of the persons who would have to take part in the trick, if trick it were), may fairly demand that the responsibility for the results shall be spread over a considerable group of persons—a group so large that he shall find it impossible to extend to all of them the hypothesis of deceit (or of such imbecility as would take the place of deceit) which he might apply to a smaller number . . 17–20

    § 5. Experiments with the Creery family; earlier trials . . 21–22

    More conclusive experiments, in which knowledge of what was to be transferred (usually the idea of a particular card, name, or number) was confined to the members of the investigating committee who acted as agents; with a table of results, and an estimate of probabilities . . 22–26

    In many cases reckoned as failures there was a degree of approximate success which was very significant . . 27–28

    The form of the impression in the percipient’s mind seems to have been sometimes visual and sometimes auditory . . 28–29

    § 6. Reasons why these experiments were not accessible to a larger {i-xv} number of observers; the chief reason being the gradual decline of the percipient faculty . . 29–31

    § 7. In a course of experiments of the same sort conducted by M. Charles Richet, in France, the would-be percipients were apparently not persons of any special susceptibility; but a sufficient number of trials were made for the excess of the total of successes over the total most probable if chance alone acted to be decidedly striking . . 31–33

    The pursuit of this line of inquiry on a large scale in England has produced results which involve a practical certainty that some cause other than chance has acted . . 33–35

    § 8. Experiments in the reproduction of diagrams and rough drawings. In a long series conducted by Mr. Malcolm Guthrie, two percipients and a considerable number of agents were employed . . 35–38

    Specimens of the results . . 39–48

    § 9. Professor Oliver J. Lodge’s experiments with Mr. Guthrie’s “subjects,” and his remarks thereon . . 49–51

    § 10. Experiments in the transference of elementary sensations—tastes, smells, and pains . . 51–58

    § 11. A different department of experiment is that where the transference does not take effect in the percipient’s consciousness, but is exhibited in his motor system, either automatically or semi-automatically. Experiments in the inhibition of utterance . . 58–62

    § 12. The most conclusive cases of transference of ideas which, nevertheless, do not affect the percipient’s consciousness are those where the idea is reproduced by the percipient in writing, without his being aware of what he has written. Details of a long series of trials carried out by the Rev. P. H. and Mrs. Newnham . . 62–69

    The intelligence which acted on the percipient’s side in these experiments was in a sense an unconscious intelligence—a term which needs careful definition . . 69–70

    § 13. M. Richet has introduced an ingenious method for utilising what he calls “mediumship”—i.e., the liability to exhibit intelligent movements in which consciousness and will take no part—for purposes of telepathic experiment. By this method it has been clearly shown that a word on which the agent concentrates his attention may be unconsciously reproduced by the percipient . . 71–77

    And even that a word which has only an unconscious place in the agent’s mind may be similarly transferred . . 77–79

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    These phenomena seem to involve a certain impulsive quality in the transference . . 79–80

    § 14. Apart from serious and systematic investigation, interesting results are sometimes obtained in a more casual way, of which some specimens are given. It is much to be wished that more persons would make experiments, under conditions which preclude the possibility of unconscious guidance. At present we are greatly in the dark as to the proportion of people in whom the specific faculty exists . . 81–85

    CHAPTER III.

    THE TRANSITION FROM EXPERIMENTAL TO SPONTANEOUS TELEPATHY.

    § 1. There is a certain class of cases in which, though they are experiments on the agent’s part, and involve his conscious concentration of mind with a view to the result, the percipient is not consciously or voluntarily a party to the experiment. Such cases may be called transitional. In them the distance between the two persons concerned is often considerable . . 86–87

    § 2. Spurious examples of the sort are often adduced; and especially in connection with mesmerism, results are often attributed to the operator’s will, which are really due to some previous command or suggestion. Still, examples are not lacking of the induction of the hypnotic trance in a “subject” at a distance, by the deliberate exercise of volition . . 87–89

    § 3. Illustrations of the induction or inhibition of definite actions by the agent’s volition, directed towards a person who is unaware of his intent . . 89–91

    The relation of the will to telepathic experiments is liable to be misunderstood. The idea, which we encounter in romances, that one person may acquire and exercise at a distance a dangerous dominance over another’s actions, seems quite unsupported by evidence. An extreme example of what may really occur is given . . 92–94

    § 4. Illustrations of the induction of definite ideas by the agent’s volition . . 94–96

    § 5. The transference of an idea, deliberately fixed on by the agent, to an unprepared percipient at a distance, would be hard to establish, since ideas whose origin escapes us are so constantly suggesting themselves spontaneously. Still, telepathic action may possibly extend considerably beyond the well-marked cases on which the proof of it must depend . . 96–97

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    § 6. Illustrations of the induction of sensations by the agent’s volition . . 97–99

    § 7. And especially of sensations of sight . . 99–102

    § 8. The best-attested examples being hallucinations representing the figure of the agent himself . . 102–110

    § 9. Such cases present a marked departure from the ordinary type of experimental thought-transference, inasmuch as what the percipient perceives (the agent’s form) is not the reproduction of that with which the agent’s mind has been occupied; and this seems to preclude any simple physical conception of the transference, as due to “brain-waves,” sympathetic vibrations, &c. A similar difficulty meets us later in most of the spontaneous cases; and the rapprochement of experimental and spontaneous telepathy must be understood to be limited to their psychical aspect—a limitation which can be easily defended . . 110–113

    CHAPTER IV.

    GENERAL CRITICISM OF THE EVIDENCE FOR SPONTANEOUS TELEPATHY.

    § 1. When we pass to spontaneous exhibitions of telepathy, the nature of the evidence changes; for the events are described by persons who played their part in them unawares, without any idea that they were matter for scientific observation. The method of inquiry will now have to be the historical method, and will involve difficult questions as to the judgment of human testimony, and a complex estimate of probabilities . . 114–115

    § 2. The most general objection to evidence for phenomena transcending the recognised scope of science is that, in a thickly populated world where mal-observation and exaggeration are easy and common, there is (within certain limits) no marvel for which evidence of a sort may not be obtained. This objection is often enforced by reference to the superstition of witchcraft, which in quite modern times was supported by a large array of contemporary evidence . . 115–116 .

    But when this instance is carefully examined, we find (1) that the direct testimony came exclusively from the uneducated class; and (2) that, owing to the ignorance which, in the witch-epoch, was universal as to the psychology of various abnormal and morbid states, the hypothesis of unconscious self-deception on the part of the witnesses was never allowed for . . 116–117

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    Our present knowledge of hypnotism, hysteria, and hystero-epilepsy, enables us to account for many of the phenomena attributed to demonic possession, as neither fact nor fraud, but as bonâ fide hallucinations . . 117–118

    While for the more bizarre and incredible marvels there is absolutely no direct, first-hand, independent testimony . . 118

    The better-attested cases are just those which, if genuine, might be explained as telepathic; but the evidence for them is not strong enough to support any definite conclusion . . 119

    § 3. The evidence for telepathy in the present work presents a complete contrast to that which has supported the belief in magical occurrences. It comes for the most part from educated persons, who were not predisposed to admit the reality of the phenomena; while the phenomena themselves are not strongly associated with any prevalent beliefs or habits of thought, differing in this respect, e.g., from alleged apparitions of the dead. Still we must not, on such grounds as these, assume that the evidence is trustworthy . . 120–122

    § 4. The errors which may affect it are of various sorts. Error of observation may result in a mistake of identity. Thus a stranger in the street may be mistaken for a friend, who turns out to have died at that time, and whose phantasm is therefore asserted to have appeared. But it is only to a very small minority of the cases which follow that such a hypothesis could possibly be applied . . 123–125

    Error of inference is not a prominent danger; as what concerns the telepathic evidence is simply what the percipient seemed to himself to see or hear, not what he inferred therefrom . . 125–126

    § 5. Of more importance are errors of narration, due to the tendency to make an account edifying, or graphic, or startling. In first-hand testimony this tendency may be to some extent counterbalanced by the desire to be believed; which has less influence in cases where the narrator is not personally responsible, as, e.g., in the spurious and sensational anecdotes of anonymous newspaper paragraphs, or of dinner-table gossip . . 126–129

    § 6. Errors of memory are more insidious. If the witness regards the facts in a particular speculative or emotional light, facts will be apt, in memory, to accommodate themselves to this view, and details will get introduced or dropped out in such a manner as to aid the harmonious effect. Even apart from any special bias, the mere effort to make definite what has become dim may fill in the picture with wrong detail; or the tendency to lighten the burden of retention may invest the whole occurrence with a spurious trenchancy and simplicity of form . . 129–131

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    § 7. We have to consider how these various sources of error may affect the evidence for a case of spontaneous telepathy. Such a case presents a coincidence of a particular kind, with four main points to look to:—(1) A particular state of the agent, e.g., the crisis of death; (2) a particular experience of the percipient, e.g., the impression of seeing the agent before him in visible form; (3) the date of (1); (4) the date of (2) . . 131–132

    § 8. The risk of mistake as to the state of the agent is seldom appreciable: his death, for instance, if that is what has befallen him, can usually be proved beyond dispute . . 132

    For the experience of the percipient, on the other hand, we have generally nothing but his own word to depend on. But for what is required, his word is often sufficient. For the evidential point is simply his statement that he has had an impression or sensation of a peculiar kind, which, if he had it, he knew that he had; and this point is quite independent of his interpretation of his experience, which may easily be erroneous, e.g., if he attributes objective reality to what was really a hallucination . . 133–134

    The risk of misrepresentation is smallest if his description of his experience, or a distinct course of action due to his experience, has preceded his knowledge of what has happened to the agent . . 134–136

    § 9. Where his description of his experience dates from a time subsequent to his knowledge of what has happened to the agent, there is a possibility that this knowledge may have made the experience seem more striking and distinctive than it really was. Still, we have not detected definite instances of this sort of inaccuracy. Nor would the fact (often expressly stated by the witness) that the experience did not at the time of its occurrence suggest the agent, by any means destroy—though it would of course weaken—the presumption that it was telepathic . . 136–138

    § 10. As regards the interval of time which may separate the two events or experiences on the agent’s and the percipient’s side respectively, an arbitrary limit of 12 hours has been adopted—the coincidence in most cases being very much closer than this; but no case will be presented as telepathic where the percipient’s experience preceded, by however short a time, some grave event occurring to the agent, if at the time of the percipient’s experience the state of the agent was normal . . 138–140

    § 11. It is in the matter of the dates that the risk of mis-statement is greatest. The instinct towards simplification and dramatic completeness naturally tends to make the coincidence more exact than the facts warrant . . 140–142.

    {i-xx}

    § 12. The date of the event that has befallen the agent is often included in the news of that event; which news, in these days of posts and telegraphs, often follows close enough on the percipient’s experience for the date of that experience to be then safely recalled . . 142 -144

    § 13. But if a longer interval elapse, the percipient may assume too readily that his own experience fell on the critical day; and as time goes on, his certainty is likely to increase rather than diminish. Still, if the coincidence was then and there noted, and if the attention of others was called to it, it may be possible to present a tolerably strong case for its reality, even after the lapse of a considerable time . . 144–146

    § 14. These various evidential conditions may be arranged in a graduated scheme . . 146–148

    § 15. Second-hand evidence (except of one special type) is excluded from the body of the work; but the Supplement contains a certain number of second-hand cases, received from persons who were well acquainted with the original witnesses, and who had had the opportunity of becoming thoroughly acquainted with their statement of the facts . . 148–149

    In transmitted evidence all the risks of error are greatly intensified, there being no deeply-graven sense of reality to act as a check on exaggeration or invention. Some instances are given of the breaking-down of alleged evidence under critical examination . . 149–154

    A frequent sort of inaccuracy in transmitted evidence is the shortening of the chain of transmission—second or third-hand information being represented as first-hand; and the alleged coincidence is almost always suspiciously exact . . 154–157

    § 16. A certain separation of cases according to their evidential value has been attempted, the body of the work being reserved for those where the primâ facie probability that the essential facts are correctly stated is tolerably strong. But even where the facts are correctly reported, their force in the argument for telepathy will differ according to the class to which they belong; purely emotional impressions, for instance, and dreams, are very weak classes . . 158

    The value of the several items of evidence is also largely affected by the mental qualities and training of the witnesses. Every case must be judged on its own merits, by reference to a variety of points; and those who study the records will have an equal opportunity of forming a judgment with those who have collected them—except in the matter of {i-xxi} personal acquaintance with the witnesses, the effect of which it is impossible to communicate . . 159–161

    § 17. An all-important point is the number of the coincidences adduced. A few might be accounted accidental; but it will be impossible to apply that hypothesis throughout. Nor can the evidence be swept out of court by a mere general appeal to the untrustworthiness of human testimony. If it is to be explained away, it must be met (as we have ourselves endeavoured to meet it) in detail; and this necessitates the confronting of the single cause, telepathy, (whose à priori improbability is fully admitted,) with a multitude of causes, more or less improbable, and in cumulation incredible . . 161–164

    § 18. With all their differences, the cases recorded bear strong signs of belonging to a true natural group; and their harmony, alike in what they do and in what they do not present, is very unlikely to be the accidental result of a multitude of disconnected mistakes. And it is noteworthy that certain sensational and suspicious details, here conspicuous by their absence, which often make their way into remote or badly-evidenced cases, are precisely those which the telepathic hypothesis would not cover . . 164–166

    § 19. But though some may regard the cumulative argument here put forward for spontaneous telepathy as amounting to a proof, the proof is not by any means of an éclatant overwhelming sort: much of the evidence falls far short of the ideal standard. Still, enough has perhaps been done to justify our undertaking, and to broaden the basis of future inquiry . . 166–169

    § 20. The various items of evidence are, of course, not the links in a chain, but the sticks in a faggot. It is impossible to lay down the precise number of sticks necessary to a perfectly solid faggot; but the present collection is at least an instalment of what is required . . 169–170

    § 21. The instinct as to the amount of evidence needed may differ greatly in a mind which has, and a mind which has not, realised the facts of experimental telepathy (Chap. ii.), and the intimate relation of that branch to the spontaneous branch. Between the two branches, in spite of their difference—a difference as great in appearance as that between lightning and the electrical attraction of rubbed amber for bits of straw—the great psychological fact of a supersensuous influence of mind on mind constitutes a true generic bond . . 171–172

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    NOTE ON WITCHCRAFT.

    The statement made in Chapter iv. as to the lack of first-hand evidence for the phenomena of magic and witchcraft (except so far as they can be completely accounted for by modern psychological knowledge) may seem a sweeping one. But extensive as is the literature of the subject, the actual records are extraordinarily meagre; and the staple prodigies, which were really nothing more than popular legends, are quoted and re-quoted ad nauseam. Examples of the so-called evidence which supported the belief in lycanthropy, and in the nocturnal rides and orgies . . 172–175

    The case of witchcraft, so far from proving (as is sometimes represented) that a more or less imposing array of evidence will be forthcoming for any belief that does not distinctly fly in the face of average public opinion, goes, in fact, rather surprisingly far towards proving the contrary . . 176–177

    This view of the subject is completely opposed to that of Mr. Lecky, whose treatment seems to suffer from the neglect of two important distinctions. He does not distinguish between evidence—of which, in respect of the more bizarre marvels, there was next to none; and authority—of which there was abundance, from Homer downwards. Nor does he discriminate the wholly incredible allegations (e.g., as to transportations through the air and transformations into animal forms) from the pathological phenomena, which in the eyes of contemporaries were equally supernatural, and for which, as might be expected, the direct evidence was abundant . . 177–179

    A most important class of these pathological phenomena were subjective hallucinations of the senses, often due to terror or excitement, and some times probably to hypnotic suggestion, but almost invariably attributed to the direct operation of the devil. Other phenomena—of insensibility, inhibition of utterance, abnormal rapport, and the influence of reputed witches on health—were almost certainly hypnotic in character; “possession” is often simply hystero-epilepsy; while much may be accounted for by mere hysteria, or by the same sort of faith as produces the modern “mind-cures” . . 179–183

    Learned opinion on the subject of witchcraft went through curious vicissitudes; the recession to a rational standpoint, which in many ways was of course a sceptical movement, being complicated by the fact that many of the phenomena were too genuine to be doubted. Now that the separation is complete, we see that the exploded part of witchcraft never had any real evidential foundation; while the part which had a real evidential foundation has been taken up into orthodox physiological and psychological science. With the former part we might contrast, and with the latter compare, the evidential case for telepathy . . 183–185

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    CHAPTER V.

    SPECIMENS OF THE VARIOUS TYPES OF SPONTANEOUS TELEPATHY.

    § 1. As the study of any large amount of the evidence that follows is a task for which many readers will be disinclined, a selection of typical cases will be presented in this chapter, illustrative of the various classes into which the phenomena fall . . 186–187

    § 2. The logical starting-point is found in the class that presents most analogy to experimental thought-transference—i.e., where the percipient’s impression is not externalised as part of the objective world. An example is given of the transference of pain, and a possible example of the transference of smell; but among the phenomena of spontaneous telepathy, such literal reproductions of the agent’s bodily sensation are very exceptional . . 187–191

    § 3. Examples of the transference of a somewhat abstract idea; of a pictorial image; and of an emotional impression, involving some degree of physical discomfort . . 191–198

    § 4. Examples of dreams,—a class which needs to be treated with the greatest caution, owing to the indefinite scope which it affords for accidental coincidences. One of the examples (No. 23) presents the feature of deferment of percipience—the telepathic impression having apparently failed at first to reach the threshold of attention, and emerging into consciousness some hours after the experience on the agent’s side in which it had its origin . . 198–203

    § 5. Examples of the “borderland” class—a convenient name by which to describe cases that belong to a condition neither of sleep nor of provably complete waking consciousness; but it is probable that in many of the cases so described (as in No. 26), the percipient, though in bed, was quite normally awake . . 203–208

    § 6. Examples of externalised impressions of sight, occurring in the midst of ordinary waking life. In some of these we find an indication that a close personal rapport between the agent and percipient is not a necessary condition of the telepathic transference; and another is peculiar in that the phantasmal figure is not recognised by the percipient . . 208–221

    § 7. Examples of externalised impressions of hearing; one of which was of a recognised voice, and one of an inarticulate shriek . . 221–224

    § 8. Example of an impression of touch; which is also, perhaps, an {i-xxiv} example of the reciprocal class, where each of the persons concerned seems to exercise a telepathic influence on the other . . 225–227

    § 9. Example of the collective class, where more percipients than one take part in a single telepathic incident . . 227–229

    § 10. Among the various conditions of telepathic agency, the death-cases form by far the commonest type. Now in these cases it is not rare for the agent to be comatose and unconscious; in other cases, again, he has been in a swoon or a deep sleep; and there is a difficulty in understanding an abnormal exercise of psychical energy at such seasons. The explanation may possibly be found in the idea of a wider consciousness, and a more complete self, which finds in what we call life very imperfect conditions of manifestation, and recognises in death not a cessation but a liberation of energy . . 229–231

    CHAPTER VI.

    TRANSFERENCE OF IDEAS AND MENTAL PICTURES.

    § 1. The popular belief in the transference of thought, without physical signs, between friends and members of the same household, is often held on quite insufficient grounds; allowance not being made for the similarity of associations, and for the slightness of the signs which may be half-automatically interpreted . . 232–233

    It often happens, for instance, that one person in a room begins humming a tune which is running in another’s head; but it is only very exceptionally that such a coincidence can be held to imply a psychical transference. Occasionally the idea transferred is closely connected with the auditory image of a word or phrase . . 234–236

    § 2. Examples of the transference of ideas and images of a simple or rudimentary sort . . 236–240

    § 3. Examples of the transference of more complex ideas, representing definite events; and of the occurrence of several such “veridical” impressions to the same percipients . . 241–251

    § 4. Cases where the idea impressed on the percipient has been simply that of the agent’s approach—a type which must be accepted with great caution, as numerous coincidences of the sort are sure to occur by pure accident . . 251–254

    {i-xxv}

    § 5. Transferences of mental images of concrete objects and scenes with which the agent’s attention is occupied at the time . . 254–566

    Some of these impressions are so detailed and vivid as to suggest clairvoyance; nor is there any objection to that term, so long as we recognise the difference between such telepathic clairvoyance, and any supposed independent extension of the percipient’s senses . . 266–268

    Occasionally the percipient seems to obtain the true impression, not by passive reception, but by a deliberate effort . . 268

    CHAPTER VII.

    EMOTIONAL AND MOTOR EFFECTS.

    § 1. Emotional impressions, alleged to have coincided with some calamitous event at a distance, form a very dubious class, as (1) in retrospect, after the calamity is realised, they are apt to assume a strength and defniteness which they did not really possess; and (2) similar impressions may be common in the soi-disant percipient’s experience, and he may have omitted to remark or record the misses—the many instances which have not corresponded with any real event. All cases must, of course, be rejected where there has been any appreciable ground for anxiety . . 269–270

    § 2. Examples which may perhaps have been telepathic; some of which include a sense of physical distress . . 270–279

    § 3. Examples of such transferences between twins . . 279–283

    § 4. Examples where the primary element in the impression is a sense of being wanted, and an impulse to movement or action of a sort unlikely to have suggested itself in the ordinary course of things . . 283–292

    The telepathic influence in such cases must be interpreted as emotional, not as definitely directing, and still less as abrogating, the percipient’s power of choice: the movements produced may be such as the agent cannot have desired, or even thought of . . 292–294

    CHAPTER VIII.

    DREAMS.

    PART I.—THE RELATION OF DREAMS TO THE ARGUMENT FOR TELEPATHY.

    § 1. Dreams comprise the whole range of transition from ideal and emotional to sensory affections; and at every step of the transition we find instances which may reasonably be regarded as telepathic . . 295–296

    {i-xxvi}

    The great interest of the distinctly sensory specimens lies in the fundamental resemblance which they offer, and the transition which they form, to the externalised “phantasms of the living” which impress waking percipients; the difference being that the dream-percepts are recognised, on reflection, as having been hallucinatory, and unrelated to that part of the external world where the percipient’s body is; while the waking phantasmal percepts are apt to be regarded as objective phenomena, which really impressed the eye or the ear from outside . . 296–297

    § 2. But when we examine dreams in respect of their evidential value—of the proof which they are capable of affording of a telepathic correspondence with the reality—we find ourselves on doubtful ground. For (1) the details of the reality, when known, will be very apt to be read back into the dream, through the general tendency to make vague things distinct; and (2) the great multitude of dreams may seem to afford almost limitless scope for accidental correspondences of a dream with an actual occurrence resembling the one dreamt of. Any answer to this last objection must depend on statistics which, until lately, there has been no attempt to obtain; and though an answer of a sort can be given, it is not such a one as would justify us in basing a theory of telepathy on the facts of dreams alone . . 298–300

    § 3. Most of the dreams selected for this work were exceptional in intensity; and produced marked distress, or were described, or were in some way acted on, before the news of the correspondent experience was known. In content, too, they were mostly of a distinct and unusual kind; while some of them present a considerable amount of true detail . . 300–302

    And more than half of those selected on the above grounds are dreams of death—a fact easy to account for on the hypothesis of telepathy, and difficult to account for on the hypothesis of accident . . 303

    § 4. Dreams so definite in content as dreams of death afford an opportunity of ascertaining what their actual frequency is, and so of estimating whether the specimens which have coincided with reality are or are not more numerous than chance would fairly allow. With a view to such an estimate, a specimen group of 5360 persons, taken at random, have been asked as to their personal experiences; and, according to the result, the persons who have had a vividly distressful dream of the death of a relative or acquaintance, within the 12 years 1874–1885, amount to about 1 in 26 of the population. Taking this datum, it is shown that the number of coincidences of the sort in question that, according to the law of chances, ought to have occurred in the 12 years, among a section of the population even larger than that from which we can suppose our telepathic evidence {i-xxvii} to be drawn, is only 1. Now, (taking account only of cases where nothing had occurred to suggest the dream in a normal way,) we have encountered 24 such coincidences—i.e., a number 24 times as large as would have been expected on the hypothesis that the coincidence is due to chance alone . . 303–307

    Certain objections that might be taken to this estimate are to a considerable extent met by the precautions that have been used . . 308–310

    § 5. The same sort of argument may be cautiously applied to cases where the event exhibited in the coincident dream is not, like death, unique, and where, therefore, the basis for an arithmetical estimate is unattainable . . 311–312

    But many more specimens of a high evidential rank are needed, before dreams can rank as a strong integral portion of the argument for telepathy. Meanwhile, it is only fair to regard them in connection with the stronger evidence of the waking phenomena; since in respect of many of them an explanation that is admitted in the waking cases cannot reasonably be rejected . . 312–313

    PART. II.—EXAMPLES OF DREAMS WHICH MAY BE REASONABLY REGARDED AS TELEPATHIC.

    § 1. Examples of similar and simultaneous dreams . . 313–318

    An experience which has coincided with some external fact or condition may be described as a dream, and yet be sufficiently exceptional in character to preclude an application of the theory of chances based on the limitless number of dreams . . 318–320

    § 2. Examples of the reproduction, in the percipient’s dream, of a special thought of the agent’s, who is at the time awake and in a normal state . . 320–322

    § 3. Examples of a similar reproduction where the agent is in a disturbed state . . 322–329

    § 4. Cases where the agent’s personality appears in the dream, but not in a specially pictorial way. Inadmissibility of dreams that occur at times of anxiety, of dreams of trivial accidents to children, and the like . . 329–337

    § 5. Cases where the reality which the eyes of the agent are actually {i-xxviii} beholding is pictorially represented in the dream. Reasons why the majority of alleged instances must be rejected . . 337–340

    The appearance in the dream of the agent’s own figure, which is not presumably occupying his own thoughts, suggests an independent development, by the percipient, of the impression that he receives . . 340–341

    § 6. The familiar ways in which dreams are shaped make it easy to understand how a dreamer might supply his own setting and imagery to a “transferred impression.” Examples where the elements thus introduced are few and simple . . 341–356

    § 7. Examples of more complex investiture, and especially of imagery suggestive of death. Importance of the feature of repetition in some of the examples . . 357–368

    § 8. Examples of dreams which may be described as clairvoyant, but which still must be held to imply some sort of telepathic “agency”; since the percipient does not see any scene, but the particular scene with some actor in which he is connected . . 368–388

    CHAPTER IX.

    “BORDERLAND” CASES.

    § 1. The transition-states between sleeping and waking—or, more generally, the seasons when a person is in bed, but not asleep—seem to be specially favourable to subjective hallucinations of the senses; of which some are known as illusions hypnagogiques; others are the prolongations of dream-images into waking moments; and some belong to neither of these classes, though experienced in the moments or minutes that precede or follow sleep . . 389–393

    § 2. It is not surprising that the same seasons should be favourable also to the hallucinations which, as connected with conditions external to the percipient, we should describe, not as subjective, but as telepathic . . 393

    As evidence for telepathy, impressions of this “borderland” type stand on an altogether different footing from dreams; since their incalculably smaller number supplies an incalculably smaller field for the operation of chance . . 393–394

    Very great injustice is done to the telepathic argument by confounding such impressions with dreams; as where Lord Brougham explains away the coincidence of a unique “borderland” experience of his own with the death of the friend whose form he saw, on the ground that the {i-xxix} “vast numbers of dreams” give any amount of scope for such “seeming miracles” . . 394–397

    § 3. Examples where the impression was not of a sensory sort . . 397–400

    § 4. Example of an apparently telepathic illusion hypnagogique . . 400–402

    § 5. Auditory examples. Cases where the sound heard was not articulate . . 402–405

    Cases where distinct words were heard . . 406–413

    § 6. Visual examples: of which two (Nos. 159 and 160) illustrate the feature of repetition; another (No. 168) that of the appearance of more than one figure; and two others (Nos. 170 and 171) that of mis-recognition on the percipient’s part . . 414–434

    § 7. Cases where the sense of touch was combined with that of sight or hearing. One case (No. 178) presents the important feature of marked luminosity . . 434–441

    § 8. Cases affecting the two senses of sight and hearing. One case (No. 189) presents the feature of non-recognition on the percipient’s part . . 441–456

    CHAPTER X.

    HALLUCINATIONS: GENERAL SKETCH.

    § 1. Telepathic phantasms of the externalised sort are a species belonging to the larger genus of hallucinations; and the genus requires some preliminary discussion . . 457

    Hallucinations of the senses are distinguished from other hallucinations by the fact that they do not necessarily imply false belief . . 458

    They may be defined as percepts which lack, but which can only by distinct reflection be recognised as lacking, the objective basis which they suggest; a definition which marks them off on the one hand from true perceptions, and on the other hand from remembered images or mental pictures . . 459–460

    § 2. The old method of defining the ideational and the sensory elements in the phenomena was very unsatisfactory. It is easy to show that the delusive appearances are not merely imagined, but are actually seen and heard—the hallucination differing from an ordinary percept only {i-xxx} in lacking an objective basis; and this is what is implied in the word psycho-sensorial, when rightly understood . . 461–464

    § 3. The question as to the physiological starting-point of hallucinations—whether they are of central or of peripheral origin—has been warmly debated, often in a very one-sided manner. The construction of them, which is central and the work of the brain, is quite distinct from the excitation or initiation of them, which (though often central also) is often peripheral—i.e., due to some other part of the body that sets the brain to work . . 464–468

    § 4. This excitation may even be due to some objective external cause, some visible point or mark, at or near the place where the imaginary object is seen; and in such cases the imaginary object, which is, so to speak, attached to its point, may follow the course of any optical illusion (e.g., doubling by a prism, reflection by a mirror) to which that point is subjected. But such dependence on an external stimulus does not affect the fact that the actual sensory element of the hallucination, in these as in all other cases, is imposed from within by the brain . . 468–470

    § 5. There, are, however, a large number of hallucinations which are centrally initiated, as well as centrally constructed—the excitation being due neither to an external point, nor to any morbid disturbance in the sense-organs themselves. Such, probably, are many visual cases where the imaginary object is seen in free space, or appears to move independently of the eye, or is seen in darkness. Such, certainly, are many auditory hallucinations; some hallucinations of pain; many hallucinations which conform to the course of some more general delusion; and hallucinations voluntarily originated . . 470–480

    § 6. Such also are hallucinations of a particular internal kind common among mystics, in which the sensory element seems reduced to its lowest terms; and which shade by degrees, on the one side into more externalised forms, and on the other side into a mere feeling of presence, independent of any sensory affection . . 480–484

    § 7. A further argument for the central initiation may be drawn from the fact that repose of the sense-organs seems a condition favourable to hallucinations; and the psychological identity of waking hallucinations and dreams cannot be too strongly insisted on . . 484–485

    § 8. As regards the construction of hallucinations—the cerebral process involved in their having this or that particular form—the question is whether it takes place in the specific sensory centre concerned, or in some higher cortical tract . . 485–488

    {i-xxxi}

    § 9. There are reasons for considering that both places of construction are available; that the simpler sorts of hallucination, many of which are clearly “after-images,” and which are often also recurrent, may take shape at the sensory centres themselves; but that the more elaborate and variable sorts must be traced to the higher origin; and that when the higher tracts are first concerned, the production of the hallucination is due to a downward escape of the nervous impulse to the sensory centre concerned . . 488–494

    § 10. The construction of hallucinations in the cortical tracts of the brain, proper to the higher co-ordinations and the more general ideational activities, is perfectly compatible with the view that the specific sensory centres are themselves situated not below, but in, the cortex. . 494–495

    CHAPTER XI

    TRANSIENT HALLUCINATIONS OF THE SANE: AMBIGUOUS CASES.

    § 1. Transient hallucinations of the sane (a department of mental phenomena hitherto but little studied) comprise two classes: (1) hallucinations of purely subjective origin; and (2) hallucinations of telepathic origin—i.e., “phantasms of the living” which have an objective basis in the exceptional condition of the person whom they recall or represent. Comparing the two classes, we should expect to find a large amount of resemblance, and a certain amount of difference, between them . . 496–497

    § 2. Certain marked resemblances at once present themselves; as that (generally speaking) neither sort of phenomenon is observably connected with any morbid state; and that each sort of phenomenon is rare—occurring to a comparatively small number of persons, and to most of these only once or twice in a lifetime . . 497–499

    § 3. But in pressing the comparison further, we are met by the fact that the dividing line between the two classes is not clear; and it is important to realise certain grounds of ambiguity, which often prevent us from assigning an experience with certainty to this class or that . . 500–502

    § 4. Various groups of hallucinations are passed in review;—“after images”; phantasmal objects which are the result of a special train of thought; phantasms of inanimate objects, and of animals, and non-vocal auditory phantasms; visual representations of fragments of human forms; auditory impressions of meaningless sentences, or of groaning, and the {i-xxxii} like; and visions of the “swarming” type. Nearly all specimens of these types may safely be referred to the purely subjective class . . 502–504

    It is when we come to visual hallucinations representing complete and natural-looking human forms, and auditory hallucinations of distinct and intelligible words, (though here again there is every reason to suppose the majority of the cases to be purely subjective,) that the ambiguous cases are principally to be found; the ground of ambiguity being that either (1) the person represented has been in an only slightly unusual state; or (2) a person in a normal state has been represented in hallucination to more than one percipient at different times; or (3) an abnormal state of the person represented has coincided with the representation loosely, but not exactly; or (4) the percipient has been in a condition of anxiety, awe, or expectancy, which might be regarded as the independent cause of his experience . . 504–506

    § 5. The evidence that mere anxiety may produce sensory hallucination is sufficient greatly to weaken, as evidence for telepathy, any case where that condition has been present . . 506–509

    § 6. The same may be said of the form of awe which is connected with the near sense of death; and (except in a few “collective” cases) abnormal experiences which have followed death have been excluded from the telepathic evidence, if the fact of the death was known to the percipient. As to the included cases that have followed death by an appreciable interval, reasons are given for preferring the hypothesis of deferred development to that of post mortem influence—though the latter hypothesis would be quite compatible with the psychical conception of telepathy . . 510–512

    § 7. There is definite evidence to show that mere expectancy may produce hallucination . . 510–512 [sic]

    One type which is probably so explicable being the delusive impression of seeing or hearing a person whose arrival is expected . . 515–517

    § 8. There is, however, a group of arrival-cases where the impending arrival was unknown or unsuspected by the percipient; or where the phantasm has included some special detail of appearance which points to a telepathic origin . . 517–518

    {i-xxxiii}

    CHAPTER XII.

    THE DEVELOPMENT OF TELEPATHIC HALLUCINATIONS

    § 1. There are two very principal ways in which phantasms of telepathic origin often resemble purely subjective hallucinations: (1) gradualness of development; and (2) originality of form or content, showing the activity of the percipient’s own mind in the construction . . 519–520

    § 2. Gradual development is briefly illustrated in the purely subjective class . . 520–522

    § 3. And at greater length in the telepathic class. It may exhibit itself (1) in delayed recognition of the phantasm on the part of the percipient . . 522–525

    Or (2) in the way in which the phantasm gathers visible shape . . 525–528

    Or (3) in the progress of the hallucination through several distinct stages, sometimes affecting more than one sense . . 528–534

    § 4. Originality of construction is involved to some extent in every sensory hallucination which is more than a mere revival of familiar images; but admits of very various degrees . . 534–536

    § 5. In telepathic hallucinations, the signs of the percipient’s own constructive activity are extremely important. For the difference from the results of experimental thought-transference, which telepathic phantasms exhibit, in representing what is not consciously occupying the agent’s mind—to wit, his own form or voice—ceases to be a difficulty in proportion as the extent of the impression transferred from the agent to the percipient can be conceived to be small, and the percipient’s own contribution to the phantasm can be conceived to be large . . 536–537

    It may be a peculiarity of the transferred idea that it impels the receiving mind to react on it, and to embody and project it as a hallucination; but the form and detail of the embodiment admit—as in dream—of many varieties, depending on the percipient’s own idiosyncrasies and associations . . 537–540

    § 6. Thus the percipient may invest the idea of his friend, the agent, with features of dress or appurtenance that his own memory supplies. (One of the examples given, No. 202, illustrates a point common to the purely subjective and to the telepathic class, and about equally rare in either—the appearance of more than one figure) . . 540–546

    § 7. Or the investing imagery may be of a more fanciful kind—sometimes the obvious reflection of the percipient’s habitual beliefs, sometimes {i-xxxiv} the mere bizarrerie of what is literally a “waking dream.” Many difficulties vanish, when the analogy of dream is boldly insisted on . . 547–548

    Examples of phantasmal appearances presenting features which would in reality be impossible . . 548–550

    The luminous character of many visual phantasms is specially to be noted, as a feature common to the purely subjective and to the telepathic class . . 550–551

    Examples of imagery connected with ideas of death, and of religion . . 551–554

    § 8. Sometimes, however, the phantasm includes details of dress or aspect which could not be supplied by the percipient’s mind. Such particulars may sometimes creep without warrant even into evidence where the central fact of the telepathic coincidence is correctly reported; but where genuinely observed, they must apparently be attributed to a conscious or sub-conscious image of his own appearance (or of some feature of it) in the agent’s mind, to which the percipient obtains access by what may be again described as telepathic clairvoyance. Examples . . 554–569

    In cases where the details of the phantasm are such as either mind might conceivably have supplied, it seems simpler to regard them as the contributions of the percipient, than to suppose that a clean-cut and complete image has been transferred to him from indefinite unconscious or sub-conscious strata of the agent’s mind . . 569–570

    § 9. The development of a phantasm from the nucleus of a transferred impression is a fact strongly confirmatory of the view maintained in the preceding chapters, as to the physiological starting point of many hallucinations. Especially must the hypothesis of centrifugal origin (of a process in the direction from higher to lower centres) commend itself in cases where the experience seems to have implied the quickening of vague associations and distant memories, whose physical record must certainly lie in the highest cerebral tracts . . 570–572

    § 10. Summary of the various points of parallelism between purely subjective and telepathic phantasms, whereby their identity as phenomena for the senses seems conclusively established. But they present also some very important contrasts . . 572–573

    {i-xxxv}

    INTRODUCTION.

    καὶ τὸν θεὸν τοιοῦτον ἐξεπίσταμαι,

    σοφοῖς μὲν αἰνικτῆρα θεσφάτων ἀεὶ,

    σκαιοῖς δὲ φαῦλον κἀν βραχι διδάσκαλον.

    [Translation]And this I know well is the god’s nature: To clever men he always tells the truth in riddles, But to fools he is a poor instructor and uses few words. [Fragment 771; trans. Hugh Lloyd-Jones]

    SOPHOCLES.

    § 1. THE subject of this book is one which a brief title is hardly sufficient to explain. For under our heading of “Phantasms of the Living,” we propose, in fact, to deal with all classes of cases where there is reason to suppose that the mind of one human being has affected the mind of another, without speech uttered, or word written, or sign made;—has affected it, that is to say, by other means than through the recognised channels of sense.

    To such transmission of thoughts or feelings we have elsewhere given the name of telepathy; and the records of an experimental proof of the reality of telepathy will form a part of the present work. But, for reasons which will be made manifest as we proceed, we have included among telepathic phenomena a vast class of cases which seem at first sight to involve something widely different from a mere transference of thought.

    I refer to apparitions; excluding, indeed, the alleged apparitions of the dead, but including the apparitions of all persons who are still living, as we know life, though they may be on the very brink and border of physical dissolution. And these apparitions, as will be seen, are themselves extremely various in character; including not visual phenomena alone, but auditory, tactile, or even purely ideational and emotional impressions. All these we have included under the term phantasm; a word which, though etymologically a mere variant of phantom, has been less often used, and has not become so closely identified with visual impressions alone.

    Such, then, is the meaning of our title; but something more of explanation is necessary before the tone and purport of the book can {i-xxxvi} be correctly apprehended. In a region so novel we could hardly be surprised at any amount of misinterpretation. Some readers, for instance, may fancy that a bulky and methodical treatise on phantoms can be but a half-serious thing. Others may suspect that its inspiration is in the love of paradox, and that a fantastic craving for originality has led the authors along a path where they cannot expect, and can hardly desire, that the sober world should follow them.

    § 2. It is necessary, therefore, to state at once that we have no wish either to mystify or to startle mankind. On the contrary, the conjoint and consultative scheme according to which this book has been compiled is thus arranged mainly with a view to correcting or neutralising individual fancies or exaggerations, of leaving as little as possible to the unchecked idiosyncrasy of any single thinker. And, again, we wish distinctly to say that so far from aiming at any paradoxical reversion of established scientific conclusions, we conceive ourselves to be working (however imperfectly) in the main track of discovery, and assailing a problem which, though strange and hard, does yet stand next in order among the new adventures on which Science must needs set forth, if her methods and her temper are to guide and control the widening curiosity, the expanding capacities of men.

    We anticipate, in short, that although it may at first be said of us that we have performed with needless elaboration a foolish and futile task, the ultimate verdict on our work will rather be that we have undertaken—with all too limited a knowledge and capacity—to open an inquiry which was manifestly impending, and to lay the foundation-stone of a study which will loom large in the approaching age.

    Our only paradox, then, is the assertion that we are not paradoxical; and that assertion it is the main business of this Introduction to justify.

    § 3. For this purpose two principal heads of exposition will be required. In the first place, since this book (for whose contents we are solely responsible) was undertaken by us at the request of the Council of the Society for Psychical Research, and is largely based on material which that Council has placed at our disposal, it will be necessary to say something as to the scope and object of the Society in question;—its grounds for claiming a valid scientific position, and its points of interconnection with established branches of philosophic inquiry.

    {i-xxxvii}

    And, secondly, it will be needful to indicate the precise position which the theme of this book occupies in the field of our investigations; the reason why we have isolated these special phenomena in a separate group, and have selected them for discussion at this early stage of the Society’s labours.

    A reader of the programme of the Society will probably feel that although the special topics to which attention is there invited may be unfamiliar, yet its general plea is such as he has often noted in the history of science before. “To approach these various problems without prejudice or prepossession of any kind, and in the same spirit of exact and unimpassioned inquiry which has enabled Science to solve so many problems, once not less obscure nor less hotly debated;”—phrases like these have no more of novelty than there might be, for instance, in the proposal of a Finance Minister to abolish the last of a long series of protective embargoes. Free Trade and free inquiry have each of them advanced step by step, and by dint of the frequent repetition, under varying difficulties, of very similar, and very elementary, truths. The special peculiarity of our topic is that it is an article (so to say) on which the Free Traders themselves have imposed an additional duty; that it has been more sternly discountenanced by the men who appeal to experiment than by the men who appeal to authority;—that its dispassionate discussion has since the rise of modern science been tabooed more jealously than when the whole province was claimed by theology alone. There have been reasons, no doubt, for such an exclusion; and I am not asserting that either Free Trade or free inquiry is always and under all circumstances to be desired. But it is needful to point out yet once more how plausible the reasons for discouraging some novel research have often seemed to be, while yet the advance of knowledge has rapidly shown the futility and folly of such discouragement.

    It was the Father of Science himself who was the first to circumscribe her activity. Socrates, in whose mind the idea of the gulf between knowledge and mere opinion attained a dominant intensity which impressed itself on all ages after him,—Socrates expressly excluded from the range of exact inquiry all such matters as the movements and nature of the sun and moon. He wished—and as he expressed his wish it seemed to have all the cogency of absolute wisdom—that men’s minds should be turned to the ethical and political problems which truly concerned them,—not wasted in speculation on things unknowable—things useless even could they be known.

    {i-xxxviii}

    In a kindred spirit, though separated from Socrates by the whole result of that physical science which Socrates had deprecated, we find a great modern systematiser of human thought again endeavouring to direct the scientific impulse towards things serviceable to man; to divert it from things remote, unknowable, and useless if known. What then, in Comte’s view, are in fact the limits of man’s actual home and business? the bounds within which he may set himself to learn all he can, assured that all will serve to inform his conscience and guide his life? It is the solar system which has become for the French philosopher what the street and market-place of Athens were for the Greek. And this enlargement (it need hardly be said) is not due to any wider grasp of mind in Comte than in Socrates, but simply to the march of science; which has shown us that the whole solar system does, in fact, minister to our practical needs, and that the Nautical Almanack demands for its construction a mapping of the paths of those ordered luminaries which in the time of Socrates seemed the very wanderers of Heaven.

    I need not say that Comte’s prohibition has been altogether neglected. No frontier of scientific demarcation has been established between Neptune and Sirius, between Uranus and Aldebaran. Our knowledge of the fixed stars increases yearly; and it would be rash to maintain that human conduct is not already influenced by the conception thus gained of the unity and immensity of the heavens.

    To many of the comments that have been made on our work, even by men who are not formal Comtists, the above reflections furnish a fitting reply. But it is not only, nor perhaps mainly, on account of the remoteness of our subject, or its unimportance to human progress, that objection is taken to our inquiry. The criticisms which have met us, from the side sometimes of scientific, sometimes of religious orthodoxy, have embodied, in modernised phraseology, nearly every well-worn form of timid protest, or obscurantist demurrer, with which the historians of science have been accustomed to give piquancy to their long tale of discovery and achievement. It would have been convenient had these objections been presented to us in a connected and formal manner. But this has not been the case; and, in fact, they are in their very nature too incoherent, too self-contradictory, for continuous statement. Sometimes we are told that we are inviting the old theological spirit to encroach once more on the domain of science; sometimes that we are endeavouring to lay the impious hands of Science upon the mysteries {i-xxxix} of Religion. Sometimes we are informed that competent savants have already fully explored the field which we propose for our investigation; sometimes that no respectable man of science would condescend to meddle with such a reeking mass of fraud and hysteria. Sometimes we are pitied as laborious triflers who prove some infinitely small matter with mighty trouble and pains; sometimes we are derided as attempting the solution of gigantic problems by slight and superficial means.

    § 4. The best way of meeting objections thus confused and contradictory will be to show as clearly as we can at what points our inquiries touch the recent results of science; what signs there are which indicate the need of vigorous advance along the lines which we have chosen. We shall show, perhaps, that there is a kind of convergence towards this especial need—that in several directions of research there is felt that kind of pause and hesitancy which is wont to precede the dawn of illuminating conceptions. We shall not, of course, thus prove that our own attempt has been successful, but we shall prove that it was justified; that if the problems which we set ourselves to solve are found to be insoluble, the gaps thus left in the system of thought on which man’s normal life is based will be such as can neither be ignored nor supplied, but will become increasingly palpable and increasingly dangerous.

    Let us consider how far this remark can be justified with regard to some of the leading branches of human knowledge in turn. And let us take first Biology, the science which on the whole approaches the closest to our own inquiries. Biology has, during the last half-century, made an advance which, measured by the hold exercised on the mass of cultivated minds, has perhaps had no parallel since the forward stride of astronomy and physics in the days of Newton. A glance at the text-books of the last generation, in physical or mental science—Whewell’s History of the Inductive Sciences, or Mill’s Logic,—as compared, for instance, with the works of their immediate successor, Mr. Herbert Spencer, shows something which is not so much progress as revolution—the transformation of Biology from a mere special department of knowledge into the key to man’s remotest history, the only valid answer to the profoundest questions as to his present being.

    For, in truth, it is Biology above all other sciences which has profited by the doctrine of evolution. In evolution,—in the doctrine {i-xl} that the whole cosmical order is the outcome of a gradual development,—mankind have gained for the first time a working hypothesis which covers enough of the known facts of the universe to make its possible extension to all facts a matter of hopeful interest. And Biology, which even at the date of Whewell’s book could barely make good its claim to be regarded as a coherent science at all, has now acquired a co-ordinating and continuous principle of unity which renders it in some respects the best type of a true science which we possess. It traces life from the protozoon to the animal, from the brute to the man; it offers to explain the complex fabric of human thought and emotion, viewed from the physical side, as the development of the molecular movements of scarcely-differentiated fragments of protaplasm.

    And along with this increased knowledge of the processes by which man has been upbuilt has come also an increased knowledge of the processes which are now going on within him. The same inquiries which have brought our organic life into intelligible relation with the whole range of animal and vegetable existence have enabled us also to conceive more definitely the neural side of our mental processes, and the relation of cerebral phenomena to their accompanying emotion or thought. And hence, in the view of some ardent physiologists, it is becoming more and more probable that we are in fact physiological automata; that our consciousness is a mere superadded phenomenon—a mere concomitant of some special intensity of cerebral action, with no basis beyond or apart from the molecular commotion of the brain.

    But this view, as it would seem, depends in a great part upon something which corresponds in the mental field to a familiar optical illusion. When we see half of some body strongly illuminated, and half of it feebly illuminated, it is hard to believe that the brilliant moiety is not the larger of the two. And, similarly, it is the increased definiteness of our conception of the physical side of our mental operations which seems to increase its relative importance,—to give it a kind of priority over the psychical aspect of the same processes. Yet, of course, to the philosophic eye the central problem of the relation of the objective and subjective sides of these psycho-neural phenomena can be in no way altered by any increase of definiteness in our knowledge of the objective processes which correspond to the subjective states.

    {i-xli}

    And, on the other hand, there is one singular logical corollary which seems thus far to have escaped the notice of physiologist and psychologist alike. It is this: that our increased vividness of conception of the physical side of mental life, while it cannot possibly disprove the independence of the psychical side, may quite conceivably prove it. I will again resort to the (very imperfect) analogy of a partially-illuminated body. Suppose that one hemisphere of a globe is strongly lit up, and that the other is lit up by faint and scattered rays.1 1 The analogy will be closer if we suppose that the second half is lit, not dimly but from within,— since in one sense consciousness gives us more information as to the psychical than as to the physical side of life, though it is information of a different quality. I am trying to discern whether the two hemispheres are symmetrically marked throughout. Now no clearness of marks on the bright hemisphere can disprove the existence of corresponding marks on the dim one. But, on the other hand, it is conceivable that one of the few rays which fall on the dim hemisphere may reveal some singular mark which I can see that the bright hemisphere does not possess. And the brighter the bright hemisphere is made, the more certain do I become that this particular mark is not to be found on it.

    § 5. I will give two concrete examples of what I mean—one of them drawn from the conclusions of a great physiologist, the other from the obvious condition of a new branch of experimental inquiry. I shall not discuss either instance in detail, since I am here only endeavouring to show that with increased precision in psychophysical researches the old problems of free-will, soul and body, &c., are presenting more definite issues, and offering a far more hopeful field to the exact philosopher than their former vagueness allowed.

    My first illustration, then, is from the form which the old free-will controversy has assumed in the hands of Wundt. Wundt stands, of course, among the foremost of those who have treated human thought and sensation as definite and measurable things, who have computed their rate of transit, and analysed their elements, and enounced the laws of their association. It is not from him that we need look for any lofty metaphysical view as to the infinite resources of spiritual power,—the transcendental character of psychical phenomena. But, nevertheless, Wundt believes himself able to assert that there is within us a residue—an all-important residue—of psychical action which is incommensurable with physiological {i-xlii}

    law. So far, he holds, is the principle of conservation of energy from covering the psychical realm, that the facts of mental evolution proclaim that the very contrary is the case;—and that what really obtains is rather “an unlimited new creation of psychical energy.”1 1 “Hier gilt vielmehr ein Gesetz unbegrenzter Neuschöpfung geistiger Energie, welches nur durch die sinnliche Bestimmtheit des geistigen Lebens gewisse Hemmungen erleidet.”—Wundt, Logik, II., p. 507. Nay, so convinced is he of the inadequacy of any system of physiological determinism to explain psychical facts, that he holds that we must directly reverse the materialistic view of the relation of the corporeal to the psychical life. “It is not the psychical life,” he says, “which is a product of the physical organisation; rather it is the physical organism which, in all those purposive adjustments which distinguish it from inorganic compounds, is itself a psychical creation.”2 2 “Nicht das geistige Leben ist ein Erzeugniss der physischen Organisation, sondern diese ist in allem, was sie an zweckvollen Einrichtungen der Selbstregulirung und der Energie-verwerthung vor den Substanzcomplexen der unorganischen Natur voraushat, eine geistige Schöpfung.”—Wundt, Logik, II., p. 471.

    I am not here expressing either agreement or disagreement with this general view. I am merely pointing out that here is an opinion which, whether right or wrong, is formed as a result not of vagueness but of distinctness of physiological conceptions. And my illustration shows at any rate that the development of physiology is tending not always to make the old psychical problems seem meaningless or sterile, but rather to give them actuality and urgency, and even to suggest new possibilities of their solution.

    § 6. But, to come to my second instance, it is perhaps the present position of hypnotism that the strongest argument may be drawn for the need of such researches as ours, to supplement and co-ordinate the somewhat narrower explorations of technical physiology. For the actual interest of the mesmeric or hypnotic trance—I am not now dealing with the rival theories which these words connote—the central interest, let us say, of induced somnambulism, or the sleep-waking state—has hardly as yet revealed itself to any section of inquirers.

    That interest lies neither in mesmerism as a curative agency, as Elliotson would have told us, nor in hypnotism as an illustration of inhibitory cerebral action, as Heidenhain would tell us now. It lies in the fact that here is a psychical experiment on a larger scale than was ever possible before; that we have at length got hold of a handle which turns the mechanism of our being; that we have found {i-xliii} a mode of shifting the threshold of consciousness which is a dislocation as violent as madness, a submergence as pervasive as sleep, and yet is waking sanity; that we have induced a change of personality which is not per se either evolutive or dissolutive, but seems a mere allotropic modification of the very elements of man. The prime value of the hypnotic trance lies not in what it inhibits, but in what it reveals; not in the occlusion of the avenues of peripheral stimulus, but in the emergence of unnoted sensibilities, nay, perhaps even in the manifestation of new and centrally-initiated powers.

    The hypnotic trance is an eclipse of the normal consciousness which can be repeated at will. Now the first observers of eclipses of the sun ascribe them to supernatural causes, and attribute to them an occult influence for good or evil. Then comes the stage at which men note their effects on the animal organism, the roosting of birds, the restlessness of cattle. Then come observations on the intensity of the darkness, the aspect of the lurid shade. But to the modern astronomer all this is trifling as compared with the knowledge which those brief moments give him of the orb itself in its obscuration. He learns from that transient darkness more than the noon of day can tell; he sees the luminary no longer as a defined and solid ball, but as the centre of the outrush of flaming energies, the focus of an effluence which coruscates untraceably through immeasurable fields of heaven.

    There is more in this parallel than a mere empty metaphor. It suggests one of the primary objects which psychical experiment must seek to attain. Physical experiment aims at correcting the deliverances of man’s consciousness with regard to the external world by instruments which extend the range, and concentrate the power, and compensate the fallacies of his senses. And similarly, our object must be to correct the deliverances of man’s consciousness concerning the processes which are taking place within him by means of artificial displacements of the psycho-physical threshold; by inhibiting normal perception, obliterating normal memory, so that in this temporary freedom from preoccupation by accustomed stimuli his mind may reveal those latent and delicate capacities of which his ordinary conscious self is unaware.

    § 7. It was thus, in fact, that thought-transference, or telepathy, was first discovered. In the form of community of sensation between operator and subject, it was noted nearly a century ago as a {i-xliv} phenomenon incident to the mesmeric trance. Its full importance was not perceived, and priceless opportunities of experiment were almost wholly neglected. In order to bring out the value and extent of the phenomenon it was necessary, we venture to think, that it should be investigated by men whose interest in the matter lay not in the direction of practical therapeutics but of psychical theory, and who were willing to seek and “test for it” under a wide range of conditions, not in sleep-waking life only, but in normal waking, and normal sleep, and, as this book will indicate, up to the very hour of death.

    The difficulties of this pursuit are not physiological only. But, nevertheless, in our endeavours to establish and to elucidate telepathy, we look primarily for aid to the most recent group of physiological inquirers, to the psycho-physicists whose special work—as yet in its infancy—has only in our own day been rendered possible by the increased accuracy and grasp of experimental methods in the sciences which deal with Life.

    The list of Corresponding Members of our Society will serve to show that this confidence on our part is not wholly unfounded, and to indicate that we are not alone in maintaining that whatever may be the view of these perplexing problems which ultimately prevails, the recent advances of physiology constitute in themselves a strong reason—not, as some hold, for the abandonment of all discussion of the old enigmas, but rather for their fresh discussion with scientific orderliness, and in the illumination of our modern day.1 1 The French Société de Psychologie Physiologique, whose President is M. Charcot, has already published several observations with an important bearing on our subject, some of which will be found in Vol. ii. of this work.

    § 8. From Biology we may pass, by an easy transition, to what is commonly known as Anthropology,—the comparative study of the different races of men in respect either of their physical characteristics, or of the early rudiments of what afterwards develops into civilisation.

    The connection of anthropology with psychical research will be evident to any reader who has acquainted himself with recent expositions of Primitive Man. He may think, indeed, that the connection is too evident, and that we can hardly bring it into notice without proving a good deal more than we desire. For as the creeds and customs of savage races become better known, the part played by sorcery, divination, apparitions becomes increasingly predominant. {i-xlv} Mr. Tylor and Sir John Lubbock have made this abundantly clear, and Mr. Spencer has gone so far as to trace all early religion to a fear of the ghosts of the dead. In the works of these and similar authors, I need hardly say, we are led to regard all these beliefs and tendencies as due solely to the childishness of savage man—as absurdities which real progress in civilisation must render increasingly alien to the developed common-sense, the rational experience of humanity. Yet it appears to me that as we trace the process of evolution from savage to civilised man, we come to a point at which the inadequacy of this explanation is strongly forced on our attention. Certainly this was my own case when I undertook some years ago to give a sketch of the Greek oracles. It soon became evident to me that the mass of phenomena included under this title had, at any rate, a psycho-physical importance which the existing works on the subject for the most part ignored. I scarcely ventured myself to do more than indicate where the real nodi of the inquiry lay. But when a massive treatise on Ancient Divination appeared from the learned pen of M. Bouché-Leclercq, I looked eagerly to see whether his erudition had enabled him to place these problems in a new light. I found, however, that he explicitly renounced all attempt to deal with the phenomena in more than a merely external way. He would record, but he would make no endeavour to explain;—taking for granted, as it appeared, that the explanation depended on fraud alone, and on fraud whose details it would now be impossible to discover.

    I cannot think that such a view can any longer satisfy persons adequately acquainted with the facts of hypnotism. Whatever else, whether of fraud or reality, there may have been on the banks of Cassotis or Castaly,—unde superstitiosa primum sacra evasit vox fera, whence the wild voice first sounded out from the prophetic holy places—there were at least the hypnotic trance and hystero-epilepsy. And until these and similar elements can be sifted out of the records left to us, with something of insight gained by familiarity with their modern forms, our knowledge of Pythia or of Sibyl will be shallow indeed.

    Still more markedly is such insight and experience needed in anthropology proper—in the actual observation of the savage peoples who still exist. It is to be hoped that shamans and medicine-men will not vanish before the missionary until they have yielded some fuller lessons to the psycho-physicist—until the annals of the Salpêtrière and the experiments of Dean’s Yard have been invoked in explanation of the weird terrors of the Yenisei and the Congo.

    {i-xlvi}

    § 9. Passing on from Anthropology to history in its wider acceptation, we find these psycho-physical problems perpetually recurring, and forming a disturbing element in any theory of social or religious evolution. The contagious enthusiasms of the Middle Ages—the strange endemic maladies of witchcraft, vampirism, lycanthropy—even the individual inspiration of a Mahomet or a Joan of Arc—these are phenomena which the professed historian feels obliged to leave to the physician and the alienist, and for which the physician and the alienist, in their turn, have seldom a satisfactory explanation.

    Nor do phenomena of this kind cease to appear with the advance of civilisation. In detailed modern histories, in the biographies of eminent men, we still come upon incidents which are, at any rate at first sight, of a supernormal1 1 “I have ventured to coin the word ‘supernormal’ to be applied to phenomena which are beyond what usually happens—beyond, that is, in the sense of suggesting unknown psychical laws. It is thus formed on the analogy of abnormal. When we speak of an abnormal phenomenon we do not mean one which contravenes natural laws, but one which exhibits them in an unusual or inexplicable form. Similarly by a supernormal phenomenon, I mean, not one which overrides natural laws, for I believe no such phenomenon to exist, but one which exhibits the action of laws higher, in a psychical aspect, than are discerned in action in every-day life. By higher (either in a psychical or in a physiological sense), I mean ‘apparently belonging to a more advanced stage of evolution.’”—Proceedings of the S.P.R., Vol. iii., p. 30. Throughout this treatise we naturally need a designation for phenomena which are inexplicable by recognised physiological laws, and belong to the general group into the nature of which we are inquiring. The term psychical (which is liable to misapprehension even in the title of our Society) can hardly be used without apology in this specialised sense. The occasional introduction of the word supernormal may perhaps be excused. kind, and over which the narrator is forced to pass with vague or inadequate comment.

    But it is, of course, in dealing with the history of religions that our lack of any complete grasp of psychical phenomena is most profoundly felt. And here, also, it is as a result of recent progress,—of the growth of the comparative study of religions,—that we are able to disengage, in a generalised form, the chief problems with which our “psychical” science, if such could be established, would be imperatively called on to deal.

    For we find throughout the world’s history a series of great events which, though differing widely in detail, have a certain general resemblance both to each other and to some of those incidents both of savage and of ordinary civilised life to which reference has already been made.

    The elements which are common to the great majority of religions seem to be mainly two—namely, the promulgation of some doctrine which the religious reformer claims to have received, or actually to communicate, in some supernormal manner; and the report of a {i-xlvii} concurrent manifestation of phenomena apparently inexplicable by ordinary laws.

    Now, with the rise of one religion our Society has already had practically to deal. Acting through Mr. Hodgson, whose experiences in the matter have been elsewhere detailed,1 1 Proceedings of the S.P.R., Vol. iii. a committee of the Society for Psychical Research has investigated the claim of the so-called “Theosophy,” of which Madame Blavatsky was the prophetess, to be an incipient world-religion, corroborated by miraculous, or at least supernormal, phenomena,—and has arrived at the conclusion that it is merely a réchauffé Literally “warmed leftover food” of ancient philosophies, decked in novel language, and supported by ingenious fraud. Had this fraud not been detected and exposed, and had the system of belief supported thereon thriven and spread, we should have witnessed what the sceptic might have cited as a typical case of the origin of religions. A Gibbon of our own day, reviewing the different motives and tendencies which prompt, or spread, revelations, might have pointed to Theosophy and Mormonism as covering between them the whole ground;—from the adroit advantage taken of mystical aspiration in the one religion, to the commonplace action of greed and lust upon helplessness and stupidity which forms the basis of the other.

    But if it should be argued from these analogies that in no case of the foundation of a religion would any scientific method of psychical inquiry prove necessary or fruitful, if we knew all the facts; but that such developments might be sufficiently dealt with by ordinary common-sense, or, like Mormonism, by the criminal law, the generalisation would be hasty and premature. We need not go far back to discover two religions whose central fact is not a fact of fraud at all, but an unexplained psychical phenomenon. I allude to the vision-life of Swedenborg, and the speaking with tongues which occurred in the church of Irving,—each of which constitutes a central point of faith for a certain number of intelligent and educated persons at the present day. Of neither of these facts can Science at present offer a satisfactory explanation. The speaking with tongues seems plainly to have been for the most part (though not entirely) a genuine automatic phenomenon. But as to the origin of such automatic utterances (conveyed in speech or writing), as to the range from which their contents are drawn, or the kind of attention which they can claim, there is little or nothing to be learnt from accepted {i-xlviii} textbooks. We are groping among the first experiments, the simplest instances, on which any valid theory can be based.1 1 See papers on “Automatic Writing” in Proceedings of the S.P.R., Vols. ii. and iii.

    The case of Swedenborg carries us still further beyond the limits of our assured knowledge. Of madness and its delusions, indeed, we know much; but it would be a mere abuse of language to call Swedenborg mad. His position must be decided by a much more difficult analogy. For before we can even begin to criticise his celestial visions we must be able in some degree to judge of his visions of things terrestrial; we must face, that is to say, the whole problem of so-called clairvoyance, of a faculty which claims to be not merely receptive but active,—a projection of super-sensory percipience among scenes distant and things unknown.

    And the existence of such a faculty as this will assuredly never be proved by a mere study of the transcendental dicta of any single seer. This problem, too, must be approached, partly through the hypnotic trance, in which the best-attested instances of clairvoyance are alleged to have occurred, and partly through the collection of such supernormal narratives as some of those which find place in the present book.

    Even a sketch like this may indicate how complex and various may be the problems which underlie that “History of Sects” in which a Bossuet might see only the heaven-sent penalty for apostasy against the Church,—a Gibbon, the mere diverting panorama of the ever-varying follies of men.

    § 10. But reflections like these lie on the outskirts of a still larger and graver question. What (it is naturally asked) is the relation of our study—not to eccentric or outlying forms of religious creed—but to central and vital conceptions; and especially to that main system of belief to which in English-speaking countries the name of religion is by popular usage almost confined?

    Up till this time those who have written on behalf of the Society for Psychical Research have studiously refrained from entering on this important question. Our reason for this reticence is obvious enough when stated, but it has not been universally discerned. We wished to avoid even the semblance of attracting the public to our researches by any allurement which lay outside the scientific field. We could not take for granted that our inquiries would make for the spiritual view of things, that they would tend to establish even the independent existence, still less the immortality, of the soul. We {i-xlix} shrank from taking advantage of men’s hopes or fears, from representing ourselves as bent on rescuing them from the materialism which forms so large a factor in modern thought, or from the pessimism which dogs its steps with unceasing persistency. We held it to be incumbent on us, in an especial degree, to maintain a neutral and expectant attitude, and to conduct our inquiries in the “dry light” of a dispassionate search for truth.

    And this position we still maintain. This book, as will be seen, does not attempt to deal with the most exciting and popular topics which are included in our Society’s general scheme. And we shall be careful in the pages that follow to keep within our self-assigned limits, and to say little as to any light which our collected evidence may throw on the possibility of an existence continued after our physical death.

    That master-problem of human life must be assailed by more deliberate approaches, nor must we gild our solid arguments with the radiance of an unproved surmise. But it would, nevertheless, be impossible, in a discussion of this general kind, to pass over the relation of psychical research to religion altogether in silence. And, indeed, since our inquiries began, the situation has thus far changed that we have now not anticipation merely, but a certain amount of actual achievement, to which to appeal. We hold that we have proved by direct experiment, and corroborated by the narratives contained in this book, the possibility of communications between two minds, inexplicable by any recognised physical laws, but capable (under certain rare spontaneous conditions) of taking place when the persons concerned are at an indefinite distance from each other. And we claim further that by investigations of the higher phenomena of mesmerism, and of the automatic action of the mind, we have confirmed and expanded this view in various directions, and attained a standing-point from which certain even stranger alleged phenomena begin to assume an intelligible aspect, and to suggest further discoveries to come.

    Thus far the authors of this book, and also the main group of their fellow-workers, are substantially agreed. But their agreement as to the facts actually proved does not extend,—it is not even to be desired that it should extend—to the speculations which in one direction or another such facts must inevitably suggest. They are facts which go too deep to find in any two minds a precisely similar lodgment, or to adjust themselves in the same way to the complex of {i-l} pre-existent conceptions. The following paragraphs, therefore, must be taken merely as reflecting the opinions provisionally held by a single inquirer.

    I may say, then, at once that I consider it improbable that telepathy will ever receive a purely physical explanation,—an explanation, that is to say, wholly referable to the properties of matter, as molecular matter is at present known to us. I admit, of course, that such an explanation is logically conceivable; that we can imagine that undulations should be propagated, or particles emitted, from one living organism to another, which should excite the percipient organism in a great variety of ways. But it seems to me,—and I imagine that in this view at any rate the majority of Materialists will concur,—that if the narratives in this book are to be taken as, on the whole, trustworthy, the physical analogies are too faint, and the physical difficulties too serious, to allow of our intruding among the forces of material Nature a force which—unlike any other—would seem (in some cases at least) neither to be diminished by any distance nor to be impeded by any obstacle whatsoever.

    I lay aside, for the purposes of the present argument, the possibility of a monistic scheme of the universe,—of a consentiens conspirans continuata cognatio rerum the harmonious, concordant, and unbroken connection which there is in things [Cicero, De Natura Deorum Liber Secundus vii:19; trans. Francis Brooks, 1896] which may present in an unbroken sequence both what we know as Matter and what we know as Mind. Such a view,—though to higher intelligences it may perhaps be an intuitive certainty,—can for us be nothing more than a philosophic opinion. Our scientific arguments must needs be based on the dualism which our intellects, as at present constituted, are in fact unable to transcend.

    I maintain, therefore, that if the general fact of telepathic communication between mind and mind be admitted, it must also be admitted that an element is thus introduced into our conception of the aggregate of empirically known facts which constitutes a serious obstacle to the materialistic synthesis of human experience. The psychical element in man, I repeat, must henceforth almost inevitably be conceived as having relations which cannot be expressed in terms of matter.

    Now this dogma, though wholly new to experimental science, is, of course, familiar and central in all the higher forms of religions. Relations inexpressible in terms of matter, and subsisting between spirit and Spirit—the human and the Divine,—are implied in the very notion of the interchange of sacred love and love, of grace and {i-li} worship. I need hardly add that the reality of any such communion is rigidly excluded by the materialistic view. The Materialist, indeed, may regard prayer and aspiration with indulgence, or even with approval, but he must necessarily conceive them as forming merely the psychical side of certain molecular movements of the particles of human organisms, and he must necessarily regard the notion of Divine response to prayer as an illusion generated by subsequent molecular movements of the same organisms,—the mere recoil and reflux of the wave which the worshipper himself has created.

    It would, of course, be mere offensive presumption to draw a parallel between our telepathic experiments and such a relation between a human and Divine spirit as the devout soul believes itself to realise in prayer. One side of that communion must ex hypothesi transcend the measurement or analysis of finite minds. But, confining our view wholly to the part played by the human organism, it seems to me incontestable that our experiments suggest possibilities of influence, modes of operation, which throw an entirely fresh light on this ancient controversy between Science and Faith. I claim at least that any presumption which science had established against the possibility of spiritual communion is now rebutted; and that inasmuch as it can no longer be affirmed that our minds are closed to all influences save such as reach them through sensory avenues, the Materialist must admit that it is no longer an unsupported dream but a serious scientific possibility, that if any intelligences do in fact exist other than those of living men, influences from those intelligences may be conveyed to our own mind, and may either remain below the threshold of consciousness, or rise into definite consciousness, according as the presence or absence of competing stimuli, or other causes as yet unknown to us, may determine.

    § 11. I shall leave this proposition expressed thus in its most abstract and general form. And I may add—it is a reflection which I must ask the reader to keep steadily in mind,—that any support or illumination which religious creeds may gain from psychical inquiry is likely to affect not their clauses but their preamble; is likely to come, not as a sudden discovery bearing directly on some specific dogma, but as the gradual discernment of laws which may fundamentally modify the attitude of thoughtful minds.

    Now, in what I have called the preamble of all revelations two {i-lii} theses are generally involved, quite apart from the subject-matter, or the Divine sanction, of the revelation itself. We have to assume, first, that human testimony to supernormal facts may be trustworthy; and secondly, that there is something in the nature of man which is capable of responding to—I may say of participating in—these supernormal occurrences. That is to say, revelations are not proved merely by large external facts, perceptible to every one who possesses the ordinary senses, nor again are they proved solely by what are avowedly mere subjective impressions, but they are largely supported by a class of phenomena which comes between these two extremes; by powers inherent in certain individuals of beholding spiritual visions or personages unseen by common eyes, of receiving information or guidance by interior channels, of uttering truths not consciously acquired, of healing sick persons by the imposition of hands, with other faculties of a similarly supernormal kind.

    And I hope that I shall not be thought presumptuous or irreverent if (while carefully abstaining from direct comment on any Revelation) I indicate what, in my view, would be the inevitable effect on the attitude of purely scientific minds towards these preliminary theses,—this preamble, as I have said, of definite religions,—were the continued prosecution of our inquiry to lead us after all to entirely negative conclusions, were all our evidence to prove untrustworthy, and all our experiments unsound.

    For in the first place it is plain that this new science of which we are endeavouring to lay the foundations stands towards religion in a very different position from that occupied by the rising sciences, such as geology or biology, whose conflict or agreement with natural or revealed religion has furnished matter for so much debate. The discoveries of those sciences can scarcely in themselves add support to a doctrine of man’s soul and immortality, though they may conceivably come into collision with particular forms which that doctrine has assumed. Religion, in short, may be able to assimilate them, but it would in no way have suffered had they proved altogether abortive.

    But with our study the case is very different. For, to take the first of the two preliminary theses of religion already referred to, the question whether human evidence as to supernormal occurrences can ever be trusted has been raised by our inquiries in a much more crucial form than when Hume and Paley debated it with reference to historical incidents only. We discuss it with reference to alleged {i-liii} contemporary incidents; we endeavour to evaluate by actual inspection and cross-examination the part which is played in supernormal narratives by the mere love of wonder, “the mythopoeic faculty,” the habitual negligence and ignorance of mankind. And if all the evidence offered to us should crumble away on exact investigation—as, for instance, the loudly-vaunted evidence for the marvels connected with Theosophy has crumbled—it will no doubt be questioned whether the narratives on which the historic religions depend for their acceptance could have stood the test of a contemporaneous inquiry of a similarly searching kind.

    And more than this, it will not only be maintained that the collapse of our modern evidence to supernormal phenomena discredits all earlier records of the same kind by showing the ease with which such marvels are feigned or imagined, but also that it further discredits those records by making them even more antecedently improbable than they were before. Not only will it be said that the proved fallibility of the modern witnesses illustrates the probable fallibility of the ancient ones, but the failure of the inquiry to elicit any indication that supernormal faculties do now exist in man will pro tantoto that extent throw a retrospective improbability on the second of the preliminary theses of religion, which assumes that some such supernormal faculty did at any rate exist in man at a given epoch. It may indeed be urged that such faculties were given for a time, and for a purpose, and were then withdrawn. But the instinct of scientific continuity, which even in the shaping of the solid continents is fain to substitute for deluge and cataclysm the tideway and the ripple and the rain, will rebel against the hypothesis of a bygone age of inward miracles,—a catastrophic interference with the intimate nature of man.

    I will illustrate my meaning by a concrete example, which does not involve any actual article of Protestant faith. The ecstacy and the stigmata of St. Francis are an important element in Roman Catholic tradition. They are to some extent paralleled in the present day by the ecstacy and the stigmata of Louise Lateau. And Catholic instinct has discerned that if this modern case be decided to be merely morbid, and in no true sense supernormal, a retrospective discredit will be cast on the earlier legend. The old reluctance of the Catholic Church to submit her phenomena to scientific assessors has therefore to some extent been overcome; and Catholic physicians, under ecclesiastical authority, have discussed Louise Lateau’s case in the forms of an ordinary medical report.

    {i-liv}

    Enough will have been said to indicate the reality of the connection between our inquiries and the preliminary theses of religion. And so far as our positive results go in this direction, they will perhaps carry the more weight in that they are independently obtained, and intended to subserve scientific rather than religious ends;—coming, indeed, from men who have no developed theory of their own to offer, and are merely following the observed facts wherever they may seem to lead. I see no probability, I may add, that our results can ever supply a convincing proof to any specialised form of religion. The utmost that I anticipate is, that they may afford a solid basis of general evidence to the independence of man’s spiritual nature, and its persistence after death, on which basis, at any rate, religions in their specialised forms may be at one with science, and on which the structure of definite revelation (which must be up-built by historical or moral arguments) may conceivably be planted with a firmness which is at present necessarily lacking.

    § 12. I have been speaking thus far of religion in its full sense, as a body of doctrine containing some kind of definite assurance as to an unseen world. But the form of religious thought which specially characterises our own day is somewhat different from this. We are accustomed rather to varying attempts to retain the spirit, the aroma of religion, even if its solid substratum of facts previously supposed provable should have to be abandoned. The discoursers on things spiritual who have been most listened to in our own day—as Carlyle, Emerson, Mazzini, Renan, Tennyson, Matthew Arnold, Ruskin, &c.,—have been to a very small extent dogmatic on the old lines. They have expressed vague, though lofty, beliefs and aspirations, in which the eye of science may perhaps see little substance or validity, but which nevertheless have been in a certain sense more independent, more spontaneous, than of old, since they are less often prompted by any faith instilled from without, and resemble rather the awakening into fuller consciousness of some inherited and instinctive need.

    And this brings us by an easy transition to the next topic, on which I wish to dwell. For I wish to point out that the emotional creed of educated men is becoming divorced from their scientific creed; that just as the old orthodoxy of religion was too narrow to contain men’s knowledge, so now the new orthodoxy of materialistic science is too narrow to contain their feelings and aspirations; and {i-lv} consequently that just as the fabric of religious orthodoxy used to be strained in order to admit the discoveries of geology or astronomy, so now also the obvious deductions of materialistic science are strained or overpassed in order to give sanction to feelings and aspirations which it is found impossible to ignore. My inference will, of course, be that in this vaguer realm of thought, as well as in the more distinctly-defined branches of knowledge which we have already discussed, the time is ripe for some such extension of scientific knowledge as we claim that we are offering here—an extension which, in my view, lifts us above the materialistic standpoint altogether, and which gives at least a possible reality to those subtle intercommunications between spirit and spirit, and even between visible and invisible things, of which Art and Literature are still as full as in any “Age of Faith” which preceded us.

    I point, then, to the obvious fact that the spread of Materialism has not called into being Materialists only of those simple types which were commonly anticipated a century since as likely to fill a world of complete secularity.

    Materialists, indeed, of that old unflinching temper do exist, and form a powerful and influential body. It would have been strange, indeed, if recent advances in physiology had not evoked new theories of human life, and a new ideal. For the accepted commonplaces of the old-fashioned moralist are being scattered with a ruthless hand. Our free will, over great portions at least of its once supposed extent, is declared to be an illusion. Our highest and most complex emotions are traced to their rudimentary beginnings in the instincts of self-preservation and reproduction. Our vaunted personality itself is seen to depend on a shifting and unstable synergy of a number of nervous centres, the defect of a portion of which centres may alter our character altogether. And meantime Death, on the other hand, has lost none of its invincible terrors. The easy way in which our forefathers would speak of “our mortal and immortal parts” is hard to imitate in face of the accumulating testimony to the existence of the one element in us, and the evanescence of the other. And since the decay and dissolution of man seem now to many minds to be so much more capable of being truly known than his survival or his further evolution, it is natural that much of the weight which once belonged to the prophets of what man hoped should pass to those who can speak with authority on what man needs must fear. Thus “mad-doctors” tend to supplant theologians, and the lives of {i-lvi} lunatics are found to have more lessons for us than the lives of saints. For these thinkers know well that man can fall below himself; but that he can rise above himself they can believe no more. A corresponding ideal is gradually created; an ideal of mere sanity and normality, which gets to look on any excessive emotion or fixed idea, any departure from a balanced practicality, with distrust or disfavour, and sometimes rising to a kind of fervour of Philistinism, classes genius itself as a neurosis.

    The alienists who have taken this extreme view have usually, perhaps, been of opinion that in thus discrediting the higher flights of imagination or sentiment we are not losing much; that these things are in any case a mere surplusage, and that the ends which life is really capable of attaining can be compassed as well without them. But if the materialistic theory be the true one, these limitations of ideal might well be adopted even by men who would deeply regret what they were thus renouncing. It might well seem that, in abandoning the belief in any spiritual or permanent element in man, it were wise to abandon also that intensity of the affections which is ill-adapted to bonds so perishable and insecure, that reach of imagination which befitted only the illusory dignity which was once attached to human fates.

    But in fact, as I have already implied, the characteristic movement of our own country, at any rate, at the present day, is hardly in this direction. Our prevalent temper is not so much materialistic as agnostic; and although this renouncement of all knowledge of invisible things does in a sense leave visible things in sole possession of the field, yet the Agnostic is as far as anyone from being “a hog from Epicurus’ sty.” Rather, instead of sinking into the materialistic ideal of plain sense and physical well-being, the rising schools of thought are transcending that ideal more and more. Altruism in morals, idealism in art, nay, even the sentiment of piety itself, as a decorative grace of life,—all these, it is urged, are consistent with a complete and contented ignorance as to aught beyond the material world.

    I need not here embark on the controversy as to how far this aspiration towards “the things of the spirit” is logically consistent with a creed that stops short with the things of sense. It is quite enough for my present purpose to point out that here also, as in the case of more definite religions, we have a system of beliefs and emotions which may indeed be able to accommodate themselves to modern {i-lvii} science, but which are in no sense supported thereby; rather which science must regard as, at best, a kind of phosphorescence which plays harmlessly about minds that Nature has developed by other processes and for other ends than these.

    For my argument is that here again, as in the case of religion, telepathy, as we affirm it in this book, would be the first indication of a possible scientific basis for much that now lacks not only experimental confirmation, but even plausible analogy. We have seen how much support the preliminary theses of religion may acquire from an assured conviction that the human mind is at least capable of receiving supernormal influences,—is not closed, by its very structure, as the Materialists would tell us, to any “inbreathings of the spirit” which do not appeal to outward eye or ear. And somewhat similar is the added reality which the discovery of telepathy gives to the higher flights, the subtler shades, of mere earthly emotion.

    “Star to star vibrates light; may soul to soul

    Strike thro’ some finer element of her own?”

    The lover, the poet, the enthusiast in any generous cause, has in every age unconsciously answered Lord Tennyson’s question for himself. To some men, as to Goethe, the assurance of this subtle intercommunication has come with vivid distinctness in some passion-shaken hour. Others, as Bacon, have seemed to gather it from the imperceptible indicia of a lifelong contemplation of man. But the step which actual experimentation, the actual collection and collation of evidence, has now, as we believe, effected, is a greater one than could have been achieved by any individual intuition of bard or sage. For we have for the first time a firm foothold in this impalpable realm; we know that these unuttered messages do truly travel, that these emotions mix and spread; and though we refrain as yet from further dwelling on the corollaries of this far-reaching law, it is not because such speculations need any longer be baseless, but because we desire to set forth the proof of our theorem in full detail before we do more than hint at the new fields which it opens to human thought.

    § 13. Pausing, therefore, on the threshold of these vaguer promises, I may indicate another direction, in which few will deny that a systematic investigation like ours ought to produce results eminently salutary. It ought to be as much our business to check the growth of error as to promote the discovery of truth. And there is plenty of evidence to show that so long as we omit to subject all alleged supernormal phenomena to a thorough comparative scrutiny, {i-lviii} we are not merely postponing a possible gain, but permitting an unquestioned evil.

    It should surely be needless in the present day to point out that no attempt to discourage inquiry into any given subject which strongly interests mankind, will in reality divert attention from the topic thus tabooed. The savant or the preacher may influence the readers of scientific hand-books, or the members of church congregations, but outside that circle the subject will be pursued with the more excited eagerness because regulating knowledge and experienced guidance are withdrawn.

    And thus it has been with our supernormal phenomena. The men who claim to have experienced them have not been content to dismiss them as unseasonable or unimportant. They have not relegated them into the background of their lives as readily as the physiologist has relegated them into a few paragraphs at the end of a chapter. On the contrary, they have brooded over them, distorted them, misinterpreted them. Where savants have minimised, they have magnified, and the perplexing modes of marvel which the text-books ignore, have become, as it were, the ganglia from which all kinds of strange opinions ramify and spread.

    The number of persons whose minds have been actually upset either by genuine psychical phenomena, or by their fraudulent imitation, is perhaps not large. But the mischief done is by no means confined to these extreme cases. It is mischievous, surely—it clashes roughly with our respect for human reason, and our belief in human progress—that religions should spring up, forms of worship be established, which in effect do but perpetuate a mistake and consecrate a misapprehension, which carry men not forward, but backward in their conception of unseen things.

    The time has not yet come for an attempt to trace in detail the perversion which each branch of these supernormal phenomena has undergone in ardent minds;—the claims to sanctity, revelation, prophecy, which a series of enthusiasts, and of charlatans, have based on each class of marvels in turn. But two forms of creed already mentioned may again be cited as convenient examples—the Irvingite faith of the misinterpretation of automatism, the Swedenborgian of the misinterpretation of (so-called) clairvoyance. Still more singular have been the resultant beliefs when to the assemblage of purely psychical marvels a physical ingredient has been added, of a more disputable kind. For linked in various ways with records of {i-lix} automatic cerebration, of apparitions, of vision and revelation, come accounts of objective sounds, of measurable movements, which may well seem an unwarrantable intrusion into the steady order of the ponderable world. And in the year 1848 certain events, whose precise nature is still in dispute, occurred in America, in consequence of which many persons were led to believe that under appropriate circumstances these sounds, these movements, these tangible apparitions, could be evoked or reproduced at will. On this basis the creed of “Modern Spiritualism” has been upbuilt. And here arises the pressing question—notoriously still undecided, difficult and complex beyond any anticipation—as to whether supernormal phenomena of this physical kind do in fact occur at all; or whether they are in all cases—as they undoubtedly have been in many cases—the product of mere fraud or delusion. This question, as it seems to us, is one to which we are bound to give our most careful attention; and if we have as yet failed to attain a decisive view, it is not for want of laborious observation, continued by several of us throughout many years. But we are unwilling to pronounce until we have had ample opportunities—opportunities which so far we have for the most part sought in vain—of investigating phenomena obtained through private sources, and free, at any rate, from the specific suspicion to which the presence of a “paid medium” inevitably gives rise.

    I need not add further illustrations of the cautionary, the critical attitude which befits such a Society as ours at the present juncture. This attitude is in one way unavoidably ungracious; for it has sometimes precluded us from availing ourselves of the labours of predecessors whose zeal and industry we should have been glad to praise. The time, we hope, will come when enough of daylight shall shine upon our path to make possible a discriminating survey of the tracks which scattered seekers have struck out for themselves in the confusion and dimness of dawn. At present we have mainly to take heed that our own groping course shall at least avoid the pitfalls into which others have fallen. Anything like a distribution of awards of merit would be obviously premature on the part of men whose best hope must be that they may conduct the inquiry into a road firm enough to enable others rapidly to outstrip them.

    {i-lx}

    II.

    § 14. Enough, however, has now been said to indicate the general tenor of the task which the Society for Psychical Research has undertaken. It remains to indicate the place which the present work occupies in the allotted field, and the reasons for offering it to public consideration at this early stage of our inquiry.

    We could not, of course, predict or pre-arrange the order in which opportunities of successful investigation might occur to the searchers in this labyrinth of the unknown. Among the groping experiments which seemed to have only too often led to mere mistake and confusion,—the “thousand pathways”

    “qua signa sequendi

    Falleret indeprensus et inremeabilis error,”—

    [Translation]

    which baffled every clue, and led astray / in unreturning mazes dark and blind [Vergil, Aeneid 5.590–91; trans. Theodore C. Williams, 1910]

    it was not easy to choose with confidence our adit of exploration. The approach which proved most quickly productive was one from which it might have seemed that there was little indeed to hope. A kind of drawing-room game sprang up—it is hard to say whence—a method of directing a subject to perform a desired act by a contact so slight that no conscious impulsion was either received or given. Careful observers soon ranked the “willing-game” as an illustration of involuntary muscular action on the willer’s part, affording a guidance to which the subject yielded sometimes without being aware of it. But while the modus operandi of public exhibitions of this misnamed “thought-reading” was not difficult to detect, Professor Barrett was one of the first who—while recognising all these sources of error—urged the duty of persistent watching for any residuum of true thought-transference which might from time to time appear. As will be seen from Chap. II. of this book it was not till after some six years of inquiry and experiment (1876–82) that definite proof of thought-transference in the normal state could be placed before the world. This was done in an article in the Nineteenth Century for June, 1882, signed by Professor Barrett, Mr. Gurney, and myself. The phenomenon of transmission of thought or sensation without the agency of the recognised organs of sense had been previously recorded in connection with the mesmeric state, but, so far as we know, its occasional occurrence in the normal state was now for the first time maintained on the strength of definite experiment. And the four years 1882–1886 have witnessed a great extension of those experiments, which no longer rest on the integrity and capacity of the earliest group of observers alone.

    {i-lxi}

    § 15. The foundation of the Society for Psychical Research in 1882 gave an opportunity to Mr. Gurney and myself, as Hon. Secs. of a Literary Committee, to invite from the general public records of apparitions at or after death, and other abnormal occurrences. On reviewing the evidence thus obtained we were struck with the great predominance of alleged apparitions at or near the moment of death. And a new light seemed to be thrown on these phenomena by the unexpected frequency of accounts of apparitions of living persons, coincident with moments of danger or crisis. We were led to infer a strong analogy between our experimental cases of thought-transference and some of these spontaneous cases of what we call telepathy, or transference of a shock or impulse from one living person to another person at such a distance or under such conditions as to negative the possibility of any ordinary mode of transmission. An article, signed by Mr. Gurney and myself, in the Fortnightly Review for March, 1883, gave a first expression to the analogy thus suggested. The task of collection and scrutiny grew on our hands; Mr. Podmore undertook to share our labours; and the Council of the Society for Psychical Research requested us to embody the evidence received in a substantive work.

    It will be seen, then, that the theory of Telepathy, experimental and spontaneous, which forms the main topic of this book, was not chosen as our theme by any arbitrary process of selection, but was irresistibly suggested by the abundance and the convergence of evidence tending to prove that special thesis. We were, and are, equally anxious to inquire into many other alleged marvels—clairvoyance, haunted houses, Spiritualistic phenomena, &c.—but telepathy is the subject which has first shown itself capable of investigation appearing to lead to a positive result; and it seemed well to arrange its evidence with sufficient fulness to afford at least a solid groundwork for further inquiry.

    And having been led to this choice by the nature of the actual evidence before us, we may recognise that there is some propriety in dealing first with an issue which, complex though it is, is yet simple as compared to other articles of our programme. For the fact, if it be one, of the direct action of mind upon mind has at least a generality which makes it possible that, like the law of atomic combination in chemistry, it may be a generalisation which, though grasped at first in a very simplified and imperfect fashion, may prove to have been the essential pre-requisite of future progress.

    {i-lxii}

    § 16. In a certain sense it may be said that this hidden action of one mind on another comes next in order of psychical discovery to the hidden action of the mind within itself. It will be remembered that the earliest scientific attempts to explain the phenomena of so-called Spiritualism referred them mainly to “unconscious cerebration,” (Carpenter,) or to what was virtually the same thing, “unconscious muscular action” (Faraday).

    Now these theories, in my view, were, so far as they went, not only legitimate, but the most logical which could have been suggested to explain the scanty evidence with which alone Faraday and Carpenter attempted to deal. This unconscious action of the mind was in reality the first thing which it was needful to take into account in approaching supernormal phenomena. I believe, indeed, that our knowledge of those hidden processes of mentation is still in its infancy, and I have elsewhere endeavoured to assign a wider range than orthodox science has yet admitted to the mind’s unconscious operation.1 1 See Proceedings of the S.P.E., Vols. ii. and iii. But the result of this further analysis has been (as I hold) not to show that ordinary physiological considerations will suffice (as Dr. Carpenter seems to suppose) to explain all the psychical problems involved, but rather to reveal the fact that these unconscious operations of the mind do not follow the familiar channels alone, but are themselves the facilitation or the starting-point of operations which to science are wholly new.

    To state the matter broadly, so as to include in a common formula the unremembered utterances of the hypnotic subject, and the involuntary writings of the waking automatist, I would maintain that when the horizon of consciousness is altered, the opening field of view is not always or wholly filled by a mere mirage or refraction of objects already familiar, but does, on rare occasions, include new objects, as real as the old. And amongst the novel energies thus liberated, the power of entering into direct communication with other intelligences seems to stand plainly forth. Among the objects in the new prospect are fragments of the thoughts and feelings of distant minds. It seems, at any rate, that some element of telepathy is perpetually meeting us throughout the whole range of these inquiries. In the first place, thought-transference is the only supernormal phenomenon which we have as yet acquired the power of inducing, even occasionally, in the normal state. It meets us also in the {i-lxiii} hypnotic trance, under the various forms of “community of sensation,” “silent willing,” and the like. Among the alleged cases of “mesmeric clairvoyance” the communication of pictures of places from operator to subject seems the least uncertain ground. And again, among phenomena commonly attributed to “spirits,” (but many of which may perhaps be more safely ascribed to the automatic agency of the sensitive himself,) communication of thought still furnishes our best clue to “trance-speaking,” “clairvoyant vision,” answers to mental questions and the like. It need not, therefore, surprise us if, even in a field so apparently remote from all ordinary analogies as that of apparitions and death-wraiths, we still find that telepathy affords our most satisfactory clue.

    § 17. And here would seem to be the fitting place to explain why we have given the title of “Phantasms of the Living” to a group of records most of which will present themselves to the ordinary reader as narratives of apparitions of the dead.

    When we began, in a manner to be presently described, to collect accounts of experiences which our informants regarded as inexplicable by ordinary laws, we were of course ignorant as to what forms these experiences would mainly take. But after printing and considering over two thousand depositions which seemed primâ facie to deserve attention, we find that more than half of them are narratives of appearances or other impressions coincident either with the death of the person seen or with some critical moment in his life-history.

    The value of the accounts of apparitions after death is lessened, moreover, by a consideration which is obvious enough as soon as these narratives come to be critically considered. The difficulty in dealing with all these hallucinations—with all appearances to which no persistent three-dimensional reality corresponds—is to determine whether they are veridical, or truth-telling—whether, that is, they do in fact correspond to some action which is going on in some other place or on some other plane of being;—or whether, on the other hand, they are merely morbid or casual—the random and meaningless fictions of an over-stimulated eye or brain. Now in the case of apparitions at the moment of death or crisis, we have at any rate an objective fact to look to. If we can prove that a great number of apparitions coincide with the death of the person seen, we may fairly say, as we do say, that chance alone cannot explain this {i-lxiv} coincidence, and that there is a causal connection between the two events. But if I have a vision of a friend recently dead, and on whom my thoughts have been dwelling, we cannot be sure that this may not be a merely delusive hallucination—the mere offspring of my own brooding sorrow. In order to get at all nearly the same degree of evidence for a dead person’s appearance that we can get for a dying person’s appearance, it seems necessary that the apparition should either communicate some fact known only to the deceased, or should be noted independently by more than one person at once or successively. And our evidence of this kind is at present scarcely sufficient to support any assured conclusion.1 1 See Mrs. Sidgwick’s paper on “The Evidence, collected by the Society, for Phantasms of the Dead,” in Proceedings of the S.P.R., Vol. iii.

    When, therefore, we are considering whether the phantasms of dying persons may most fitly be considered as phantasms of the dead or of the living, we find little support from analogy on the side of posthumous apparitions. And on the other hand, as already hinted, we have many cases where the apparition has coincided with violent shocks,—carriage accidents, fainting fits, epileptic fits, &c., which nevertheless left the agent,—as we call the person whose semblance is seen,—as much alive as before. In some cases the accident is almost a fatal one; as when a man’s phantom is seen at the moment when he is half-drowned and insensible. In such a case it would seem illogical to allow the mere fact of his restoration or non-restoration to life to rank his phantom as that of a living person in the one case, of a dead person in the other. It seems simpler to suppose that if two men fall overboard to-day and their respective phantoms are seen by their friends at the moment,—then, though one man should be restored to life and the other not,—yet if the first phantom was that of a living man, so also was the second.

    Nay more, even if the apparition be seen some hours later than the moment of apparent death, there are still reasons which prevent us from decisively classing it as the apparition of a dead man. In the first place, the moment of actual death is a very uncertain thing. When the heart’s action stops the organism continues for some time in a state very different from that of ordinary inanimate matter. In such an inquiry as ours it is safer to speak, not of death, but of “the process of dissolution,” and to allow for the possible prolongation of some form of psychical energy even when, for instance, the attempt to restore respiration to a drowned man has definitely failed. And in {i-lxv} the second place, we find in the case of phantasms corresponding to some accident or crisis which befalls a living friend, that there seems often to be a latent period before the phantasm becomes definite or externalised to the percipient’s eye or ear. Sometimes a vague malaise seems first to be generated, and then when other stimuli are deadened,—as at night or in some period of repose,—the indefinite grief or uneasiness takes shape in the voice or figure of the friend who in fact passed through his moment of peril some hours before. It is quite possible that a deferment of this kind may sometimes intervene between the moment of death and the phantasmal announcement thereof to a distant friend.

    These, then, are reasons, suggested by actual experience, for ascribing our phantasms at death to living rather than to dead men. And there is another consideration, of a more general order, which points in the same direction. We must not rashly multiply the problems involved in this difficult inquiry. Now Science, it is needless to say, offers no assurance that man survives the tomb; and although in Christian countries our survival is an established doctrine, this does not carry with it any dogma as to the possibility that communications should reach us from departed spirits. The hypothesis, then, that apparitions are ever directly caused by dead persons is one which ordinary scientific caution bids us to be very slow in introducing. Should it afterwards be established that departed spirits can communicate with us, the interpretation placed upon various cases contained in these volumes may need revision. But for the present it is certainly safer to inquire how far they can be explained by the influences or impressions which, as we know by actual experiment, living persons can under certain circumstances exert or effect on one another, in those obscure supersensory modes which we have provisionally massed together under the title of Telepathy.

    § 18. The main theses of this book, then, are now capable of being stated in a very simple form.

    I. Experiment proves that telepathy—the supersensory1 1 By “supersensory” I mean “independent of the recognised channels of sense.” I do not mean to assert that telepathic perception either is or is not analogous to sensory perception of the recognised kinds. transference of thoughts and feelings from one mind to another,—is a fact in Nature.

    {i-lxvi}

    II. Testimony proves that phantasms (impressions, voices, or figures) of persons undergoing some crisis,—especially death,—are perceived by their friends and relatives with a frequency which mere chance cannot explain.

    III. These phantasms then, whatever else they may be, are instances of the supersensory action of one mind on another. The second thesis therefore confirms, and is confirmed by, the first. For if telepathy exists, we should anticipate that it would exhibit some spontaneous manifestations, on a scale more striking than our experimental ones. And, on the other hand, apparitions are rendered more credible and comprehensible by an analogy which for the first time links them with the results of actual experiment.

    Such are the central theses of this work,—theses on which its authors, and the friends whom they have mainly consulted, are in entire agreement. The first thesis may, of course, be impugned by urging that our experiments are fallacious. The second thesis may be impugned by urging that our testimony is insufficient. The third thesis, as I have here worded it, is hardly open to separate attack; being a corollary which readily follows if the first two theses are taken as proved.

    This, however, is only the case so long as the third thesis, which asserts the analogy between thought-transference and apparitions—between experimental and spontaneous telepathy—is stated in a vague and general form. So soon as we attempt to give more precision to this analogy—to discuss how far the unknown agency at work can be supposed to be the same in both cases—or how far the apparitions may be referable to quite other, though cognate, laws,—we enter on a field where even those who have accepted the analogy in general terms are likely to find the evidence leading them to somewhat divergent conclusions. Of two men independently studying our records of apparitions, the one will almost inevitably press their analogy to simple telepathy further than the other. And each will be able to plead that he has been guided as far as possible by an instinct of scientific caution in thus judging of matters strange and new. The first will say that “causes are not to be multiplied without necessity,” and that we have now in telepathy a vera causatrue cause whose furthest possibilities we ought to exhaust before invoking still stranger, still remoter agencies, whose very existence we are not in a position to prove. He will feel bound therefore to dwell on the points on which our knowledge either of telepathy, or of the mechanism of hallucinations {i-lxvii} in general, throws some light; and he will set aside as at present inexplicable such peculiarities of our evidence as cannot well be brought within this scheme.

    The second inquirer, on the other hand, will perhaps feel strongly that telepathy, as we now know it, is probably little more than a mere preliminary conception, a simplified mode of representing to ourselves a group of phenomena which, as involving relations between minds, may probably be more complex than those which involve even the highest known forms of matter. He will feel that, while we hold one clue alone, we must be careful not to overrate its efficacy; we must be on the watch for other approaches, for hints of inter-relation between disparate and scattered phenomena.

    It is to the first of these two attitudes of mind,—the attitude which deprecates extraneous theorising,—that Mr. Gurney and Mr. Podmore have inclined; and the committal of the bulk of this work to Mr. Gurney’s execution indicates not only that he has been able to devote the greatest amount of time and energy to the task, but also that his view is on the whole the most nearly central among the opinions which we have felt it incumbent on us to consult. We have no wish, however, to affect a closer agreement than actually exists; and in a “Note on a Suggested Mode of Psychical Interaction,” which will be found in Vol. II., I shall submit a view which differs from Mr. Gurney’s on some theoretical points.

    § 19. The theories contained in this book, however, bear a small proportion to the mass of collected facts. A few words as to our method of collection may here precede Mr. Gurney’s full discussion (Chapter IV.) of the peculiar difficulties to which our evidence is exposed.

    It soon became evident that if our collection was to be satisfactory it must consist mainly of cases collected by ourselves, and of a great number of such cases. The apparitions at death, &c., recorded by previous writers, are enough, indeed, to show that scattered incidents of the kind have obtained credence in many ages and countries. But they have never been collected and sifted with any systematic care; and few of them reach an evidential standard which could justify us in laying them before our readers. And even had the existing stock of testimony been large and well-assured, it would still have been needful for us to collect our own specimens in situ,—to see, talk with, and correspond with the persons to whose strange experiences {i-lxviii} so much weight was to be given. This task of personal inquiry,—whose traces will, we hope, be sufficiently apparent throughout the present work,—has stretched itself out beyond expectation, but has also enabled us to speak with a confidence which could not have been otherwise acquired. One of its advantages is the security thus gained as to the bona fides of the witnesses concerned. They have practically placed themselves upon their honour; nor need we doubt that the experiences have been, as a rule, recounted in all sincerity. As to unintentional errors of observation and memory, Mr. Gurney’s discussion will at least show that we have had abundant opportunities of learning how wide a margin must be left for human carelessness, forgetfulness, credulity. “God forbid,” said the flute-player to Philip of Macedon, “that your Majesty should know these things as well as I!”

    It must not, however, be inferred from what has been said that our informants as a body have shown themselves less shrewd or less accurate than the generality of mankind. On the contrary, we have observed with pleasure that our somewhat persistent and probing method of inquiry has usually repelled the sentimental or crazy wonder-mongers who hang about the outskirts of such a subject as this; while it has met with cordial response from an unexpected number of persons who feel with reason that the very mystery which surrounds these incidents makes it additionally important that they should be recounted with sobriety and care. The straightforward style in which most of our informants have couched their narratives, as well as the honoured names which some of them bear, may enable the reader to share something of the confidence which a closer contact with the facts has inspired in our own minds.

    Again, it seemed necessary that the collection offered to the public should be a very large one, even at the cost of including in a Supplement some remote or second-hand cases besides the first-hand cases which alone are admitted into the chapters of this book. If, indeed, our object had been simply to make out a case for the connection of deaths with apparitions, we might have offered a less assailable front, and should certainly have spared ourselves much trouble, had we confined ourselves to giving in detail a few of the best-attested instances. But what we desired was not precisely this. We hope, no doubt, that most of our readers may ultimately be led to conclusions resembling our own. But before our conclusions can expect to gain general acceptance, many other {i-lxix} hypotheses will doubtless be advanced, and coincidence, superstition, fraud, hysteria, will be invoked in various combinations to explain the evidence given here. We think, therefore, that it is our duty in so new a subject to afford full material for hypotheses discordant with our own; to set forth cases drawn from so wide a range of society, and embracing such a variety of circumstances, as to afford scope for every mode of origination or development of these narratives which the critic may suggest.

    Furthermore, the whole subject of hallucinations of the sane—which hitherto has received very scanty treatment—seems fairly to belong to our subject, and has been treated by Mr. Gurney in Chap. XI. We have throughout contended that a knowledge of abnormal or merely morbid phenomena is an indispensable pre-requisite for the treating of any supernormal operations which may be found to exist under somewhat similar forms of manifestation.

    Once more, it was plainly desirable to inquire whether hypotheses, now admitted to be erroneous, had ever been based in past times on evidence in any way comparable to that which we have adduced. The belief in witchcraft, from its wide extent and its nearness to our own times, is the most plausible instance of such a parallelism. And Mr. Gurney, in his Note on Chapter IV., has given the results of an analysis of witch-literature more laborious than previous authors had thought it worth while to undertake. The result is remarkable; for it appears that the only marvels for which respectable testimony was adduced consist obviously of ignorant descriptions of hypnotic and epileptiform phenomena now becoming familiar to science; while as to the monstrous stories—copied from one uncritical writer into another—which have given to this confused record of hypnotic and hysterical illusions the special aromas (so to say) of witchcraft or lycanthropy,—these prodigies have scarcely ever the slightest claim to be founded on any first-hand evidence at all.

    § 20. But while the material here offered for forming an opinion on all these points is, no doubt, much larger than previous writers have been at the pains to amass, we are anxious, nevertheless, to state explicitly that we regard this present collection of facts as merely preliminary; this present work as merely opening out a novel subject; these researches of a few persons during a few years as the mere first instalment of inquiries which will need {i-lxx} repetition and reinforcement to an extent which none of us can as yet foresee.

    A change in the scientific outlook so considerable as that to which these volumes point must needs take time to accomplish. Time is needed not only to spread the knowledge of new facts, but also to acclimatise new conceptions in the individual mind. Such, at least, has been our own experience; and since the evidence which has come to us slowly and piecemeal is here presented to other minds suddenly and in a mass, we must needs expect that its acceptance by them will be a partial and gradual thing. What we hope for first is an increase in the number of those who are willing to aid us in our labours; we trust that the fellow-workers in many lands to whom we already owe so much may be encouraged to further collection of testimony, renewed experiment, when they see these experiments confirming one another in London, Paris, Berlin,—this testimony vouching for cognate incidents from New York to New Zealand, and from Manchester to Calcutta.

    With each year of experiment and registration we may hope that our results will assume a more definite shape—that there will be less of the vagueness and confusion inevitable at the beginning of a novel line of research, but naturally distasteful to the savant accustomed to proceed by measurable increments of knowledge from experimental bases already assured. Such an one, if he reads this book, may feel as though he had been called away from an ordnance survey, conducted with a competent staff and familiar instruments, to plough slowly with inexperienced mariners through some strange ocean where beds of entangling seaweed cumber the trackless way. We accept the analogy; but we would remind him that even floating weeds of novel genera may foreshow a land unknown; and that it was not without ultimate gain to men that the straining keels of Columbus first pressed through the Sargasso Sea.

    § 21. Yet one word more. This book is not addressed to savants alone, and it may repel many readers on quite other than scientific grounds. Attempting as we do to carry the reign of Law into a sanctuary of belief and emotion which has never thus been invaded in detail,—lying in wait, as it were, to catch the last impulse of the dying, and to question the serenity of the dead,—we may seem to be incurring the poet’s curse on the man “who would peep and botanize upon his mother’s grave,”—to be touching the Ark of sacred {i-lxxi} mysteries with hands stained with labour in the profane and common field.

    How often have men thus feared that Nature’s wonders would be degraded by being closelier looked into! How often, again, have they learnt that the truth was higher than their imagination; and that it is man’s work, but never Nature’s, which to be magnificent must remain unknown! How would a disciple of Aristotle,—fresh from his master’s conception of the fixed stars as types of godhead,—of an inhabitance by pure existences of a supernal world of their own,—how would he have scorned the proposal to learn more of those stars by dint of the generation of fetid gases and the sedulous minuteness of spectroscopic analysis! Yet how poor, how fragmentary were Aristotle’s fancies compared with our conception, thus gained, of cosmic unity! our vibrant message from Sirius and Orion by the heraldry of the kindred flame! Those imagined gods are gone; but the spectacle of the starry heavens has become for us so moving in its immensity that philosophers, at a loss for terms of wonder, have ranked it with the Moral Law.

    If man, then, shall attempt to sound and fathom the depths that lie not without him, but within, analogy may surely warn him that the first attempts of his rude psychoscopes to give precision and actuality to thought will grope among “beggarly elements,”—will be concerned with things grotesque, or trivial, or obscure. Yet here also one handsbreadth of reality gives better footing than all the castles of our dream; here also by beginning with the least things we shall best learn how great things may remain to do.

    The insentient has awoke, we know not how, into sentiency; the sentient into the fuller consciousness of human minds. Yet even human self-consciousness remains a recent, a perfunctory, a superficial thing; and we must first reconstitute our conception of the microcosm, as of the macrocosm, before we can enter on those “high capacious powers” which, I believe, “lie folded up in man.”

    F. W. H. M.

    {i-lxxii} {i-lxxiii}

    ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS.

    VOLUME I.

    Page 33, line 20. For 999,999,98, read 999,999,999,1.

    Page 34, line 6. For 1000 to 1, read “about 500 to 1.”

    Page 88. Since the note on this page was written, some additional evidence has been obtained as to the effect of concentration of the operator’s will in the process of hypnotising. See the cases quoted in the Additional Chapter, (Vol. II., pp. 680, 684, 685,) from the records of the Société de Psychologie Physiologique.

    Page 110, first note. Two further examples of this interesting type will be found on pp. lxxxi-iv, below.

    Page 118, second note. After this note had been printed off, I came across a passage from Die Christliche Mystik, by J. J. von Goerres, in which a learned bishop, Prudencio de Sandoval, is made to describe a witch’s journey through the air as though he had himself been a judicial spectator of it. A reference to Sandoval’s own account, however, in his Historia de la vida y hechos del Emperador Carlos V. (Pamplona, 1618), Vol. I., p. 830, shows that the trial of the witch in question took place in 1527. Now Sandoval died in 1621; clearly, therefore, he could not have been a first-hand witness, as represented. Nor does he even name his authority; and discredit is thrown on his sources of information by Llorente, in his Anales de la Inquisition de España (Madrid, 1812), p. 319. As the passage from Goerres was quoted in a first-class scientific review, and, if accurate, would have told against my statements as to the absence of first-hand evidence for alleged magical occurrences, I have thought it worth while to forestall a possible objection.

    The only instance that I can find, during the witch-epoch, of definite first-hand evidence for a marvel of a type which our present knowledge of abnormal bodily and mental states will not explain, is, as it happens, not part of the history of so-called magic, but is connected with the extraordinary epidemic of religious excitement which took place in the Cevennes at the beginning of the last century. As the instance seems to be a solitary one, it may be worth while to give the facts. The Théâtre Sacré des Cevennes (London, 1707) contains the depositions of two witnesses to the fact that they saw a man named Clary stand for many minutes, totally uninjured, in the midst of a huge fire of blazing wood; and that they immediately afterwards ascertained by their own senses that there was not a sign of burning on him or his clothes. This is the sort of case which, if multiplied by scores or hundreds, and if nothing were {i-lxxiv} known against the character of the witnesses, would support the view that an apparently strong evidential case can be made out for phenomena—being matters of direct observation—which nevertheless for the scientific mind are impossible; and that therefore the evidential case for telepathy presented in this book may be safely neglected (see p. 115). But the character of the two deponents mentioned is seriously impugned by a third witness, the celebrated Colonel Cavallier, who had no interest in decrying his own followers and partisans, and whose probity seems never to have been doubted even by those who most questioned his good sense.1 1 See, for instance, the Histoire des Camisards (London, 1754), p. 333, note. The view of Cavallier there cited from De Brueys’ Histoire du Fanatisme (Utrecht, 1737), need not be discounted because in the same work he is called a scélérat; that being De Brueys’ generic term for a Camisard leader. (Nouveaux Memoires pour Servir à l’Histoire des Trois Camisars, London, 1708, pp. 6–9.) He describes them as worthless impostors, as to whom it was easy to see “qu’ il n’y a pas beaucoup à compter sur ce qu’ ils disent, et encore moins sur ce qu’ ils sont. that we can hardly count on what they said, much less on who they are. See also the account given of them by Dr. Hutchinson, a by no means over-sceptical writer, who seems to have had the means of ascertaining Cavallier’s opinions when the latter was in England. (A Short View of the Pretended Spirit of Prophecy, London, 1708, pp. 9, 16. See also A Preservative against the False Prophets of the Times, by Mark Vernons, London, 1708, p. 72; and Clavis Prophetica, London, 1707, pp. 8, 9.) As regards Colonel Cavallier himself, we have to note (1) that in the history of the Cevennes disturbances, attributed to him and probably drawn up from recollections of his conversations, not a word on the subject occurs; and that the only direct testimony to the occurrence that we have from him, as far as I can discover, is the phrase, “Cela est vrai,” applied to the fire of Clary, “et d’autres choses de cette nature That is true, as are other things of that nature. (Memoires pour Servir, &c., p. 10);2 2 No further testimony of Cavallier’s on the subject seems to have been known to the author of the Examen du Théâtre Sacré des Cevennes (London, 1708, p. 34). He is not even stated to have been present, except in the depositions of the discredited witnesses; but on this point they may probably be trusted, as falsehood would have been at once exposed.

    (2) that even supposing he was an eye-witness, it nowhere appears that he examined Clary after the ordeal, and ascertained that his clothes and hair were unsinged; and, as Hutchinson remarks, the fire may have been “a fire of straw, that is no sooner kindled but it is out again.” And in fact, in the Histoire des Troubles des Cevennes, by A. Court (Villefranche, 1760), p. 442, the author professes to have found, from information gathered at the spot, that “(1) Clary ne séjourna pas dans le feu; (2) il y entra deux fois; (3) il se brûla au col du bras, et fut obligé de s’arrêter au lieu de Pierredon, pour se fair panser. (1) Clary did not remain in the fire; (2) he entered it twice; (3) he burned his arm near the shoulder, and was obliged to stop at the place called Pierredon for treatment.

    I confine myself to this single case, which bears directly on my discussion of evidence in Chapter IV.; but since no topic has been a greater favourite in the modern literature of the “supernatural” than the phenomena of the Cevennes, it may be useful to add that probably no chapter of history offers equal facilities for studying the natural genesis of modern miracles.

    Page 127, line 16. For wonder-mongerer read wonder-monger.

    Page 140, last sentence of note. Since this was written, a few other instances have been included where it is possible, but not certain, that the {i-lxxv} 12 hours’ limit was exceeded. It was exceeded in case 138, and possibly in case 165.

    Page 145, last sentence. Since this was printed, some further cases have been received of considerable exaggeration of the closeness of a coincidence, which should be added to the examples mentioned in the note.

    (1) An informant sent us a sworn affidavit to the effect that, in January, 1852, when returning from China on board the “Pilot,” and near the Cape, he had a vision of his sister, and learnt on his arrival in England that she had died “about the time” of the vision. We find, from an examination of various newspapers, that the “Pilot” was in the East Indies up to December, 1851, and was at Devonport in March, 1852; so that she may well have been near the Cape in January, 1852. But we find from the Register of Deaths that the sister died on June 29, 1851, at which date, as we learn from the Admiralty, the “Pilot” was at Whampoa. It is not likely that our informant was mistaken as to his own experience having taken place on the return voyage, and shortly before his arrival in England. What happened, we may surmise, is that he was told, when he arrived after a long absence, that his sister had lately died; and that on the strength of his vision, he assumed or gradually came to imagine, that the death had happened only several weeks before, instead of several months.

    (2) A gentleman gave us a striking account of a phantasm of a friend, then in the Transvaal war, who appeared in his room early one morning, and announced that he had been shot through the right lung. Such a hallucination being absolutely unique in our informant’s experience, he noted the time—4.10 a.m.—by a clock on the mantelpiece, and waited feverishly during the hours that elapsed before he could see a newspaper at his club. He found no news of the war. In the course of the day he mentioned his vision and his disquietude to an acquaintance at the club. The next morning he saw, in the first paper that he took up, the announcement that his friend had been killed—shot through the right lung, as it afterwards proved—at an hour (as he calculated) closely coincident with that of his vision. We found, however, from the London Gazette, that the battle in which this officer was killed did not begin till 9.30 a.m.; and the death took place at least two hours later, which would be between 9 and 10 a.m. in England. Clearly, therefore, the vision must have preceded the death by some hours, if they occurred on the same day. But an examination of the newspapers makes it seem very likely that the vision fell on the day after the death. The battle took place on Friday, and was announced in the Saturday papers; but the death was not announced in the morning papers till Monday, and the vision which is represented as having occurred on the day next before the announcement of the death may more easily be supposed to have occurred on the second day than on the third day before—i.e., on the Saturday, not the Friday morning. As to the statement that the papers contained no war-news on the morning of the vision, that is a point on which our informant’s memory might easily get wrong, as they did not contain what he searched them for.

    (3) An account signed by three witnesses of unimpeachable character, and purporting to be a statement made to them on Sept. 7, 1859, by T. Crowley, of Dinish Island, records a hallucination which he experienced {i-lxxvi} on Saturday, Aug. 13, and afterwards connected with the unexpected death of his daughter, Ellen, which took place at a distance a few hours earlier. This daughter had been an inmate of a Deaf and Dumb Asylum. From the secretary of this institution we learnt that the day of her death was Sunday, July 24, 1859; and we procured a certificate of her burial on the following day. It is probable that those who took down the statement got an idea that the coincidence was a close one, and unconsciously forced the wrong date on an uneducated witness.

    (4) Two letters have been handed to us, written by a husband to his wife on Nov. 7 and Dec. 28, 1874. The first letter describes an overpowering impression of calamity at home which the writer experienced, during a voyage, on Friday, Nov. 6, and which he immediately mentioned to a friend, who has given us full written confirmation of the fact. In that week the writer of the letters lost a child, who died, as we find from the Register of Deaths, on Tuesday, Nov. 3. Yet the second letter, written after the news of the death had reached the father, says, “It is very strange, but the very time—day and hour—of our boy’s death, I could not sleep,” and then follows another account of the very experience which was before described (and undoubtedly correctly) as having happened on the night of Nov. 6, three days after the death.

    (5) A lady, who did not remember ever to have dreamt of death on any other occasion, told us that one night, in January, 1881, she had a remarkably vivid dream of the death of a relative whom she did not know to be ill or likely to die; and that on coming down in the morning she found the death announced in the Times as having occurred on the previous day. She did not (for family reasons) communicate the name of the person who died. But it is not very common for deaths to appear in the Times on the day after that on which they occurred. A list was accordingly made out of all the persons, corresponding with her description in sex and age, whose deaths were so immediately announced during that month; and the list, being submitted to her, her relative’s name proved not to be in it. The death must therefore have preceded the dream by more than 24 hours.

    (6) Another informant gives an account of an interesting experience said to have occurred on the night of Sunday, May 6, 1866, and remarkably coinciding with the death of the narrator’s brother, lost with the “General Grant.” The fate of this ship was not known till January, 1868, when the Melbourne Argus published a “narrative of the survivors.” From this account we find that the wreck occurred on the night of Sunday the 13th, and that the death in question probably occurred on the morning of the 14th; which, allowing for longitude, would closely correspond with the time of the experience in England, supposing that our informant’s date was wrong by a week. This may very likely have been the case, as he explains that all he is clear about is that the day was a Sunday in May which he spent at a particular place. But unfortunately he had said in a former letter that the date May 6 was impressed on his mind by its being his own birthday; and that statement cannot, of course, be ignored; although he makes it tolerably clear that he really only inferred long afterwards that that was the day, because he knew for certain that on his birthday he was at the place where the experience occurred.

    {i-lxxvii}

    Pages 149–51. The following instructive instance of the difference between first-hand and second-hand evidence shows how easily a spurious telepathic narrative may grow up. We received a second-hand account to the effect that a friend of our informant, as she was returning from a walk, saw her sister on the doorstep just entering the house, entered herself a few moments after, was told by the servant that her sister had not been out, went upstairs, and found her dying from a sudden fit. The first-hand account, which had been given to us some years before, contains every one of these facts, (modifying one of them by the statement that the sister died“within 12 hours” after,) but adds just two more. “I, being very blind, thought1 1 Thought is italicised in the original: all the other italics are mine. I saw her before me.” “I probably mistook the door, there being two on the same doorstep as mine.” How completely the aspect of the case is altered by these few additional words, appears in the most natural way from the sentences that follow. The second-hand account says, “She looked upon this as an apparition, sent to her to break the sudden shock,”&c. The first-hand account says, “I never imagined I had really seen an apparition; but it certainly was a merciful mistake, as it in a certain sense broke the shock to me,” &c.

    Page 154, second paragraph. The particular form of exaggeration in second-hand evidence, which represents what was really only a dream as that far rarer and more striking phenomenon—a waking hallucination—is exemplified in connection with one of the narratives quoted later, No. 429. The first-hand account, it will be seen, describes the experience simply as a dream; Aubrey (Miscellanies, London, 1696, p. 60) recounts it as a case of apparition.

    Page 156, last part of note. The publication of this book has led to the verication [sic] of the incident here described. The gentleman concerned—Mr. G. H. Dickson, of 17, Winckley Street, Preston—has sent me (Dec. 22, 1886) an account which differs from the second-hand report in two points only:—the woman was not actually crushed to death, though Mr. Dickson “was told, before leaving the station, that her injuries would be fatal”; and his wife did not describe her experience to him immediately on his arrival, but later in the day—whether before or after his mention of the scene they do not now remember.

    Page 158, line 1. “No cases are given which are not first-hand.” Cases 256 and 257 are exceptions; but see Vol. II., p. 83.

    Page 167, line 1 of note. “The suppressed names have in all cases been given to us in confidence.” In the Supplement there are seven exceptions to this rule. Five of them are cases which have been previously published on apparently reliable authority, but which the death of the person responsible for them has prevented us from tracing to their source; the sixth is a MS. case of the same description; and in the seventh, our informant, though perfectly remembering the circumstances of his connection with the original witness, cannot recall his name. In a very few other cases the name of the agent has not been learnt.

    Page 206, note. Some independent evidence has been received as to the manner of Captain Collyer’s death. An advertisement was inserted for us in the Daily Picayune, the leading New Orleans newspaper, offering a small {i-lxxviii} reward for definite information as to the fatal accident on the “Alice.” For some months no information was given; but on Jan. 6, 1886, the editor wrote to us as follows:—“To-day a party called at the Picayune office, and made the following statement: ‘My name is J. L. Hall. I was a striker on the steamer “Red River”at the time she ran into the “Alice,” John Collyer, master, at a point about 20 miles above New Orleans. The accident occurred at 10 o’clock at night, in January, 1856. The day of the month I do not remember. The “Red River” was bound up stream, and the “Alice” bound down. The collision broke the starboard engine of the “Alice”and stove in her upper guards and boiler deck. As soon as possible the “Red River” went to the assistance of the “Alice,” when one of the crew of the disabled boat remarked that the captain had been killed. On investigation, Captain Collyer was found lying on his back on the starboard side of the boiler deck of his boat, with a severe wound in the head and life extinct. The crew of the “Alice,” all of whom were negroes, stated that Captain Collyer had been killed by the collision, but the officers of the “Red River” thought otherwise, as the wound in his (Captain Collyer’s) head appeared to have been made before the two boats met, and the blood on the deck was coagulated. Probably not more than 10 minutes elapsed from the time the collision took place until the body of Captain Collyer was viewed by the officers of the “Red River.” After helping the “Alice” to make repairs, the “Red River” proceeded on her voyage. I cannot say positively, but I do not think the killing of Captain Collyer was ever investigated.’”1 1 The man who gave this account doubtless received the reward of a few dollars which had been placed in the editor’s hands. In only one other instance has any payment been made to a witness: in that case the evidence had been spontaneously given, partly in writing and partly vivâ voce, and the payment was simply for the time occupied in drawing up a more complete written statement.

    It will be seen that there is a suggestion here that the death preceded the collision; and if this was so, it is an additional reason for supposing the coincidence with Mrs. Collyer’s experience to have been extremely close; for the witness had no idea why the evidence was wanted, and cannot have adjusted his account to a narrative of which he knew nothing. If his idea is correct, then there is no reason to suppose (as I have too hastily done in p. 206, note) that he has made a mistake as to the hour of the collision.

    Page 248, case 49. The following is a corroborative account from Mrs. Arundel, who wrote from Maniton, Colorado, on April 1, 1886:—

    “Not being very well, I was lying on the sofa (not asleep, for I had my baby sitting on the floor beside me, playing). Mr. Arundel was away on a sailing excursion with some friends, and I did not expect his return for some days. It seemed to me that I distinctly heard him call me by name, ‘Maggie,’ a slight pause and again ‘Maggie.’ The voice seemed far off and yet clear, but the tone such as he would use if needing me. The impression was so distinct that I rose and went out on to the porch with the thought, ‘Can they possibly have returned sooner for some reason?’ and I so fully expected to see him there that I went back into the house with a feeling of disappointment and some anxiety, too, feeling so sure I had heard his voice. No one was in the house, my servant being out. When my husband came home, he was much startled to find how exactly {i-lxxix} his experience on that Sunday afternoon corresponded with my vivid impressions. It could not have been mere coincidence. I must add that I mentioned my experience to Mr. Arundel before he had spoken to me of his.

    “I have had impressions more than once, but never a false one. When Mr. Arundel first crossed to America he met with a severe storm. The night that the ship was in great danger (though it is impossible to define how), I knew and felt that it was so. I mentioned it to my friends, who ridiculed the fancy; nevertheless, the time corresponded precisely.1 1 An impression of this sort, occurring at what may naturally have been a time of anxiety, has no evidential weight. The distinctly auditory character of the more recent experience places it in quite a different category.

    “MARGUERITE ARUNDEL.

    Page 249, case 52. Dr. and Mme. Ollivier are both now deceased.

    Page 261, note. On vivâ voce examination of the witnesses, it seems probable that Portugal did enter into the impression; but Mrs. Wilson, differing from her husband, thinks he knew that his brothers were going-there—which certainly commends itself as the probable explanation of that detail. We had the door, which has been repainted, brought up to London, in order that the paint might be carefully removed. The expert whom we employed to do this told us that it was very improbable that the pencil marks would have resisted the action of turpentine and the friction of the repainting; and nothing relating to the incident was discovered.

    Page 304, bottom. Some further returns, received since this page was printed, leave unaltered the proportion stated.

    Page 306, line 18. After “death” insert “dreamt by any previously specified individual.” Lines 23 and 26. For 1 27 read 1 26. Line 28. After “will” insert “on an average, if chance alone rules.”

    Page 367, note. Visions of spectral funerals are mentioned by W. Howells, Cambrian Superstitions, pp. 54–6, 64; and by Wirt Sikes, British Goblins, pp. 231–2. An apparently telepathic instance, recorded in a collection of Border legends made by a Mr. Wilkie, may be found in W. Henderson’s Folk-lore of the Northern Counties of England and the Borders, p. 29.

    Page 394, note. It is true that Isaak Walton’s account represents Dr. Donne as declaring that he was certainly awake; but Walton is a third-hand witness. See p. 154, second paragraph, and the above remarks thereon.

    Page 408, case 154. Asked by her daughter to say “whether she remembered anything particular taking place at home” on the night of the death, Mrs. Thompson wrote as follows, on June 30, 1886:—

    “82, Talbot Street, Moss-side, Manchester.

    “I remember distinctly my daughter coming to my room several times asking me if I had called her, or if I knew who had called her, the night during which my nephew, Harry Suddaby, died.

    “MARY THOMPSON.”

    Page 479. Since this page was printed, I have received another instance of hallucinations voluntarily originated. A lady who has had a scientific training tells me that one bright June day, two years ago—when lying ill in bed, but with her mind especially active—she saw the gradual formation, on the background of the blind, of a statuesque head, which then changed {i-lxxx} into another. “I tired myself calling the pictures up again during the afternoon. They seemed as clear as if real, but after the first flash I was conscious of a mental effort with regard to them. Banishment was very easy; it only needed a relaxed tension.”

    To the cases mentioned in the note should be added Dr. Abercrombie’s description of a gentleman (not personally known to him) who “had the power of calling up spectral figures at his will, by directing his attention steadily to the conception of his own mind; and this may either consist of a figure or a scene which he has seen, or it may be a composition created by his imagination. But though he has the faculty of producing the illusion, he has no power of banishing it; and when he has called up any particular spectral figure or scene, he never can say how long it may continue. The gentleman is in the prime of life, of sound mind, in good health, and engaged in business. Another of his family has been affected in the same manner, though in a slighter degree.” (Inquiries concerning the Intellectual Powers, 1838, p. 363.)

    Pages 497–8. Chap. XI., § 2. The compatibility of sensory hallucinations, even of a very pronounced sort, with sound bodily and mental health is illustrated in the passage just quoted from Abercrombie. [above —Ed.]

    Page 503, lines 17, 18. The statement that hallucinations of the sane and healthy, representing non-human objects, seem to be “rarely if ever” grotesque or horrible, is rather too sweeping. An exception should at any rate be made for certain endemic hallucinations. (See Vol. II., p. 189, note.)

    Page 514, first paragraph. Some further examples of auditory hallucinations probably due to expectancy may be found in Howells’ Cambrian Superstitions (Tipton, 1831), p. 65. See also Sikes’s British Goblins, p. 229.

    Page 534, case 199. The account, confirmed by Mr. B. in 1883, was written in or before 1876. Mrs. B. writes, on Dec. 31, 1886:—“I perfectly recollect the occasion of Mrs.——’s death, and that my husband for a whole week was considerably concerned about her. My husband mentioned the vision the same morning, at the time it occurred, and we did not hear of the death till seven or eight days afterwards.” The death could not be traced in the register at Somerset House; but on inquiring of the coroner of the district where it occurred, we find that it took place exactly as described, on April 9, 1873, which, however, was a Wednesday, not a Saturday. The mistake as to the day of the week seems neither to increase nor to decrease the probability that Mr. and Mrs. B. were able, after the short interval which elapsed before they heard the news, correctly to identify the day of the vision with that of the death.

    Page 546, lines 14–16. Mr. Keulemans’ statement that his little boy’s fringe could not have grown to its usual length in a month might be questioned. But on my pointing this out to him, he explained that (being struck by the fact that the hair, as he saw it in his vision, was just as he had been accustomed to see it) he had expressly asked his mother-in-law what was the state of the child’s hair at the time of his death; and she had said that he “had very little hair—that it grew straight upright, and that he had no fringe when he died.” Mr. Keulemans has no difficulty in accepting this description, as he has recently made experiments with two {i-lxxxi} of his children, aged 4 and 6, with a result that entirely accords with it The rate at which hair grows seems to differ greatly in different people.

    Page 548 note. To the case mentioned add Mr. Wilkie’s narrative referred to above in connection with p. 367. Other possible examples of the bizarre investiture of a telepathic impression may be found in Kelly’s Curiosities of Indo-European Traditions and Folk-Lore, p. 104; and in G. Waldron’s Description of the Isle of Man, pp. 69–70,—a case to which we have a close parallel on good, but not first-hand, authority. See also Paul Sébillot’s Traditions de la Haute Bretagne, Vol. I., pp 265–9.

    Page 558, line 23. Major (now Colonel) Borthwick writes on Dec. 22, 1886, from the Chief Constable’s Office, County Buildings, Edinburgh, that he is under the impression that Captain Russell Colt mentioned his experience to the party at breakfast on the morning after it occurred.

    Page 559, case 211. In conversation, the narrator mentioned that the boots of the figure appeared clean, though it was pouring with rain; and that the stick which she afterwards recognised had a silver pomme,knob not a curved handle. She was noticing the passage of time, as her father had to catch a train that afternoon. She added some details which increase the probability that the dying man’s thoughts were running on her father at the last. As to the fact that it was she who was the percipient, and not her father, see Vol. II., pp. 268, 301; and compare cases 192, 225, 242, 307, 660.


    The following “transitional” case is a fresh specimen of the rare and most important class to which Nos. 13, 14, 15, 16, 685, and 686 belong; and is further of interest as being directly due to the publication of this book. The receipt of it justifies us in hoping that we may encounter more like it. On November 16th, 1886, the Rev. C. Godfrey, of 5, The Goffs, Eastbourne, wrote to Mr. Podmore as follows:—

    “I was so impressed by the account on p. 105, that I determined to put the matter to an experiment.

    “Retiring at 10.45, I determined to appear, if possible, to [a friend], and accordingly I set myself to work, with all the volitional and determinative energy which I possess, to stand at the foot of her bed. I need not say that I never dropped the slightest hint beforehand as to my intention such as would mar the experiment, nor had I mentioned the subject to her. As the ‘agent,’ I may describe my own experiences.

    “Undoubtedly the imaginative faculty was brought extensively into play, as well as the volitional; for I endeavoured to translate myself, spiritually, into the room, and to attract her attention, as it were while standing there. My effort was sustained for perhaps 8 minutes; after which I felt tired, and was soon asleep.

    “The next thing I was conscious of was meeting the lady next morning (i.e., in a dream, I suppose?) and asking her at once if she had seen me last night. The reply came ‘Yes.’ ‘How?’ I inquired. Then in words strangely clear and low, like a well-audible whisper, came the answer, ‘I was sitting beside you.’ These words, so clear, awoke me instantly, and I felt I must have been dreaming; but on reflection I remembered what I had been ‘willing’ before I fell asleep and it struck me, ‘This must be a reflex action from the percipient.’

    {i-lxxxii}

    “My watch showed 3.40 a.m. The following is what I wrote immediately in pencil, standing in my night-dress:—‘As I reflected upon those clear words, they struck me as being quite intuitive—I mean subjective, and to have proceeded from within, as my own conviction, rather than a communication from anyone else.1 1 At first sight, this seems inconsistent with the idea of the “reflex” or reciprocal action in the preceding paragraph. But Mr. Godfrey explains what he means as follows:—“I was dreaming: reflection convinced me that the particular words were not uttered in course of natural dream, but by reflex [reciprocal] action: also that they proceeded from myself, and not from any one standing over my bed in the room. It was ‘from any one else’ that confused my meaning. I meant any one in the room, not any one in another house: from her they clearly did proceed.” There does not seem, however, to be any such proof of reciprocal action as Mr. Godfrey supposes; no reason appears why his dream should not have been purely subjective. And yet I can’t remember her face at all, as one can after a vivid dream!’

    “But the words were uttered in a clear, quick tone, which was most remarkable, and awoke me at once.

    “My friend, in the note with which she sent me the enclosed account of her own experience, says: ‘I remember the man put all the lamps out soon after I came upstairs, and that is only done about a quarter to 4.’”

    Mr. Godfrey went next morning to see someone who resided in the same house as Mrs. ——, and was leaving, when “she called out to me from the window that she had something special to tell me; but being very busy, I could not return again into the house, and replied to the effect that it would keep. I am not quite certain now2 2 The letter here quoted was written to me on Jan. 13, 1887. Mr. Podmore says that it entirely accords with Mr. Godfrey’s and Mrs. ——’s independent vivâ voce accounts given on the previous Nov. 22. The reason why these details were not included in Mr. Podmore’s notes was that at the moment he was under the impression that they had been mentioned in Mr. Godfrey’s first letter, which was in my possession. whether it was on the afternoon of the same day, or later in the morning, that she called. I asked her, as usual [for she suffered from neuralgia], if she had had a good night, and she at once commenced to narrate as I have told you. When she had told me all, I begged her at once to go home and write it down. The account which I sent to you was the result; and it compared accurately with a few scribbled notes in pencil which I had hastily jotted down as she was relating it to me originally.”

    The following is the percipient’s account:—

    “Yesterday, viz., the morning of Nov. 16,1886, about half-past 3 o’clock, I woke up with a start, and an idea that someone had come into the room. I also heard a curious sound, but fancied it might be the birds in the ivy outside. Next I experienced a strange, restless longing to leave the room and go downstairs. This feeling became so overpowering that at last I rose, and lit a candle, and went down, thinking if I could get some soda-water it might have a quieting effect. On returning to my room, I saw Mr. Godfrey standing under the large window on the staircase. He was dressed in his usual style, and with an expression on his face that I have noticed when he has been looking very earnestly at anything. He stood there, and I held up the candle and gazed at him for 3 or 4 seconds in utter amazement; and then, as I passed up the staircase, he disappeared. The impression left on my mind was so vivid that I fully intended waking a friend who occupied the same room as myself; but remembering I should only be laughed at as romantic and imaginative, refrained from doing so.

    {i-lxxxiii}

    “I was not frightened at the appearance of Mr. Godfrey, but felt much excited and could not sleep afterwards.”

    In conversation with Mrs. —— (Nov. 22, 1886), Mr. Podmore learnt that she is a good sleeper, and not given to waking at nights. She does not remember ever before having experienced anything like the feeling which she had on first waking up. She was at the bottom of the stairs when she saw Mr. Godfrey’s figure, which appeared on the landing, about 11 steps up. It was quite distinct and life-like at first,—though she does not remember noticing more than the upper part of the body; as she looked, it grew more and more shadowy, and finally faded away. It must be added that she has seen in her life two other phantasmal appearances, which represented a parent whom she had recently lost. But a couple of experiences of this sort, coming at a time of emotional strain, cannot be regarded as a sign of any abnormal liability to subjective hallucinations (see p. 510); and even if she was destined anyhow to experience one other, the chances against its representing one particular member of her acquaintance, at the very time when he happened for the first time in his life to be making the effort above described, would be at least many hundreds of thousands to 1.

    We requested Mr. Godfrey to make another trial, without of course giving Mrs. —— any reason to expect that he would do so. He made a trial at once, thinking that we wanted the result immediately, though he himself thought the time unsuitable; and this was a failure. But on Dec. 8, 1886, he wrote as follows:—

    “My friend Mrs. —— has just been in, and given me an account of what she experienced last night; she is gone home to write it out for you, and it will be enclosed with mine. I can state that I have not attempted one experiment since I last communicated with you; therefore there are no failures to record. I was at Mrs. ——’s house last evening, and she testifies this morning that she had not the faintest suspicion that I intended attempting another experiment. The first words she used on seeing me this morning were (laughingly) ‘Well, I saw you last night, anyway.’

    “All the interest, as on the former occasion, of course lies with the percipient. I may simply explain that I acted as on the former occasion—viz., concentrated my attention on the percipient, while I was undressing; then devoted some 10 minutes, when in bed, to intense effort to transport myself to her presence, and make my presence felt both by voice and touch,—viz., placing my hand upon the percipient’s head. Then I fell asleep, slept well, and was conscious of nothing sufficiently vivid to awake me.

    “Directly I awoke at my usual time, about 6.40 a.m., I guessed that I had succeeded, because I instantly remembered that I had dreamt (as last time) of meeting the lady next day, and asking her the same question—viz., whether she had seen me, and the answer was, ‘Yes, I saw you indistinctly.’ This reflex action is very important, and I would undertake to tell, on any occasion, whether I had failed or succeeded. The words of reply (above) were written down by me on paper1 1 As to this note, and the one made on the former occasion, Mr. Godfrey writes, “I am very sorry that I never kept the scraps of newspaper edge upon which I jotted down my reflections, and the words which reached me, in the middle of the night. I jotted them down to exclude any invalidation of the inferences on score of defective memory; not thinking it needful to retain them as a check, when I had copied from them into my letters, they were committed to the flames.” before hearing the percipient’s account.

    {i-lxxxiv}

    “This case is, I think, very instructive, because of the sound of voice, as well as of sight.”

    Mr. Godfrey adds that Mrs. ——, though she appeared in good spirits, had been “frightened and a little unnerved”; and that he should not feel justified in repeating the experiment.

    The percipient’s account, written on Dec. 8, 1886, is as follows:—

    “Last night, Tuesday, Dec. 7th, I went upstairs at half-past 10. I remember distinctly locking the bed-room door, which this morning, to my astonishment, was unlocked. I was soon asleep, and had a strange dream of taking flowers to a grave. Suddenly I heard a voice say ‘Wake,’ and felt a hand rest on the left side of my head. (I was lying on the right side.) I was wide awake in a second, and heard a curious sound in the room, something like a Jew’s harp. I felt a cold breath streaming over me, and violent palpitation of the heart came on; and I also distinctly saw a figure leaning over me. The only light in the room was from the lamp outside, which makes a long line on the wall over the wash-stand. This line was partly obscured by the figure. I turned round at once, and the hand seemed to slip from my head to the pillow beside me. The figure was stooping over me, and I felt it leaning up against the side of the bed. I saw the arm resting on the pillow the whole time it remained. I saw an outline of the face, but it seemed as if a mist were before it. I think the time when it came must have been about half-past 12. It had drawn the curtain of the bed slightly back, but this morning I noticed it was hanging straight as usual. The figure was undoubtedly that of Mr. Godfrey. I knew it by the appearance of the shoulders and the shape of the face. The whole time it remained, there was a draught of cold air streaming through the room, as if both door and window were open. I heard the dining-room clock strike half-past something; and as I could not sleep again, but heard the clock strike hours and half-hours consecutively up to 5 o’clock, I think I am right in saying the time was half-past 12.”

    I have drawn attention (pp. 165–6, and Vol. II., p. 170) to the fact that the first-hand evidence for telepathic experiences includes no reports of physical changes produced in the material world—which, if they occurred, would be impossible to account for by the hypothesis of a temporary psychical transference from one mind to another. A percipient may have the hallucination of seeing the door opening (p. 102, note); but the door not having really been moved, it of course is not afterwards found open. So, in the above account, the curtain, which seemed to the percipient to be shifted at the time of her experience, was found in its place in the morning. On the other hand, the door, which she says that she had locked, was found unlocked. On being questioned as to this, she replies that the door is habitually locked at night, and that she does not walk in her sleep; but she thinks it probable that, after locking the door, she left the room to get some matches, and that she omitted to lock it again on her return. If anyone, after this, should be inclined to connect the unlocking with the apparition, I would suggest to him that a “ghost” which has shown its capacity to walk through a closed hall-door would, on finding a bed-room door locked on the inside, be more likely to walk through it than to unlock it.

    {i-1}

    CHAPTER I.

    PRELIMINARY REMARKS: GROUNDS OF CAUTION.

    § 1. WHATEVER the advances of science may do for the universe, there is one thing that they have never yet done and show no prospect of doing—namely, to make it less marvellous. Face to face with the facts of Nature, the wonderment of the modern chemist, physicist, zoologist, is far wider and deeper than that of the savage or the child; far wider and deeper even than that of the early workers in the scientific field. True it is that science explains; if it did not it would he worthless. But scientific explanation means only the reference of more and more facts to immutable laws; and, as discovery advances in every department, the orderly marvel of the comprehensive laws merely takes the place of the disorderly marvel of arbitrary occurrences. The mystery is pushed back, so to speak, from facts in isolation to facts in the aggregate; but at every stage of the process the mystery itself gathers new force and impressiveness.

    What, then, is the specific relation of the man of science to the phenomena which he observes? His explanation of them does not lead him to marvel at them less than the uneducated person: what does it lead him to do for them that the uneducated person cannot do? “To predict them with certainty,” it will no doubt be replied; “which further implies, in cases where the conditions are within his control, to produce them at will.” But it is important to observe that this power of prediction, though constantly proclaimed as the authoritative test of scientific achievement, is very far indeed from being an accurate one. For it is a test which is only fulfilled with anything like completeness by a small group of sciences—those which deal with inorganic nature. The physicist can proclaim with confidence that gravitation, and heat, and electricity (as long as they act at all) will continue to act as they do now; every discovery that the chemist makes about a substance is a {i-2} prophecy as to the behaviour of that class of substance for ever. But as soon as vital organisms appear on the scene, there is a change. Not only do the complexities of structure and process, and the mutual reactions of the parts and the whole, exclude all exact quantitative formulæ; not only is there an irreducible element of uncertainty in the behaviour from moment to moment of the simplest living unit; but there appear also developments, and varieties and “sports,” which present themselves to us as arbitrary—which have just to be registered, and cannot be explained. Not, of course, that they are really arbitrary; no scientifically trained mind entertains the least doubt that they are in every case the inevitable results of prior conditions. But the knowledge of the expert has not approximately penetrated to the secret of those conditions; here, therefore, his power of prediction largely fails him.

    This applies to a great extent even to events of a uniform and familiar order. Biological science may predict that an animal will be of the same species as its parents; but cannot predict its sex. It may predict the general characteristics of the next generation of men; but not the special attributes of a single individual. But its power of forecast is limited in a far more striking way—by the perpetual modification of the very material with which it has to deal. It is able to predict that, given such and such variations, natural selection will foster and increase them; that given such and such organic taints, heredity will transmit them: but it is powerless to say what the next spontaneous variation, or the next development of heredity will be. It is at work, not on steadfast substances with immutable qualities, like those of the inorganic world; but on substances whose very nature is to change. The evolution of animal existence, from protoplasm upwards, involves ever fresh elaborations in the composition of the vital tissues. Science traces the issue of these changes, and learns even to some extent to foresee and so to guide their course; it can thus lay down laws of scientific breeding, laws of medicine and hygiene. But the unconquerable spontaneity of the organic world is for ever setting previous generalisations at defiance; in great things and small, from the production of a new type of national physique to the production of a new variety of tulip, it is ever presenting fresh developments, whose necessity no one could divine, and of which no one could say aught until they were actually there. And so, though science follows closely after, and keeps up the game with spirit, its

    {i-3} position in its Wonderland is always rather like that of Alice in hers, when the croquet-hoops consisted of soldiers who moved as often as they chose. The game is one on which it will never be safe to bet for very far ahead; and it is one which will certainly never end.

    And if this is true of life in its physical manifestations, it is certainly not less true of its mental manifestations. It is to the latter, indeed, that we naturally turn for the highest examples of mobility, and the most marked exhibitions of the unexpected. An Athenian of Solon’s time, speculating on “the coming race,” might well have predicted for his countrymen the physical prowess that won Marathon, but not the peculiar intellectual vitality that culminated in the theatre of Dionysus. At the present moment, it is safer to prophesy that the next generation in Germany will include a good many hundreds of thousands of short-sighted persons than that it will include a Beethoven. Nor will it surprise us to find the “sports” and uncertainties of vital development most conspicuous on the psychical side, if we remember the nature of their physical basis. For mental facts are indissolubly linked with the very class of material facts that science can least penetrate—with the most complex sort of changes occurring in the most subtly-woven sort of matter—the molecular activities of brain-tissue.

    § 2. There exists, then, a large department of natural events where the test of prediction can be applied only in a restricted way. Whether the events be near or distant—whether the question be of intellectual developments a thousand years hence, or of the movements of an amoeba or the success of a “thought-transference” experiment in the next five minutes—there is here no voice that can speak with absolute authority. The expert gets his cosmic prophecies accepted by pointing to the perpetual fulfilment of his minor predictions in the laboratory; or he refutes adverse theories by showing that they conflict with facts that he can at any moment render patent. But as to the implications and possibilities of life—the constitution and faculties of man—he will do well to predict and refute with caution; for here he may fail even to guess the relation of what will be to what is. If his function as a prophet is not wholly abrogated, he is a prophet ever liable to correction. He is obliged to deal largely in likelihoods and tendencies; and (if I may venture on a prophecy which is perhaps as fallible as the rest) the interest in the laws that he is able to lay {i-4} down will never supersede the interest in the exceptions to those laws. Indeed it is in emphasising exceptions that his own rôle will largely consist. And above all must he beware of setting up any arbitrary “scientific frontier” between the part of Nature that he knows and the part that he does not know. He can trace the great flood of evolution to the point at which he stands; but a little beyond him it loses itself in the darkness; and though he may realise its general force and direction, and roughly surmise the mode in which its bed will be shaped, he can but dimly picture the scenes through which it will flow.

    But if the science of life cannot be final, there is no reason why it should not be accurate and coherent. And if the scope of definite scientific comprehension is here specially restricted, and the unexpected is specially certain to occur, that is no reason for abating one jot of care in the actual work that it remains possible to do—the work of sifting and marshalling evidence, of estimating sources of error, and of strictly adjusting theories to facts. On the contrary, the necessity for such care is only increased. If incaution may be sometimes shown in too peremptorily shutting the door on alleged phenomena which are not in clear continuity with established knowledge, it is far more often and flagrantly shown in the claim for their admission. And it is undeniable that the conditions which have been briefly described expose speculation on the possible developments of vital phenomena to peculiar dangers and difficulties. In proportion as the expert moderates his tone, and makes his forecasts in a tentative and hypothetical manner, it is certain that those who are not experts will wax bold in assertion and theory. The part of the map that science leaves blank, as terra incognita, is the very one which amateur geographers will fill in according to their fancy, or on the reports of uncritical and untrustworthy explorers. The confidence of ignorance is always pretty accurately adjusted to the confidence of knowledge. Wherever the expert can put his foot down, and assert or deny with assurance, the uninstructed instinctively bow to him. He fearlessly asserts, for instance, that the law of the conservation of energy cannot be broken; the world believes him, and the inventors of perpetual-motion-machines gradually die off. But suppose the question is of possible relations of human beings to inanimate things or to one another, new modes of influence, new forms of sensitiveness. Here responsible science can give no confident denial; here, therefore, irresponsible speculation finds its chance.

    {i-5}

    It has, no doubt, modified its language under the influence of half a century of brilliant physical discovery. It takes care to shelter its hypotheses under the name of law: the loosest of philosophers now-a-days would hesitate to appeal, as the elder Humboldt appealed sixty years ago, to a “sense of yearning in the human soul,” as a proof that the course of nature may suffer exceptions.1 1 Briefe an eine Freundin, p. 61. But the change is often rather in name than in fact; the “natural” lends itself to free guessing quite as easily as the “supernatural”; and nowhere in Nature is this freedom so unchartered as in the domain of psychic life. Speculation here is not only easy; it is, unfortunately, also attractive. The more obscure phenomena and the more doubtful assumptions are just those on which the popular mind most readily fastens; and the popular tongue rejoices in terms of the biggest and vaguest connotation. Something also must be set down to a natural reaction. Even persons whose interest has been earnest and intelligent have found scientific moral hard to preserve, in departments surrendered by a long-standing convention to unscientific treatment. Thus, in their practice, they have come to acquiesce in that surrender, and have dispensed with habits of caution for which no one was likely to give them credit; while in their polemic they have as much resented the stringent demands for evidence, in which their opponents have been right, as the refusal to look at it when it is there, in which their opponents have been wrong.

    § 3. The above facts, and the peculiar obligations which they involve, should never be lost sight of by the serious student of “psychical”2 2 The specific sense which we have given to this word needs apology. But we could find no other convenient term, under which to embrace a group of subjects that lie on or outside the boundaries of recognised science, while seeming to present certain points of connection among themselves. For instance, this book will contain evidences of the relation of telepathy—its main theme—both to mesmerism and to certain phenomena which are often, without adequate evidence, attributed to minds apart from material organisms. phenomena. His path is one that eminently craves wary walking. On the one hand, he finds new dim vistas of study opening out, in an age whose ideal of scientific studies is formed from the most highly developed specimens of them; and the twilight which has in every class of knowledge preceded the illuminating dawn of law is made doubly dark and dubious for him by the advanced daylight of scientific conceptions from which he peers into it. He finds, moreover, that the {i-6} marvellous recent extension of the area of the known through additions to its recognised departments and multiplication of their connections, has inevitably and reasonably produced a certain rigidity of scientific attitude—an increased difficulty in breaking loose from association, and admitting a new department on its own independent evidence. And on the other hand, he finds himself more or less in contact with advocates of new departments who ignore the weight of the presumption against them—who fail to see that it is from the recognised departments that the standard of evidence must be drawn, and that if speculation is to make good its right to outrun science, it will certainly not be by impatience of scientific canons. On this side the position of the psychical student is one in which the student of the recognised sciences is never placed. The physicist never finds his observations confronted or confounded with those of persons who claim

    familiarity with his subject while ignoring his methods: he never sees his statements and his theories classed or compared with theirs. He is marked out from his neighbours by the very fact of dealing with subject-matter which they do not know how even to begin to talk about. The “psychicist” is not so marked out. His subject-matter is in large measure common property, of which the whole world can talk as glibly as he; and the ground which must be broken for science, if at all, by the application of precise treatment, has already been made trite in connection with quite other treatment.

    § 4. The moral is one which the authors of the present undertaking have every reason to lay to heart. For the endeavour of this book, almost throughout, is to deal with themes that are in a sense familiar, by the aid, partly, of improved evidential methods, but partly also of conceptions which have as yet no place in the recognised psychology. Not, indeed, that the reader is about to be treated to any large amount of speculation; facts will be very much more prominent than theories. Still, the facts to be adduced carry us at least one step beyond the accepted boundaries. What they prove (if we interpret them rightly) is the ability of one mind to impress or to be impressed by another mind otherwise than through the recognised channels of sense. We call the owner of the impressing mind the agent, and the owner of the impressed mind the percipient; and we describe the fact of impression shortly by the term telepathy. We began by restricting that term to cases where the distance through which the transference {i-7} of impressions took place far exceeded the scope of the recognised senses; but it may be fairly extended to all cases of impressions conveyed without any affection of the percipient’s recognised senses, whatever may be his actual distance from the agent. I of course do not mean by this merely that the channel of communication is unrecognised by the person impressed—as in the drawing-room pastime where hidden pins are found through indications which the finder receives and acts on without any consciousness of guidance. By the words “otherwise than through the recognised channels of sense,” I mean that the cause or condition of the transferred impression is specifically unknown. It may sometimes be necessary or convenient to conceive it as some special supernormal or supersensuous1 1 It seems impossible to avoid these terms; yet each needs to be guarded from a probable misunderstanding. Supernormal is very liable to be confounded with supernatural; while supersensuous suggests a dogmatic denial of a physical side to the effect. faculty; and in that case we are undoubtedly assuming a faculty which is new—or at any rate is new to science. But we can at least claim that we take this step under compulsion; not in the light-hearted fashion which formerly improvised occult forces and fluids to account for the vagaries of hysteria; or which in our own day has discovered the dawn of a new sense, or the relic of some primeval instinct, in the ordinary exhibitions of the “willing-game.” Our inference of an unrecognised mode of affection has nothing in common with such inferences as these; for it has been made only after recognised modes have been carefully excluded.

    § 5. It is not, however, with the ultimate conditions of the phenomena that the study of them can begin: our first business is with the reality, rather than with the rationale, of their occurrence. Telepathy as a system of facts is what we have to examine. Discussion of the nature of the novel faculty in itself, and apart from particular results, will be as far as possible avoided. That, if it exists, it has important relations to various very fundamental problems—metaphysical, psychological, possibly even physical—can scarcely be doubted. So far from the scientific study of man being a region whose boundaries are pretty well mapped out, and which only requires to be filled in with further detail by physiologists and psychologists, we may come to perceive that we are standing only on the threshold of a vast terra incognita, which must be humbly explored before we can even guess at its true extent, or appreciate its relation to the more familiar {i-8} realms of knowledge. But such distant visions had better not be lingered over. Before the philosophical aspects of the subject can be profitably discussed, its position as a real department of knowledge must be amply vindicated. This can only be done by a wide survey of evidence; the character of the present treatise will therefore be mainly evidential.

    In demonstrating the reality of impressions communicated otherwise than through the known sensory channels, we rely on two distinct branches of evidence, each of which demands a special sort of caution. The larger portion of this work will deal with cases of spontaneous occurrence. Here the evidence will consist of records of experiences which we have received from a variety of sources—for the most part from living persons more or less known to us. Narratives of the same kind have from time to time appeared in other collections. These, however, have not been treated with any reference to a theory of telepathy such as is here set forth; nor have their editors fulfilled conditions which, for reasons to be subsequently explained (Chap. IV.), we have felt bound to observe; and we have found them of almost no assistance. In scarcely a single instance has a case been brought up to the standard which really commands attention.1 1 An exception should perhaps be made in favour of a few of the late Mr. R. Dale Owen’s narratives. The Rev. B. Wrey-Savile’s book on Apparitions contains some careful work, but it deals chiefly with remote cases. Dr. Mayo, in his Truths contained in Popular Superstitions, adduces very inadequate evidence; but he has given (p. 67) what is perhaps the first suggestion of a psychical explanation. The prime essentials of testimony in such matters—authorities, names, dates, corroboration, the ipsissima verbavery words of the witnesses—have one or all been lacking; and there seems to have been no appreciation of the strength of the à priori objections which the evidence has to overmaster, nor of the possible sources of error in the evidence itself. It is in analysing and estimating these sources of error, and in fixing the evidential standard which may fairly be applied, that the most difficult part of the present task will be seen to consist.

    But though the records here presented will be more numerous, and on the whole better attested, than those of previous collections, the majority of them will be of a tolerably well-known type. The peculiarity of the present treatment will come out rather in the connection of this branch of our evidence with the other branch. For our conviction that the supposed faculty of supersensuous impression is a genuine one is greatly fortified by a body of evidence of an experimental {i-9} kind—where the conditions could be arranged in such a way as to exclude the chances of error that beset the spontaneous cases. In considering this experimental branch of our subject, I shall of course, after what has been said, be specially bound to make clear the distinction between what we hold to be genuine cases and the spurious “thought-reading” exhibitions which are so much better known. This will be easy enough, and will be done in the next chapter.

    {i-10}

    CHAPTER II.

    THE EXPERIMENTAL BASIS: THOUGHT-TRANSFERENCE.

    § 1. IT is difficult to get a quite satisfactory name for the experimental branch of our subject. “Thought-reading” was the name that we first adopted; but this had several inconveniences. Oddly enough, the term has got identified with what is not thought-reading at all, but muscle-reading—of which more anon. But a more serious objection to it is that it suggests a power to read anything that may be going on in the mind of another person—to probe characters and discover secrets—which raises a needless prejudice against the whole subject. The idea of such a power has, in fact, been converted into an ad absurdum argument against the existence of the faculty for which we contend. To suppose that people’s minds can be thus open to one another, it was justly enough said, would be to contradict the assumption on which all human intercourse has been carried on. Our answer, of course, is that we have never supposed people’s minds to be thus open to one another; that such a supposition would be as remote as possible from the facts on which we rely; and that the most accomplished “thought-reader’s” power is never likely to be a matter of social inconvenience. The mode of experimentation may reassure those who look on the genuine faculty as dangerous or uncanny; for the results, as a rule, have to be tried for by a distinct, and often a very irksome, process of concentration on the part of the person whose “thought” is to be “read” And this being so, it is clearly important to avoid such an expression as “thought-reading,” which conveys no hint that his thought is anything else than an open page, or that his mental attitude has anything to do with the phenomenon.

    The experiments involve, in fact, the will of two persons; and of the two minds, it is rather the one which reads that is passive and the one which is read that is active. It is for the sake of recognising this that we distinguish the two parties as “agent” and {i-11} “percipient,” and that we have substituted for thought-reading the term thought-transference. Thought must here be taken as including more than it does in ordinary usage; it must include sensations and volitions as well as mere representations or ideas. This being understood, the name serves its purpose fairly well, as long as we are on experimental ground. It will not be forgotten, however, that our aim is to connect an experimental with a spontaneous class of cases; and according to that view it will often be convenient to describe the former no less than the latter as telepathic. We thus get what we need, a single generic term which embraces the whole range of phenomena and brings out their continuity—the simpler experimental forms being the first step in a graduated series.

    §2. The history of experimental thought-transference has been a singular one. It was not by direct trial, nor in what we should now account their normal form, that the phenomena first attracted the attention of competent witnesses. Their appearance was connected with the discovery that the somnambulic state could be artificially induced. It was after the introduction of “mesmerism” or “magnetism” into France, and in the course of the investigation of that wider subject, that this special feature unexpectedly presented itself. The observations remained, it is true, extremely few and scattered. The greater part of them were made in this country, during the second quarter of the present century; and took the form of community of sensation between the operator and the patient. The transference of impressions here depended on a specific rapport previously induced by mesmeric or hypnotic operations—passes, fixation, and the like. To us, now, this mesmeric rapport (in some, at any rate, of its manifestations) seems nothing more than the faculty of thought-transference confined to a single agent and percipient, and intensified in degree by the very conditions which limit its scope. But the course of discovery inverted the logical order of the phenomena. The recognition of the particular case, where the exercise of the faculty was narrowed down to a single channel, preceded by a long interval the recognition of the more general phenomena, as exhibited by persons in a normal state. The transference of impressions was naturally regarded as belonging essentially to mesmerism. As such, it was only one more wonder in a veritable wonderland; and while obtaining on that account the readier acceptance among those who witnessed it, it to {i-12} some extent shut out the idea of the possibility of similar manifestations where no specific rapport had been artificially established.

    But there was a further result. The early connection of thought-transference with mesmerism distinctly damaged its chance of scientific recognition. Those who believed in cognate marvels might easily believe in this marvel: but cautious minds rejected the whole posse of marvels together. And one can hardly wonder at this, when one remembers the wild and ignorant manner in which the claims of Mesmer and his followers were thrust upon the world. A man who professed to have magnetised the sun could hardly expect a serious hearing; and even the operators who eschewed such extravagant pretensions still too often advocated their cause in a language that could only cover it with contempt. Theories of “odylic” force, and of imponderable fluids pervading the body—as dogmatically set forth as if they ranked in certainty with the doctrine of the circulation of the blood—were not likely to attract scientific inquiry to the facts. And in the later developments of hypnotism—in which many of the old “mesmeric” phenomena have been re-studied from a truer point of view, and rapport of a certain sort between the hypnotist and the “subject” has been admitted—there has been so much to absorb observation in the extraordinary range of mental and physical effects which the operator can command by verbal or visible suggestion, that the far rarer telepathic phenomena have, so to speak, been crowded out.1 1 I refer specially to the eminent group of hypnotists at Nancy—Dr. Liébeault, and Professors Beaunis, Bernheim, and Liégeois. Dr. Liébeault has, however, personally described to us several instances of apparently telepathic transference which he has encountered in the course of his professional experience; and some observations recorded by Professor Beaunis (in his admirable article on hypnotism in the Revue Philosophique for August, 1885, p. 126), at any rate point, as he admits, to a new mode of sensibility. And since the above remarks were written, both these gentlemen have made definite experiments in telepathy, some of the results of which will be found in Vol. ii., pp. 333–4 and 657–60. The consequence is that after nearly a century of controversy, the most interesting facts of mesmeric history are quite as little recognised as the less specialised kinds of thought-transference, which have only within the last few years been seriously looked for or definitely obtained.

    Some of the older cases referred to will be found quoted in extenso in the first chapter of the Supplement. Though recorded for the most part in a fragmentary and unsatisfactory way, it will be seen that they do not lack good, or even high, scientific authority. The testimony of Mr. Esdaile, for many years Presidency Surgeon in Calcutta, cannot be despised by any instructed {i-13} physiologist in our day; inasmuch as his work is now recognised as one of the most important contributions ever made to the rapidly-growing science of hypnotism. No one has denied the ability and integrity of Dr. Elliotson, nor (in spite of his speculative extravagances) of Reichenbach—who both witnessed instances of hypnotic telepathy. And though Professor Gregory, Dr. Mayo, the Rev. C. H. Townsend, and others, may not have been men of acute scientific intelligence, they were probably competent to conduct, and to record with accuracy, experiments the conditions of which involved no more than common care and honesty. We cannot but account it strange that such items of testimony as these men supplied should have been neglected, even by those who were most repelled by the ignorance and fanaticism which infected a large amount of the mesmeric literature. But since such was the fact, the observations will hardly now make their weight felt, except in connection with the fuller testimony of a more recent date. It is characteristic of every subject which depends on questions of fact, and which has yet failed to win a secure place in intelligent opinion, that any further advance must for the most part depend on contemporary evidence. I may, therefore, pass at once to the wholly new departure in thought-transference which the last few years have witnessed.

    § 3. The novelty of this departure—as has been already intimated—consists in the fact that successful results have been obtained when the percipient was apparently in a perfectly normal state, and had been subjected to no mesmerising or hypnotising process. The dawn of the discovery must be referred to the years 1875 and 1876. It was in the autumn of the latter year that our colleague, Professor W. F. Barrett, brought under the notice of the British Association, at Glasgow, a cautious statement of some remarkable facts which he had encountered, and a suggestion of the expediency of ascertaining how far recognised physiological laws would account for them. The facts themselves were connected with mesmerism;1 1 Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research, Vol. i., pp. 241–2. but the discussion in the Press to which the paper gave rise led to a considerable correspondence, in which Professor Barrett found his first hints of a faculty of thought-transference existing independently of the specific mesmeric rapport.

    That these hints happened to be forthcoming, just at the right moment, was a piece of great good fortune, and was due {i-14} primarily to a circumstance quite unconnected with science, and from which serious results would scarcely have been anticipated—the invention of the “willing-game.” In some form or other this pastime is probably familiar to most of my readers, either through personal trials or through the exhibitions of platform performers. The ordinary process is this. A member of the party, who is to act as “thought-reader,” or percipient, leaves the room; the rest determine on some simple action which he, or she, is to perform, or hide some object which he is to find. The would-be percipient is then recalled, and his hand is taken or his shoulders are lightly touched by one or more of the willers. Under these conditions the action is often quickly performed or the object found. Nothing could at first sight look less like a promising starting-point for a new branch of inquiry. The “willer” usually asserts, with perfect good faith, and often perhaps quite correctly, that he did not push; but so little is it necessary for the guiding impression to be a push that it may be the very reverse—a slight release of tension when the “willed” performer, after various minute indications of a tendency to move in this, that, or the other wrong direction, at last hits on the right one. Even when the utmost care is used to maintain the light contact with absolute neutrality, it is impossible to lay down the limits of any given subject’s sensibility to such slight tactile and muscular hints. The experiments of Drs. Carpenter and Beard, and especially those of a member of our own Society, the Rev. E. H. Sugden, of Bradford,1 1 Proceedings of the S.P.R., Vol. i, p. 291; Vol. ii., p. 11. and other unpublished ones on which we can rely, have shown us that the difference between one person and another in this respect is very great, and that with some organisations a variation of pressure so slight that the supposed “willer” may be quite unaware of exercising it, but which he applies according as the movements of the other person are on the right track or not, may afford a kind of yes or no indication quite sufficient for a clue. This, indeed, is the one direct piece of instruction which the game has supplied. We might perhaps have been to some extent prepared for the result by observing the infinitesimal touches to which a horse will respond, or the extremely slight indications on which we ourselves often act in ordinary life. But till this game was played, probably no one fully realised that muscular hints, so slight as to be quite unconsciously given, could be equally unconsciously {i-15} taken; and that thus a definite course of action might be produced without the faintest idea of guidance on either side. In some cases it appeared that even contact could be dispensed with, and the guidance was presumably of an auditory kind—the “subject” extracting from the mere footsteps of the “willer”, who was following him about, hints of satisfaction or dissatisfaction at the course he was taking.1 1See the record of Mr. A. E. Outerbridge’s experiments, published by Dr. Beard in the American Popular Science Monthly for July, 1877. But though this remarkable susceptibility to a particular order of impressions was an interesting discovery, the results which could be thus explained clearly involved nothing new in kind. That recognised faculties may exhibit unsuspected degrees of refinement is a common enough conception. The more important point was that there were certain results which, apparently, could not be thus explained, at any rate, in any off-hand way. Occasionally the actions required of the “willed” performer were of so complicated a sort, and so rapidly carried out, as to cast considerable doubt on the adequacy of any muscular hints to evoke and guide them. Here, then, was the first indication of something new—of a hitherto unrecognised faculty; and by good fortune, as I have said, Professor Barrett’s appeal for further evidence as to transferred impressions came just at the time when the game had obtained a certain amount of popularity, and when its more delicate and unaccountable phenomena had attracted attention.

    Meanwhile similar observations were being made in America. America, indeed, was the original home of the “willing” entertainment; and it is to an American, Dr. McGraw, that the credit belongs of having been the first (as far as I am aware) to detect in it the possible germ of something new to science. In the Detroit Review of Medicine for August, 1875, Dr. McGraw gave a clear account of the ordinary physiological process—“the perception by a trained operator of involuntary and unconscious muscular movements”; and then proceeded as follows:—

    “It seemed to me that there were features in these exhibitions which could not be satisfactorily explained on the hypothesis of involuntary muscular action, for … we are required to believe a man could unwillingly, and in spite of himself, give information by unconscious and involuntary signs that he could not give under the same circumstances by voluntary and conscious action … It seems to me there is a hint towards the possibility of the nervous system of one individual being used by the active will of another to accomplish certain simple motions.”

    {i-16}

    But though there might be enough in the phenomena to justify cautious suggestions of this sort, the ground is at best very uncertain. Even where some nicety of selection is involved, as, for instance, when a particular note is to be struck on the piano, or a particular book to be taken out of a shelf, still, unless the subject’s hand moves with extreme rapidity, it will be perfectly possible for an involuntary and unconscious indication to be given by the “willer” at the instant that the right note or book is reached. In reports of such cases it is sometimes stated that there was no tentative process, and that the “subject’s” hand seemed to obey the other person’s will with almost the same directness as that person’s own hand would have done. But this is a question of degree as to which the confidence of an eye-witness cannot easily be imparted to others. It may be worth while, however, to give an instance of a less common type by which the theory of muscular guidance does undoubtedly seem to be somewhat strained.

    The case was observed by Mr. Myers on October 31st, 1877. The performers were two sisters.

    “I wrote the letters of the alphabet on scraps of paper. I then thought of the word CLARA and showed it to M. behind R.’s back, R. sitting at the table. M. put her hands on R.’s shoulders, and R. with shut eyes picked out the letters C L A R V—taking the V apparently for a second A, which was not in the pack—and laid them in a heap. She did not know, she said, what letters she had selected. No impulse had consciously passed through her mind, only she had felt her hands impelled to pick up certain bits of paper.

    “This was a good case as apparently excluding pushing. The scraps were in a confused heap in front of R., who kept still further confusing them, picking them up and letting them drop with great rapidity. M.’s hands remained apparently motionless on R.’s shoulders, and one can hardly conceive that indications could be given by pressure, from the rapid and snatching manner in which R. collected the right letters, touching several letters in the course of a second. M., however, told me that it was always necessary that she, M., should see the letters which R. was to pick up.”

    Such a case may not suggest thought-transference, but it at any rate tempts one to look deeper than crude sensory signs for the springs of action, and to conceive the governance of one organism by another through some sort of nervous induction. It at any rate differs greatly in its conditions from the famous bank-note trick, where a number is written on a board, so slowly, and in figures of so large a size, that at every point the “willer” may mark his {i-17} opinion of the direction the lines are taking by involuntary muscular hints.

    It would be useless to accumulate further instances. The best of them could never be wholly conclusive, and mere multiplication adds nothing to their weight. By some of them, as I have said, the theory of muscular guidance is undoubtedly strained. But then the theory of muscular guidance ought to be strained, and strained to the very utmost, before being declared inadequate; and it would always be a matter of opinion whether the point of “utmost” strain had been overpassed. Dr. McGraw and Professor Barrett surmised that it had; Dr. Beard, of New York, was confident that it had not. The contention between “mind-reading” and “muscle-reading” could never reach a definite issue on this ground. But meanwhile the confident and exclusive adherents of the muscular hypothesis had a position of decided advantage over the doubters, for they could fairly enough represent themselves as the champions of science in its war with popular superstitions. The popular imagination more suoin its usual manner had fastened on the phenomena en bloc, and had decided that they were what they seemed to be—“thought-reading.” To the average sightseer a mysterious word is far more congenial than a physiological explanation; and it was, of course, the interest of the professional exhibitor to adopt and advertise a description which seemed to invest him with novel and magical powers. What more natural, therefore, than that those who saw the absurdity of these pretensions should regard further inquiry or suspension of judgment as a concession to ignorant credulity? “Irving Bishop,” it seemed fair to argue, “is a professed ‘thought-reader’; Irving Bishop’s tricks are, at best, mere feats of muscular and tactile sensibility; ergo whoever believes that there is such a thing as ‘thought-reading’ is on a par with the crowd who are mystified by Irving Bishop.”

    § 4. If, then, the ground of experiment had remained unchanged—if the old “willing-game” had merely continued to appear in various forms—no definite advance could have been made. But on the path of the old experiments, a quite new phenomenon now presented itself, which no one could have confidently anticipated, but for which the suggestions drawn from the most advanced phenomena of the “willing-game” had to some extent prepared the way. It was discovered that not only transferences of impression could take place without contact, but that there was no necessity for the result aimed {i-18} at to involve movements; the fact of the transference might be shown, not—as in the “willing-game”—by the subject’s ability to do something, but by his ability to discern and describe an object thought of by the “willer.” Both parties could thus remain perfectly still; which was really a more important condition than even the absence of contact. In this form of experiment, muscle-reading and all the subtler forms of unconscious guidance are completely excluded; and the dangers which remain are such as can, with sufficient care, be clearly defined and safely guarded against. Indications of a visual kind—for instance, by the involuntary direction of glances—have no scope if the object which the percipient is to name is not present or visible in the room. There is, of course, an obvious danger in low whispering, or even soundless movements of the lips; while the faintest accent of approval or disapproval in question or comment may give a hint as to whether the effort is tending in the right direction, and thus guide to the mark by successive approximations. Any exhibition of the kind before a promiscuous company is nearly sure to be vitiated by the latter source of error. But when the experiments are carried on in a limited circle of persons known to each other, and amenable to scientific control, it is not hard for those engaged to set a watch on their own and on each other’s lips; and questions and comments can be entirely forbidden.

    I have been speaking of the danger of involuntary guidance. There is, of course, another danger to be considered—that of voluntary guidance—of actual collusion between the agent and percipient. Contact being excluded, such guidance would have to be by signals; and it is impossible to lay down any precise limit to the degree of perfection that a plan of signalling may reach. The long and short signs of the Morse code admit of many varieties of application; and though the channels of sight and touch may be cut off, it is difficult entirely to cut off that of hearing. Shufflings of the feet, coughs, irregularities of breathing, all offer available material. But though the precise line of possibilities in this direction cannot be drawn, we are at any rate able to suggest cases where the line would be clearly overpassed. For instance, if the idea to be transferred from the agent to the percipient is inexpressible in less than twenty words; and if hearing is the only sensory channel left open; and if it is carefully observed that there are no coughs or shufflings, and that the agent’s breathing appears regular, then one seems justified in saying that the necessary information could not be conveyed by a code {i-19} without a very considerable expenditure of time, and a very abnormally acute sense of hearing on the percipient’s part. There is no relation whatever between a private experiment performed under such conditions as these, and the feats of a conjurer, like Mr. Maskelyne, who commands secret apparatus, and whose every word and gesture may be observed and interpreted by a concealed confederate.

    It would be rash, however, to represent as crucial any apparent transferences of thought between persons not absolutely separated, where the good faith of at least one of the two is not accepted as beyond question, and where the genuineness of the result is left to depend on the perfection with which third parties have arranged conditions and guarded against signs. The conditions of a crucial result, for one’s own mind, are either (1) that the agent or the percipient shall be oneself; or (2) that the agent or percipient shall be someone whose experience, as recorded by himself, is indistinguishable in certainty from one’s own; or (3) that there shall be several agents or percipients, in the case of each of whom the improbability of deceit, or of such imbecility as would take the place of deceit, is so great that the combination of improbabilities amounts to a moral impossibility. The third mode of attaining conviction is the most practically important. For it is not to be expected of most people that, within a short time, they will either themselves be, or have intimate friends who are, successful agents or percipients; and they are justified, therefore, in demanding that the evidence to which they might fairly refuse credence if it depended on the veracity and intelligence of one or two persons, of however unblemished a reputation, shall be multiplied for their benefit. Whatever be the experimenter’s assurance as to the perfection of his conditions, it is in the nature of things impossible that strangers, who only read and have not seen, should be infected by it. They cannot be absolutely certain that this, that, or the other stick might not break; then enough sticks must be collected and tied together to make a faggot of a strength which shall defy suspicion.1 1 In reference to the objection that the demand for quantity of evidence shows that we know the quality of each item to be bad, I may quote the following passage from a presidential address of Professor Sidgwick’s: “The quality of much of our evidence—when considered apart from the strangeness of the matters to which it refers—is not bad, but very good: it is such that one or two items of it would be held to establish the occurrence, at any particular time and place, of any phenomenon whose existence was generally accepted. Since, however, on this subject the best single testimony only yields an improbability of the testimony being false that is outweighed by the improbability of the fact being true, the only way to make the scale fall on the side of the testimony is to increase the quantity. If the testimony were not good, this increase of quantity would be of little value; but if it is such that the hypothesis of its falsity requires us to suppose abnormal motiveless deceit, or abnormal stupidity or carelessness, in a person hitherto reputed honest and intelligent, then an increase in the number of cases in which such a supposition is required adds importantly to the improbability of the general hypothesis. It

    is sometimes said by loose thinkers that the ‘moral factor’ ought not to come in at all. But the least reflection shows that the moral factor must come in in all the reasonings of experimental science, except for those who have personally repeated all the experiments on which their conclusions are based. Any one who accepts the report of the experiments of another must rely, not only on his intelligence, but on his honesty: only ordinarily his honesty is so completely assumed that the assumption is not noticed.” As regards the experiments {i-20} of which I am about to present a sketch, it is not necessary to my argument that any individual’s honesty shall be completely assumed, in the sense of being used as a certain basis for conclusions. The proof must depend on the number of persons, reputed honest and intelligent, to whom dishonesty or imbecility must be attributed if the conclusions are wrong, i.e., it must be a cumulative proof. Not that my colleagues and I have any doubt as to the bona fides of every case here recorded. But even where our grounds of certainty are most obvious, they cannot be made entirely obvious to those to whom we and our more intimate associates are personally unknown; while outside this inner circle our confidence depends on points that can scarcely even be suggested to others—on views of character gradually built up out of a number of small and often indefinable items of conversation and demeanour. We may venture to say that a candid critic, present during the whole course of the experiments, would have carried away a far more vivid impression of their genuineness than any printed record can convey. But it must be distinctly understood that we discriminate our cases; and that even where the results are to our own minds crucial—in that they can only be impugned by impugning the honesty or sanity of members of our own investigating Committee—we do not demand their acceptance on this ground alone, or attempt accurately to define the number of reputations which should be staked before a fair mind ought to admit the proof as overwhelming. As observations are accumulated, different “fair minds” will give in at different points; and until the most exacting are satisfied, our task will be incomplete.

    § 5. I mentioned above the correspondence which followed Professor Barrett’s appeal for evidence. In this correspondence, among many instances of the higher aspects of the “willing-game,” there was a small residue which pointed to a genuine transference of impression without contact or movement. Of this residue the most important item was that supplied by our friend, the Rev. A. M. Creery, then {i-21} resident at Buxton, and now working in the diocese of Manchester. He had his attention called to the subject in October, 1880; and was early struck by the impossibility of deciding, in cases where contact was employed, how far the powers of unconscious muscular guidance might extend. He, therefore, instituted experiments with his daughters and with a young maid-servant, in which contact was altogether eschewed. He thus describes the early trials:—

    “Each went out of the room in turn, while I and the others fixed on some object which the absent one was to name on returning to the room. After a few trials the successes preponderated so much over the failures that we were all convinced there was something very wonderful coming under our notice. Night after night, for several months, we spent an hour or two each evening in varying the conditions of the experiments, and choosing new subjects for thought-transference. We began by selecting the simplest objects in the room; then chose names of towns, names of people, dates, cards out of a pack, lines from different poems, &c., in fact any things or series of ideas that those present could keep steadily before their minds; and when the children were in good humour, and excited by the wonderful nature of their successful guessing, they very seldom made a mistake. I have seen seventeen cards, chosen by myself, named right in succession, without any mistake. We soon found that a great deal depended on the steadiness with which the ideas were kept before the minds of ‘the thinkers,’ and upon the energy with which they willed the ideas to pass. Our worst experiments before strangers have invariably been when the company was dull and undemonstrative; and we are all convinced that when mistakes are made, the fault rests, for the most part, with the thinkers, rather than with the thought-readers.”

    In the course of the years 1881 and 1882, a large number of experiments were made with the Creery family, first by Professor Barrett, then by Mr. and Mrs. Sidgwick, by Professor Balfour Stewart, F.R.S., and Professor Alfred Hopkinson, of Owens College, Manchester, and, after the formation of the Society for Psychical Research, by the Thought-transference Committee of that body, of which Mr. Myers and myself were members. The children in turn acted as “percipients,” the other persons present being “agents,” i.e., concentrating their minds on the idea of some selected word or thing, with the intention that this idea should be transferred to the percipient’s mind. The thing selected was either a card, taken at random from a full pack; or a name chosen also at random; or a number, usually of two figures; or occasionally some domestic implement or other object in the house. The percipient was, of course, absent when the selection was made, and when recalled had no means of discovering through the exercise of the senses what it was, unless by signals, consciously or unconsciously {i-22} given by one or other of the agents. Strict silence was maintained throughout each experiment, and when the group of agents included any members of the Creery family, the closest watch was kept in order to detect any passage of signals; but in hundreds of trials nothing was observed which suggested any attempt of the sort. Still, such simple objects would not demand an elaborate code for their description; nor were any effective means taken to block the percipient’s channels of sense—it being thought expedient in these early trials not to disturb their minds by obtrusive precautions. We could not, therefore, regard the testimony of the investigators present as adding much weight to the experiments in which any members of the family were among the group of agents, unless the percipient was completely isolated from that group. Such a case was the following:—

    “Easter, 1881. Present: Mr. and Mrs. Creery and family, and W. F. Barrett, the narrator. One of the children was sent into an adjoining room, the door of which I saw was closed. On returning to the sitting-room and closing its door also, I thought of some object in the house, fixed upon at random; writing the name down, I showed it to the family present, the strictest silence being preserved throughout. We then all silently thought of the name of the thing selected. In a few seconds the door of the adjoining room was heard to open, and after a very short interval the child would enter the sitting-room, generally with the object selected. No one was allowed to leave the sitting-room after the object had been fixed upon; no communication with the child was conceivable, as her place was often changed. Further, the only instructions given to the child were to fetch some object in the house that I would fix upon, and, together with the family, silently keep in mind, to the exclusion, as far as possible, of all other ideas. In this way I wrote down, among other things, a hair-brush; it was brought: an orange; it was brought: a wine glass; it was brought: an apple; it was brought: a toasting-fork; failed on the first attempt, a pair of tongs being brought, but on a second trial it was brought. With another child (among other trials not here mentioned) a cup was written down by me; it was brought: a saucer; this was a failure, a plate being brought; no second trial allowed. The child being told it was a saucer, replied, ‘That came into my head, but I hesitated as I thought it unlikely you would name saucer after cup, as being too easy.’”

    But, of course, the most satisfactory condition was that only the members of the investigating Committee should act as agents, so that signals could not possibly be given unless by one of them. This condition clearly makes it idle to represent the means by which the transferences took place as simply a trick which the members of the investigating Committee failed to detect. The trick, if trick there {i-23} was, must have been one in which they, or one of them, actively shared; the only alternative to collusion on their part being some piece of carelessness amounting almost to idiocy—such as uttering the required word aloud, or leaving the selected card exposed on the table. The following series of experiments was made on April 13th, 1882. The agents were Mr. Myers and the present writer, and two ladies of their acquaintance, the Misses Mason, of Morton Hall, Retford, who had become interested in the subject by the remarkable successes which one of them had obtained in experimenting among friends.1 1 See Miss Mason’s interesting paper on the subject in Macmillan’s Magazine for October, 1882. As neither of these ladies had ever seen any member of the Creery family till just before the experiments began, they had no opportunities for arranging a code of signals with the children; so that any hypothesis of collusion must in this case be confined to Mr. Myers or the present writer. As regards the hypothesis of want of intelligence, the degree of intelligent behaviour required of each of the four agents was simply this: (1) To keep silence on a particular subject; and (2) to avoid unconsciously displaying a particular card or piece of paper to a person situated at some yards’ distance. The first condition was realised by keeping silence altogether; the second by remaining quite still. The four observers were perfectly satisfied that the children had no means at any moment of seeing, either directly or by reflection, the selected card or the name of the selected object. The following is the list of trials:—

    Objects to be named. (These objects had been brought, and still remained, in the pocket of one of the visitors. The name of the object selected for trial was secretly written down, not spoken.)
    A White Penknife.—Correctly named, with the colour, the first trial.
    Box of Almonds.—Correctly named.
    Threepenny piece.—Failed.
    Box of Chocolate.—Button-box said; no second trial given.
    (A penknife was then hidden; but the place was not discovered.)
    Numbers to be named.
    Five.—Rightly given on the first trial.
    Fourteen.—Failed.
    Thirty-three.—54 (No). 34 (No). 33 (Right).
    Sixty-eight.—58 (No). 57 (No). 78 (No).
    Fictitious names to be guessed.
    Martha Billings.—“Biggis” was said.
    {i-24}
    Catherine Smith.—“Catherine Shaw” was said.
    Henry Gowper.—Failed.
    Cards to be named.
    Two of clubs.—Right first time.
    Queen of diamonds.—Right first time.
    Four of spades.—Failed.
    Four of hearts.—Right first time.
    King of hearts.—Right first time.
    Two of diamonds.—Right first time.
    Ace of hearts.—Right first time.
    Nine of spades.—Right first time.
    Five of diamonds.—Four of diamonds (No). Four of hearts (No).
    Five of diamonds (Right).
    Two of spades.—Right first time.
    Eight of diamonds.—Ace of diamonds said; no second trial given.
    Three of hearts.—Right first time.
    Five of clubs.—Failed.
    Ace of spades.—Failed.

    The chances against accidental success in the case of any one card are, of course, 51 to 1; yet out of fourteen successive trials nine were successful at the first guess, and only three trials can be said to have been complete failures. The odds against the occurrence of the five successes running, in the card series, are considerably over 1,000,000 to 1. On none of these occasions was it even remotely possible for the child to obtain by any ordinary means a knowledge of the object selected. Our own facial expression was the only index open to her; and even if we had not purposely looked as neutral as possible, it is difficult to imagine how we could have unconsciously carried, say, the two of diamonds written on our foreheads.

    During the ensuing year, the Committee, consisting of Professor Barrett, Mr. Myers, and the present writer, made a number of experiments under similar conditions, which excluded contact and movement, and which confined the knowledge of the selected object—and, therefore, the chance of collusion with the percipient—to their own group. In some of these trials, conducted at Cambridge, Mrs. F. W. H. Myers and Miss Mason also took part. In a long series conducted at Dublin, Professor Barrett was alone with the percipient. Altogether these scrupulously guarded trials amounted to 497; and of this number 95 were completely successful at the first guess, and 45 at the second. The results may be clearer if arranged in a tabular form.

    {i-25}

    TABLE SHOWING THE SUCCESS OBTAINED WHEN THE SELECTED OBJECT WAS KNOWN TO ONE OR MORE OF THE INVESTIGATING COMMITTEE ONLY.

    Place of Trial. Object Chosen. No. of Trials. Probability of success by mere chance at each 1st guess. Most probable number of successes at the 1st guess if chance alone acted. Number of successes obtained Number of successes reckoning both 1st and 2nd guesses. Probability of attaining by mere chance the amount of success which the first guesses gave.
    At the 1st guess. At the 2nd guess after the 1st had failed.

    * A full pack was used, from which a card was in each case drawn at random.

    † This number is obtained by multiplying each figure of the third column by the corresponding figure in the fourth column (e.g., 216 × 1/52), and adding the products.

    ‡ This entry is calculated from the first three totals in the last horizontal row, in the same way that each other entry in the last column is calculated from the first three totals in the corresponding horizontal row.

    Buxton Playing Cards* 14 1 52 0 9 0 9 ·000,000,000,000,7
    Numbers, &c. 15 1 90 0 4 0 4 ·000,02
    Cambridge Playing Cards* 216 1 52 4 17 18 35 ·000,000,1
    Numbers 64 1 90 1 5 6 11 ·007
    Dublin Playing Cards* 30 1 52 1 3 0 3 ·02
    Numbers, &c. 108 1 12 9 32 11 43 ·000,000,000,2
    Words 50 ¼ 13 25 10 35 ·000,1
    Totals 497 27† 95 45 140 ·000,000,000,000,000,
    000,000,000,01‡
    {i-26}

    Mr. F. Y. Edgeworth, to whom these results were submitted, and who calculated the final column of the Table, has kindly appended the following remarks:—

    “These observations constitute a chain or rather coil of evidence, which at first sight and upon a general view is seen to be very strong, but of which the full strength cannot be appreciated until the concatenation of the parts is considered.

    “Viewed as a whole the Table presents the following data. There are in all 497 trials. Out of these there are 95 successes at the first guess. The number of successes most probable on the hypothesis of mere chance is 27. The problem is one of the class which I have discussed in the Proceedings of the S. P. R., Vol. III., p. 190, &c. The approximative formula there given is not well suited to the present case,1 1 The formula is adequate to prove that an inferior limit of the sought probability is ·9999 in which the number of successes is very great, the probability of their being due to mere chance very small, in relation to the total number of trials. It is better to proceed directly according to the method employed in the paper referred to (p. 198) for the appreciation of M. Richet’s result EPJYEIOD [see below, p. 75]. By this method,2 2 Owing to the rapid convergency of the series which we have to sum, it will be found sufficient to evaluate two or three terms. with the aid of appropriate tables,3 3 Tables of Logarithms, and of the values of log Γ(x + 1). I find for the probability that the observed total of successes have resulted from some other agency than pure chance ·999, 999, 999, 999, 999, 999, 999, 999, 98

    “Stupendous as is this probability it falls short of that which the complete solution of our problem yields. For, measuring and joining all the links of evidence according to the methods described in the paper referred to, I obtain a row of thirty-four nines following a decimal point. A fortiori, if we take account of the second guesses.

    “These figures more impressively than any words proclaim the certainty that the recorded observations must have resulted either from collusion on the part of those concerned (the hypothesis of illusion being excluded by the simplicity of the experiments), or from thought-transference of the sort which the investigators vindicate.”

    A large number of trials were also made in which the group of agents included one or more of the Creery family; and as bearing on the hypothesis of an ingenious family trick, it is worth noting that—except where Mr. Creery himself was thus included—the percentage of successes was, as a rule, not appreciably higher under these conditions than when the Committee alone were in the secret.4 4 Here, for instance, is Professor Barrett’s record of a casual trial made on August 4th, 1882—only he and Mrs. Myers knowing the card selected. Eight cards were successively drawn from a pack; of these, three were guessed completely right—two of them at the first attempt and the third at the second attempt; in this last case the first guess was the nine of clubs, and the second the nine of spades, that being the card chosen. In addition to these the suit was given rightly three out of the remaining five times, the pips or court card twice out of the five. Immediately after this experiment the two younger sisters of the guesser were called in and allowed to know the card chosen by Mrs. Myers and Professor Barrett. The results, compared with the preceding, were as follows:— In the absence of the sisters. Eight experiments. Two complete successes on the first attempt and one on the second. With the assistance of the sisters as agents. Seven experiments. Two complete successes on the first attempt and one on the second. And to make the coincidence more curious, the partial successes were identical in number in the two series. When {i-27} Mr. Creery was among the agents, the average of success was far higher;1 1 Even the successes obtained when Mr. Creery was helping us were less remarkable than those which, according to his records, had been obtained in the earlier trials, when the whole affair was regarded as an evening’s amusement, and the children were without any sort of gêne or anxiety. Still, with his assistance, we have had such successes as the following. Out of 31 trials with cards (the chances against success by accident being in each case 51 to 1) 17 rightly guessed at the first attempt, 9 at the second, 4 at the third; 8 consecutive successes in naming cards drawn at random from a full pack; and the following series, where the names on the left hand, written down at random by one of ourselves, are what the agents silently concentrated their minds on, and the names on the right hand are what the percipient said, usually in two or three seconds after the experiment began:— William Stubbs.—William Stubbs. Eliza Holmes.—Eliza H—— Isaac Harding.—Isaac Harding. Sophia Shaw.—Sophia Shaw. Hester Willis.—Cassandra, then Hester Wilson. John Jones.—John Jones. Timothy Taylor.—Tom, then Timothy Taylor. Esther Ogle.—Esther Ogle. Arthur Higgins.—Arthur Higgins. Alfred Henderson.—Alfred Henderson. Amy Frogmore.—Amy Freemore. Amy Frogmore. Albert Snelgrove.—Albert Singrore. Albert Grover. but his position in the affair was precisely the same as our own; and the most remarkable results were obtained while he was himself still in a state of doubt as to the genuineness of the phenomena which he was investigating.

    One further evidential point should be noted. Supposing such a thing as a genuine faculty of thought-transference to exist, and to be capable, for example, of evoking in one mind the idea of a card on which other minds are concentrated, we might naturally expect that the card-pictures conveyed to the percipient would present various degrees of distinctness, and that there would be a considerable number of approximate guesses, as they might be given by a person who was allowed one fleeting glimpse at a card in an imperfect light. Such a person might often fail to name the card correctly, but his failures would be apt to be far more nearly right than those of another person who was simply guessing without any sort of guidance. This expectation was abundantly confirmed in our experiments. Thus, in a series of 32 trials, where only 5 first guesses were completely right, the suit was 14 times running named correctly on the first trial, and reiterated on the second. Knave was very frequently guessed as King, and vice versâ, the suit being given correctly.

    {i-28}

    The number of pips named was in many cases only one off the right number, this sort of failure being specially frequent when the number was over six. Again, the correct answer was often given, as it were, piecemeal—in two partially incorrect guesses—the pips or picture being rightly given at the first attempt, and the suit at the second; and in the same way with numbers of two figures, one of them would appear in the first guess and the other in the second.1 1 To illustrate these various points, I will give one series where the success was below the average. Cambridge, August 3rd, 1882. Miss Mary Creery was outside the closed and locked door,—a thick and well-fitting one—and a yard or two from it, under the close observation of a member of the Committee, who observed her attentively. A card was chosen by one of the Committee cutting a pack; the fact that the card had been selected was indicated to the guesser by a single tap on the door. The selected card was placed in view of all the agents, who regarded it intently. After the guesser had named a card loudly enough to be heard through the door, the word “No” or “Right,” as the case might be, was said by one of the Committee; otherwise complete silence preserved. The cards chosen are printed on the left, the guesses on the right. Two guesses only were allowed. 1. Three of hearts.—Ten of spades (No). King of clubs (No). 2. Seven of clubs.—Nine of diamonds (No). Seven of hearts (No). 3. Ten of diamonds.—Queen of spades (No). Ten of diamonds (Right). 4. Eight of spades.—King of clubs (No). Ten of spades (No).

    5. Nine of hearts.Nine of clubs (No). Ace of hearts (No). 6. Three of diamonds.—Six of diamonds (No). Ten of diamonds (No). 7. Knave of spades.King of spades (No). Queen of clubs (No). 8. Six of spades.—Six of spades (Right). 9. Queen of clubs.Queen of diamonds (No). Ten of clubs (No). 10. Two of clubs.— Ten of diamonds (No). Ace of diamonds (No). Here there were only two complete successes; and in tabulating results and computing averages we should of course count all the trials except the third and eighth as complete failures. But the result numbered 7 was on the verge of complete success; in 5 and 9 the correct description was given piecemeal; and in 2 the number of pips was correctly given.

    Before we leave these early experiments, one interesting question presents itself, which has an important bearing on the wider subject of this book. In what form was the impression flashed on the percipient’s mind? What were the respective parts in the phenomena played by the mental eye and the mental ear? The points just noticed in connection with the partial guessing of cards seem distinctly in favour of the mental eye. A king looks like a knave, but the names have no similarity. So with numbers. 35 is guessed piecemeal, the answers being 45 and 43; so 57 is attempted as 47 and 45. Now the similarity in sound between three and thirty in 43 and 35, or between five and fifty in 45 and 57, is not extremely strong; while the picture of the 3 or the 5 is identical in either pair. On the other hand, names of approximate sound were often given instead of the true ones; as “Chester” for Leicester, “Biggis” for {i-29} Billings, “Freemore” for Frogmore. Snelgrove was reproduced as “Singrore”; the last part of the name was soon given as “Grover,” and the attempt was then abandoned—the child remarking afterwards that she thought of “Snail” as the first syllable, but it had seemed to her too ridiculous. Professor Barrett, moreover, successfully obtained a German word of which the percipient could have formed no visual image.1 1 In an account of some experiments with words, which we have received from a correspondent, it is stated that success was decidedly more marked in cases where there was a broad vowel sound. The children’s own account was usually to the effect that they “seemed to see” the thing; but this, perhaps, does not come to much; as a known object, however suggested, is likely to be instantly visualised. On the whole, then, the conclusion seems to be that, with these “subjects,” both modes of transference were possible; and that they prevailed in turn, according as this or that was better adapted to the particular case.

    § 6. I have dwelt at some length on our series of trials with the members of the Creery family, as it is to those trials that we owe our own conviction of the possibility of genuine thought-transference between persons in a normal state. I have sufficiently explained that we do not expect the results to be as crucial for persons who were not present, and to whom we are ourselves unknown, as they were for us; and that it cannot be “in the mouth of two or three witnesses” only that such a stupendous fact as the transmission of ideas otherwise than through the recognised sensory channels will be established. The testimony must be multiplied; the responsibility must be spread; and I shall immediately proceed to describe further results obtained with other agents and other percipients. But first it may perhaps be asked of us why we did not exploiterwork with this remarkable family further. It was certainly our intention to do what we could in this direction, and by degrees to procure for our friends an opportunity of judging for themselves. This point, however, was one which could only be cautiously pressed. Mr. Creery was certainly justified in regarding his daughters as something more than mere subjects of experiments, and in hesitating to make a show of them to persons who might, or rather who reasonably must, begin by entertaining grave doubts as to their good faith. It must be remembered that we were dealing, not with chemical substances, but with youthful minds, liable to be reduced to confusion by anything in the demeanour of visitors which inspired distaste or alarm; and even with the best intentions, “a childly way {i-30} with children” is not easy to adopt where the children concerned are objects of suspicious curiosity. More especially might these considerations have weight, when failure was anticipated for the first attempts made under new conditions. And this suggests another difficulty, which has more than once recurred in the experimental branches of our work. The would-be spectators themselves may be unable or unwilling to fulfil the necessary conditions. Before introducing them, it is indispensable to obtain some guarantee that they on their part will exercise patience, make repeated trials, and give the “subjects” a fair opportunity of getting used to their presence. Questions of mood, of goodwill, of familiarity, may hold the same place in psychical investigation as questions of temperature in a physical laboratory; and till this is fully realised, it will not be easy to multiply testimony to the extent that we should desire.

    In the case of the Creery family, however, we met with a difficulty of another kind. Had the faculty of whose existence we assured ourselves continued in full force, it would doubtless have been possible in time to bring the phenomena under the notice of a sufficient number of painstaking and impartial observers. But the faculty did not continue in full force; on the contrary, the average of successes gradually declined, and the children regretfully acknowledged that their capacity and confidence were deserting them. The decline was equally observed even in the trials which they held amongst themselves; and it had nothing whatever to do with any increased stringency in the precautions adopted. No precautions, indeed, could be stricter than that confinement to our own investigating group of the knowledge of the idea to be transferred, which was, from the very first, a condition of the experiments on which we absolutely relied. The fact has just to be accepted, as an illustration of the fleeting character which seems to attach to this and other forms of abnormal sensitiveness. It seems probable that the telepathic faculty, if I may so name it, is not an inborn, or lifelong possession; or, at any rate, that very slight disturbances may suffice to paralyse it. The Creerys had their most startling successes at first, when the affair was a surprise and an amusement, or later, at short and seemingly casual trials; the decline set in with their sense that the experiments had become matters of weighty importance to us, and of somewhat prolonged strain and tediousness to them. So, on a minor scale, in trials among our own friends, we have seen a fortunate evening, when the spectators were interested and the percipient {i-31} excited and confident, succeeded by a series of failures when the results were more anxiously awaited. It is almost inevitable that a percipient who has aroused interest by a marked success on several occasions, should feel in a way responsible for further results; and yet any real pre-occupation with such an idea seems likely to be fatal. The conditions are clearly unstable. But of course the first question for science is not whether the phenomena can be produced to order, but whether in a sufficient number of series the proportion of success to failure is markedly above the probable result of chance.

    § 7. Before leaving this class of experiments, I may mention an interesting development which it has lately received. In the Revue Philosophique for December, 1884, M. Ch. Richet, the well-known savant and editor of the Revue Scientifique, published a paper, entitled “La Suggestion Mentale et le Calcul des Probabilités,” in the first part of which an account is given of some experiments with cards precisely similar in plan to those above described. A card being drawn at random out of a pack, the “agent” fixed his attention on it, and the “percipient” endeavoured to name it. But M. Richet’s method contained this important novelty—that though the success, as judged by the results of any particular series of trials, seemed slight (showing that he was not experimenting with what we should consider “good subjects”), he made the trials on a sufficiently extended scale to bring out the fact that the right guesses were on the whole, though not strikingly, above the number that pure accident would account for, and that their total was considerably above that number.

    This observation involves a new and striking application of the calculus of probabilities. Advantage is taken of the fact that the larger the number of trials made under conditions where success is purely accidental, the more nearly will the total number of successes attained conform to the figure which the formula of probabilities gives. For instance, if some one draws a card at random out of a full pack, and before it has been looked at by anyone present I make a guess at its suit, my chance of being right is, of course, 1 in 4. Similarly, if the process is repeated 52 times, the most probable number of successes, according to the strict calculus of probabilities, is 13; in 520 trials the most probable number of successes is 130. Now, if we consider only a short series of 52 guesses, I may be accidentally right many more times than 13 or many less times. But if the series be {i-32} prolonged—if 520 guesses be allowed instead of 52—the actual number of successes will vary from the probable number within much smaller limits; and if we suppose an indefinite prolongation, the proportional divergence between the actual and the probable number will become infinitely small. This being so, it is clear that if, in a very short series of trials, we find a considerable difference between the actual number of successes and the probable number, there is no reason for regarding this difference as anything but purely accidental; but if we find a similar difference in a very long series, we are justified in surmising that some condition beyond mere accident has been at work. If cards be drawn in succession from a pack, and I guess the suit rightly in 3 out of 4 trials, I shall be foolish to be surprised; but if I guess the suit rightly in 3,000 out of 4,000 trials, I shall be equally foolish not to be surprised.

    Now M. Richet continued his trials until he had obtained a considerable total; and the results were such as at any rate to suggest that accident had not ruled undisturbed—that a guiding condition had been introduced, which affected in the right direction a certain small percentage of the guesses made. That condition, if it existed, could be nothing else than the fact that, prior to the guess being made, a person in the neighbourhood of the guesser had concentrated his attention on the card drawn. Hence the results, so far as they go, make for the reality of the faculty of “mental suggestion.” The faculty, if present, was clearly only slightly developed; whence the necessity of experimenting on a very large scale before its genuine influence on the numbers could be even surmised.

    Out of 2,927 trials at guessing the suit of a card, drawn at random, and steadily looked at by another person, the actual number of successes was 789; the most probable number, had pure accident ruled, was 732. The total was made up of thirty-nine series of different lengths, in which eleven persons took part, M. Richet himself being in some cases the guesser, and in others the person who looked at the card. He observed that when a large number of trials were made at one sitting, the aptitude of both persons concerned seemed to be affected; it became harder for the “agent” to visualise, and the proportion of successes on the guesser’s part decreased. If we agree to reject from the above total all the series in which over 100 trials were consecutively made, the numbers become more striking.1 1 It should be remarked, however, that the introduction of any principle of selection, after one experiment, is always objectionable. For some more or less plausible reason could probably always be found for setting aside the less favourable results. Out of {i-33} 1,833 trials, he then got 510 successes, the most probable number being only 458; that is to say, the actual number exceeds the most probable number by about 1/10.

    Clearly no definite conclusion could be based on such figures as the above. They at most contained a hint for more extended trials, but a hint, fortunately, which can be easily followed up. We are often asked by acquaintances what they can do to aid the progress of psychical research. These experiments suggest a most convenient answer; for they can be repeated, and a valuable contribution made to the great aggregate, by any two persons who have a pack of cards and a little perseverance.1 1 The rules to observe are these: (1) The number of trials contemplated (1,000, 2,000, or whatever it may be) should be specified beforehand. (2) Not more than 50 trials should be made on any one occasion. (3) The agent should draw the card at random, and cut the pack between each draw. (4) The success or failure of each guess should be silently recorded, and the percipient should be kept in ignorance of the results until the whole series is completed. The results should be sent to me at 14, Dean’s Yard, S.W.

    Up to the time that I write, we have received, in all, the results of 17 batches of trials in the guessing of suits. In 11 of the batches one person acted as agent and another as percipient throughout: the other 6 batches are the collective results of trials made by as many groups of friends. The total number of trials was 17,653, and the total number of successes was 4,760; which exceeds by 347 the number which was the most probable if chance alone acted. The probability afforded by this result for the action of a cause other than chance is ·999,999,98[☼]—or practical certainty.2 2 For these calculations we have again to thank Mr. F. Y. Edgeworth. For an explanation of the methods employed, see his article in Vol. iii. of the Proceedings of the S.P.R., already referred to, and also his paper on “Methods of Statistics” (sub. fin.) in the Journal of the Statistical Society for 1885. I need hardly say that there has been here no selection of results; all who undertook the trials were specially requested to send in their report, whatever the degree of success or unsuccess; and we have no reason to suppose that this direction has been ignored. It is thus an additional point of interest that in only one of the batches did the result fall below the number which was the most probable one for mere chance to give. And if we take only those batches, 10 in number, in which a couple of experimenters made as many as 1,000 trials and over, the probability of a cause other than chance which the group of results yields is estimated by one method to be ·999,999,999,96, and by another to be ·999,999,999,999,2.

    To this record must be added another, not less striking, of experiments which, (though part of the same effort to obtain large collective results,) differed in form from the above, and could not, {i-34} therefore, figure in the aggregate. Thus, in a set of 976 trials, carried out by Miss B. Lindsay (late of Girton College), and a group of friends, where the choice was between 6 uncoloured forms—9 specimens of each being combined in a pack from which the agent drew at random—the total of right guesses was 198, the odds against obtaining that degree of success by chance being 1,000 to 1.[☼] In another case, the choice lay between 4 things, but these were not suits, but simple colours—red, blue, green, and yellow. The percipient throughout was Mr. A. J. Shilton, of 40, Paradise Street, Birmingham; the agent (except in one small group, when Professor Poynting, of Mason College, acted) was Mr. G. T Cashmore, of Albert Road, Handsworth. Out of 505 trials, 261 were successes. The probability here afforded of a cause other than chance is considerably more than a trillion trillions to 1. And still more remarkable is the result obtained by the Misses Wingfield, of The Redings, Totteridge, in some trials where the object to be guessed was a number of two digits—i.e., one of the 90 numbers included in the series from 10 to 99—chosen at random by the agent. Out of 2,624 trials, where the most probable number of successes was 29, the actual number obtained was no less than 275—to say nothing of 78 other cases in which the right digits were guessed in the reverse order. In the last 506 trials the agent (who sat some 6 feet behind the percipient) drew the numbers at random out of a bowl; the odds against the accidental occurrence of the degree of success—21 right guesses—obtained in this batch are over 2,000,000 to 1. The argument for thought-transference afforded by the total of 275 cannot be expressed here in figures, as it requires 167 nines—that is, the probability is far more than the ninth power of a trillion to 1.

    Card-experiments of the above type offer special conveniences for the very extended trials which we wish to see carried out: they are easily made and rapidly recorded. At the same time it must not be assumed that the limitation of the field of choice to a very small number of known objects is a favourable condition; it is probably the reverse. For from the descriptions which intelligent percipients have given it would seem that the best condition is a sort of inward blankness, on which the image of the object,

    sometimes suddenly but often only gradually, takes shape. And this inward blankness is hard to ensure when the objects for choice are both few and known. For their images are then apt to importune the mind, and to lead to guessing; the little procession of them marches so {i-35} readily across the mental stage that it is difficult to drive it off, and wait for a single image to present itself independently. Moreover idiosyncrasies on the guesser’s part have the opportunity of obtruding themselves—as an inclination, or a disinclination, to repeat the same guess several times in succession. These objections of course reach their maximum if the field of choice be narrowed down to two things—as where not the suit but the colour of the cards is to be guessed. And in fact some French trials of this type, and an aggregate of 5,500 carried out by the American Society for Psychical Research,1 1 Report by Professors J. M. Peirce and E. C. Pickering, in the Proceedings of the American Society for Psychical Research, Vol. i., p. 19. This Society has also carried out 12,130 trials with the 10 digits—which similarly gave a result only slightly in excess of theoretic probability. But here the digits to be thought of by the agent were not taken throughout in a purely accidental order, but in regularly recurring decads, in each of which each digit occurred once; and consequently the later guesses (both within the same decad and in successive decads) might easily be biassed by the earlier ones. This system may lead to interesting statistics in other ways; but to give thought-transference fair play in experiments with a limited number of objects, it seems essential that the order of selection shall be entirely haphazard, and that the guesser’s mind shall be quite unembarrassed by the notion of a scheme. give a result only very slightly in excess of the most probable number.

    § 8. I may now pass to another class of experiments, in which the impression transferred was almost certainly of the visual sort, inasmuch as any verbal description of the object would require a group of words too numerous to present any clear and compact auditory character. An object of this kind is supplied by any irregular figure or arrangement of lines which suggests nothing in particular. We have had two remarkably successful series of experiments, extending over many days, in which the idea of such a figure has been telepathically transferred from one mind to another. A rough diagram being first drawn by one of the investigating Committee, the agent proceeded to concentrate his attention on it, or on the memory which he retained of it; and in a period varying from a few seconds to a few minutes the percipient was able to reproduce the diagram, or a close approximation to it, on paper. No contact was permitted, except on a few occasions, which, on that very account, we should not present as crucial; and in order to preclude the agent from giving unconscious hints—e.g., by drawing with his finger on the table or making movements suggestive of the figure in the air—he was kept out of the percipient’s sight.

    Of the two series mentioned, the second is evidentially to be preferred. For in the first series the agent, as well as the percipient, was always the same person; and we recognise this as pro tantoto that extent an objection. Not indeed that the simple hypothesis of collusion would {i-36} at all meet the difficulties of the case. Faith in the power of a secret code must be carried to the verge of superstition, before it will be easy to believe that auditory signals, the material for which (as I pointed out above) is limited to the faintest variations in the signaller’s method of breathing, can fully and faithfully describe a complicated diagram; especially when the variations, imperceptible to the closest observation of the bystanders, would have to penetrate to the intelligence of a percipient whose head was enveloped in bandage, bolster-case, and blanket. But in spite of all, suspicion will, reasonably or unreasonably, attach to results which are, so to speak, a monopoly of two particular performers. In our second series of experiments this objection was obviated. There were two percipients, and a considerable group of agents, each of whom, when alone with one or other of the percipients, was successful in transferring his impression. It is this series, therefore, that I select for fuller description.

    We owe these remarkable experiments to the sagacity and energy of Mr. Malcolm Guthrie, J.P., of Liverpool. At the beginning of 1883, Mr. Guthrie happened to read an article on thought-transference in a magazine, and though completely sceptical, he determined to make some trials on his own account. He was then at the head of an establishment which gives employment to many hundreds of persons; and he was informed by a relative who occupied a position of responsibility in this establishment that she had witnessed remarkable results in some casual trials made by a group of his employées after business hours. He at once took the matter into his own hands, and went steadily, but cautiously, to work. He restricted the practice of the novel accomplishment to weekly meetings; and he arranged with his friend, Mr. James Birchall, the hon. secretary of the Liverpool Literary and Philosophical Society, that the latter should make a full and complete record of every experiment made. Mr. Guthrie thus describes the proceedings:—

    “I have had the advantage of studying a series of experiments ab ovo.from the beginning I have witnessed the genuine surprise which the operators and the ‘subjects’ have alike exhibited at their increasing successes, and at the results of our excursions into novel lines of experiment. The affair has not been the discovery of the possession of special powers, first made and then worked up by the parties themselves for gain or glory. The experimenters in this case were disposed to pass the matter over altogether as one of no moment, and only put themselves at my disposal in regard to experiments in order to oblige me. The experiments have all been devised and conducted by myself and Mr. Birchall, without any previous intimation of their nature, and could not possibly have been foreseen. In fact they {i-37} have been to the young ladies a succession of surprises. No set of experiments of a similar nature has ever been more completely known from its origin, or more completely under the control of the scientific observer.”

    I must pass over the record of the earlier experiments, where the ideas transferred were of colours, geometrical figures, cards, and visible objects of all sorts, which the percipient was to name—these being similar in kind, though on the whole superior in the proportion of successes, to those already described.1 1 The full record of the experiments will be found in the Proceedings of the S.P.R., Vol. i., p. 264, &c., and Vol. ii., p. 24, &c. There is one point of novelty which is thus described by Mr. Guthrie: “We tried also the perception of motion, and found that the movements of objects exhibited could be discerned. The idea was suggested by an experiment tried with a card, which in order that all present should see, I moved about, and was informed by the percipient that it was a card, but she could not tell which one because it seemed to be moving about. On a subsequent occasion, in order to test this perception of motion, I bought a toy monkey, which worked up and down on a stick by means of a string drawing the arms and legs together. The answer was: ‘I see red and yellow, and it is darker at one end than the other. It is like a flag moving about—it is moving. … Now it is opening and shutting like a pair of scissors.’” The reproduction of diagrams was introduced in October, 1883, and in that and the following month about 150 trials were made. The whole series has been carefully mounted and preserved by Mr. Guthrie. No one could look through them without perceiving that the hypothesis of chance or guess-work is out of the question; that in most instances some idea, and in many a complete idea, of the original must, by whatever means, have been present in the mind of the person who made the reproduction. In Mr. Guthrie’s words,—

    “It is difficult to classify them. A great number of them are decided successes; another large number give part of the drawing; others exhibit the general idea, and others again manifest a kind of composition of form. Others, such as the drawings of flowers, have been described and named, but have been too difficult to draw. A good many are perfect failures. The drawings generally run in lots. A number of successful copies will be produced very quickly, and again a number of failures—indicating, I think, faultiness on the part of the agent, or growing fatigue on the part of the ‘subject.’ Every experiment, whether successful or a failure, is given in the order of trial, with the conditions, name of ‘subject’ and agent, and any remarks made by the ‘subject’ specified at the bottom. Some of the reproductions exhibit the curious phenomenon of inversion. These drawings must speak for themselves. The principal facts to be borne in mind regarding them are that they have been executed through the instrumentality, as agents, of persons of unquestioned probity, and that the responsibility for them is spread over a considerable group of such persons; while the conditions to be observed were so simple—for they amounted really to nothing more than taking care that the original should not be seen by the ‘subject’—that it is extremely difficult to suppose them to have been eluded.”

    {i-38}

    I give a few specimens—not unduly favourable ones, but illustrating the “spreading of responsibility” to which Mr. Guthrie refers. The agents concerned were Mr. Guthrie; Mr. Steel, the President of the Liverpool Literary and Philosophical Society; Mr. Birchall, mentioned above; Mr. Hughes, B.A., of St. John’s College, Cambridge; and myself. The names of the percipients were Miss Relph and Miss Edwards. The conditions which I shall describe were those of the experiments in which I myself took part; and I have Mr. Guthrie’s authority for stating that they were uniformly observed in the other cases. The originals were for the most part drawn in another room from that in which the percipient was placed. The few executed in the same room were drawn while the percipient was blindfolded, at a distance from her, and in such a way that the process would have been wholly invisible to her or anyone else, even had an attempt been made to observe it. During the process of transference, the agent looked steadily and in perfect silence at the original drawing, which was placed upon an intervening wooden stand; the percipient sitting opposite to him, and behind the stand, blindfolded and quite still. The agent ceased looking at the drawing, and the blindfolding was removed, only when the percipient professed herself ready to make the reproduction, which happened usually in times varying from half-a-minute to two or three minutes. Her position rendered it absolutely impossible that she should obtain a glimpse of the original. Apart from the blindfolding, she could not have done so without rising from her seat and advancing her head several feet; and as she was very nearly in the same line of sight as the drawing, and so very nearly in the centre of the agent’s field of vision, the slightest approach to such a movement must have been instantly detected. The reproductions were made in perfect silence, the agent forbearing to follow the actual process of the drawing with his eyes, though he was, of course, able to keep the percipient under the closest observation.

    In the case of all the diagrams, except those numbered 7 and 8, the agent and the percipient were the only two persons in the room during the experiment. In the case of numbers 7 and 8, the agent and Miss Relph were sitting quite apart in a corner of the room, while Mr. Guthrie and Miss Edwards were talking in another part of it. Numbers 1–6 are specially interesting as being the complete and consecutive series of a single sitting.

    {i-39}
    No. 1. ORIGINAL DRAWING.          No. 1. REPRODUCTION.
    [Drawing]
    Mr. Guthrie and Miss Edwards. No contact.

    No. 2. ORIGINAL DRAWING.                      No. 2. REPRODUCTION.
    [Drawing]
    Mr. Guthrie and Miss Edwards. No contact.
    {i-40}
    No. 3. ORIGINAL DRAWING.                 No. 3. REPRODUCTION.
    [Drawing]
    Mr. Guthrie and Miss Edwards.
              No contact.

    No. 4. ORIGINAL DRAWING.                No. 4. REPRODUCTION.
    [Drawing]
    Mr. Guthrie and Miss Edwards.
                  No contact.
    {i-41}
    No. 5. ORIGINAL DRAWING.                No. 5. REPRODUCTION.
    [Drawing]
    Mr. Guthrie and Miss Edwards.
                  No contact.

    No. 6. ORIGINAL DRAWING.
    [Drawing]
    Mr. Guthrie and Miss Edwards. No contact.
    No. 6. REPRODUCTION.
    [Drawing]

    Miss Edwards almost directly said, “Are you thinking of the bottom of the sea, with
    shells and fishes?” and then, “Is it a snail or a fish?”—then drew as above.

    {i-42}
    No. 7. ORIGINAL DRAWING.
    [Drawing]
    Mr. Gurney and Miss Relph. Contact for half-a-minute before the reproduction was drawn.
    No. 7. REPRODUCTION.
    [Drawing]
    {i-43}
    No. 8. ORIGINAL DRAWING.                No. 8. REPRODUCTION.
    [Drawing]
    Mr. Gurney and Miss Relph. No contact.

    No. 9. ORIGINAL DRAWING.
    [Drawing]
    Mr. Birchall and Miss Relph. No contact.
    No. 9. REPRODUCTION.
    [Drawing]

    Miss Relph said she seemed to see a lot of rings, as if they were moving, and she could not get them steadily before her eyes.

    {i-44}
    No. 10. ORIGINAL DRAWING.                  No. 10. REPRODUCTION.
    [Drawing]
    Mr. Birchall and Miss Relph. No contact.

    No. 11. ORIGINAL DRAWING.
    [Drawing]
    No. 11. REPRODUCTION.
    Mr. Birchall and Miss Edwards. No contact.
    {i-45}
    No. 12. ORIGINAL DRAWING.
    [Drawing]
    Mr. Steel and Miss Relph. No contact.
    No. 12. REPRODUCTION.
    [Drawing]
    {i-46}
    No. 13. ORIGINAL DRAWING.No. 13. REPRODUCTION.
    [Drawing][Drawing]
    Mr. Steel and Miss Edwards. Contact before the reproduction was made.

    No. 14. ORIGINAL DRAWING.No. 14. REPRODUCTION.
    [Drawing][Drawing]
    Mr. Hughes and Miss Edwards. Contact before the reproduction was made.Miss Edwards said, “A box or chair badly shaped”—then drew as above.
    {i-47}
    No. 15. ORIGINAL DRAWING.
    [Drawing]
    Mr. Hughes and Miss Edwards. No contact.
    No. 15. REPRODUCTION.
    [Drawing]
    Miss Edwards said, “It is like a mask at a pantomime,” and immediately drew as above.
    {i-48}
    No. 16. ORIGINAL DRAWING.
    [Drawing]
    Mr. Hughes and Miss Edwards. No. contact.
    No. 16. REPRODUCTION.
    [Drawing]
    {i-49}

    § 9. Soon after the publication of these results, Mr. Guthrie was fortunate enough to obtain the active co-operation of Dr. Oliver J. Lodge, Professor of Physics in University College, Liverpool, who carried out a long and independent series of experiments with the same two percipients, and completely convinced himself of the genuineness of the phenomena. In his report1 1 Proceedings of the S.P.R., Vol. ii., p. 189, &c. he says:—

    “As regards collusion and trickery, no one who has witnessed the absolutely genuine and artless manner in which the impressions are described, but has been perfectly convinced of the transparent honesty of purpose of all concerned. This, however, is not evidence to persons who have not been present, and to them I can only say that to the best of my scientific belief no collusion or trickery was possible under the varied circumstances of the experiments. … When one has the control of the circumstances, can change them at will and arrange one’s own experiments, one gradually acquires a belief in the phenomena observed quite comparable to that induced by the repetition of ordinary physical experiments. … We have many times succeeded with agents quite disconnected from the percipient in ordinary life, and sometimes complete strangers to them. Mr. Birchall, the head-master of the Birkdale Industrial School, frequently acted; and the house physician at the Eye and Ear Hospital, Dr. Shears, had a successful experiment, acting alone, on his first and only visit. All suspicion of a pre-arranged code is thus rendered impossible even to outsiders who are unable to witness the obvious fairness of all the experiments.”

    The objects of which the idea was transferred were sometimes things with names (cards, key, teapot, flag, locket, picture of donkey, and so on), sometimes irregular drawings with no name. Professor Lodge satisfied himself that auditory as well as visual impressions played a part—that in some cases the idea transferred was that of the object itself, and in others, that of its name; thus confirming the conclusion which we had come to in the experiments with the Creery family. Of the two percipients one seemed more susceptible to the visual, and the other to the auditory impressions. A case where the auditory element seems clearly to have come in is the following. The object was a tetrahedron rudely drawn in projection, thus—

    image

    The percipient said: “Is it another triangle?” No answer was given, but Professor Lodge silently passed round to the agents a scribbled message, “Think of a pyramid.” The percipient then said, “I only {i-50} see a triangle “—then hastily, “Pyramids of Egypt. No, I shan’t do this.” Asked to draw, she only drew a triangle.

    I will give only one other case from this series, which is important as showing that the percipient may be simultaneously influenced by two minds, which are concentrated on two different things. The two agents being seated opposite to one another, Professor Lodge placed between them a piece of paper, on one side of which was drawn a square, and on the other a cross. They thus had different objects to imagecontemplate, and neither knew what the other was looking at; nor did the percipient know that anything unusual was being tried. There was no contact. Very soon the percipient said, “I see things moving about … I seem to see two things … I see first one up there and then one down there … I don’t know which to draw … I can’t see either distinctly.” Professor Lodge said: “Well, anyhow, draw what you have seen.” She took off the bandage and drew first a square, and then said, “Then there was the other thing as well … afterwards they seemed to go into one,”—and she drew a cross inside the square from corner to corner, adding afterwards, “I don’t know what made me put it inside.” The significance of this experimental proof of joint agency will be more fully realised in connection with some of the spontaneous cases.

    The following passage from the close of Professor Lodge’s report has a special interest for us, confirming, as it does, the accounts which we had received from our own former “subjects,” and the views above expressed as to the conditions of success and failure:—

    “With regard to the feelings of the percipients when receiving an impression, they seem to have some sort of consciousness of the action of other minds on them; and once or twice, when not so conscious, have complained that there seemed to be ‘no power’ or anything acting, and that they not only received no impression, but did not feel as if they were going to.

    “I asked one of them what she felt when impressions were coming freely, and she said she felt a sort of influence or thrill. They both say that several objects appear to them sometimes, but that one among them persistently recurs and they have a feeling when they fix upon one that it is the right one.

    “One serious failure rather depresses them, and after a success others often follow. It is because of these rather delicate psychological conditions {i-51} that one cannot press the variations of an experiment as far as one would do if dealing with inert and more dependable matter. Usually the presence of a stranger spoils the phenomena, though in some cases a stranger has proved a good agent straight off.

    “The percipients complain of no fatigue as induced by the experiments, and I have no reason to suppose that any harm is done them.”

    It is the “delicate psychological conditions” of which Professor Lodge here speaks that are in danger of being ignored, just because they cannot be measured and handled. The man who first hears of thought-transference very naturally imagines that, if it is a reality, it ought to be demonstrated to him at a moment’s notice. He forgets that the experiment being essentially a mental one, his own presence—so far as he has a mind—may be a factor in it; that he is demanding that a delicate weighing operation shall be carried out, while he himself, a person of unknown weight, sits judicially in one of the scales. After a time he will learn to allow for the conditions of his instruments, and will not expect in the operations of an obscure vital influence the rigorous certainty of a chemical reaction.

    I cannot conclude this division of the subject without a reference to a remarkable set of diagrams which appeared in Science for July, 1885—the first-fruits of the investigation of thought-transference set on foot by the American Society for Psychical Research. Most of the trials were carried out by Mr. W. H. Pickering (brother of the eminent astronomer at Harvard), and his sister-in-law. Though the success is far less striking to the eye than in the several English series, the evidence for some agency beyond chance seems, on examination, irresistible.

    § 10. So far the present sketch has included transference of impressions of the visual and auditory sorts only—impressions, moreover, which for the most part represented formed objects or definite groups of sensations, not sensations pure and simple. These are not only by far the most important forms of the phenomenon, in relation to the wider spontaneous operations of telepathy which we shall consider in the sequel; but are also the most convenient forms for experiment. Moreover, I have been tracing the development of the subject historically; and it was in connection with ideas belonging to the higher forms of sense that the transferences to percipients who were in a normal state were first obtained. But the existence of such cases would {i-52} prepare us for transferences of a more elementary type,—transferences of a simple formless sensation and nothing more, which should impress the percipient not as an idea, but in its direct sensational character; and if the phenomena be arranged in a logical scale from the less to the more complex, such cases would have the priority. For their exhibition, it is naturally to the lower senses that we should look—taste, smell, and touch—which last (since a certain intensity of experience seems necessary) we should hardly expect to prove effective till it reached the degree of pain. These lower forms are, in fact, those which preponderate in the earlier observations of mesmeric rapport in this country; and our own experiments in mesmerism have included several instances of this sort.1 1 It is impossible here to give more than a selection of cases. I must refer the reader to Chap. i of the Supplement, and to the Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research, Vol. i. p. 225, &c., Vol. ii., p. 17, &c., and p. 205, &c.; and Mr. Guthrie’s “Further Report” in Vol. iii. Thus the discovery that a similar “community of sensation” might exist between persons in a normal state, and without any resort to mesmeric or hypnotic processes, not only filled up an obvious lacuna, but gave a fresh proof of the fundamental unity of our many-sided subject.

    In the case of taste, we owe the discovery to Mr. Guthrie—the phenomenon having been, we believe, first observed by him on August 30th, 1883, and first fully examined in the course of a visit which Mr. Myers and the present writer paid to him in the following week. Failing to obtain very marked success in other lines of experiment, it occurred to us to introduce this novel form; but the superiority of the results was probably due simply to the fact that they were obtained on the later days of our visit, when the “subjects” had become accustomed to our presence.

    I will quote the report made at the time:—

    “The taste to be discerned was known only to one or more of the three actual experimenters; and the sensations experienced were verbally described by the ‘subjects’ (not written down), so that all danger of involuntary muscular guidance was eliminated.

    “A selection of about twenty strongly-tasting substances was made. These substances were enclosed in small bottles and small parcels, precisely similar to one another, and kept carefully out of the range of vision of the ‘subjects,’ who were, moreover, blindfolded, so that no grimaces made by the tasters could be seen. The ‘subjects,’ in fact, had no means whatever of knowing, through the sense of sight, what was the substance tasted.

    {i-53}

    Smell had to be guarded against with still greater care. When the substance was odoriferous the packet or bottle was opened outside the room, or at such a distance, and so cautiously as to prevent any sensible smell from escaping. The experiments, moreover, were conducted in the close vicinity of a very large kitchen, from whence a strong odour of beefsteak and onions proceeded during almost all the time occupied. The tasters took pains to keep their heads high above the ‘subjects,’ and to avoid breathing with open mouth. One substance (coffee) tried was found to give off a slight smell, in spite of all precautions, and an experiment made with this has been omitted.

    “The tasters were Mr. Guthrie (M.G.), Mr. Gurney (E.G.), and Mr. Myers (M.). The percipients may be called R. and E. The tasters lightly placed a hand on one of the shoulders or hands of the percipients—there not being the same objection to contact in trials of this type as where lines and figures are concerned, and the ‘subjects’ themselves seeming to have some faith in it. During the first experiments (September 3rd and 4th) there were one or two other persons in the room, who, however, were kept entirely ignorant of the substance tasted. During the experiments silence was preserved. The last fifteen of them (September 5th) were made when only M. G., E. G., and M., with the two percipients, were present. On this evening E. was, unfortunately, suffering from sore throat, which seemed to blunt her susceptibility. On this occasion none of the substances were allowed even to enter the room where the percipients were. They were kept in a dark lobby outside, and taken by the investigators at random, so that often one investigator did not even know what the other took. Still less could any spy have discerned what was chosen, had such spy been there, which he certainly was not.

    A very small portion of each substance used was found to be enough. The difficulty lies in keeping the mean between the massive impression of a large quantity of a salt, spice, bitter, or acid, which confounds the specific differences under each general head, and the fading impression which is apt to give merely a residual pungency, from which the characteristic flavour has escaped. It is necessary to allow some minutes to elapse between each experiment, as the imaginary taste seems to be fully as persistent as the real one.

    September 3rd, 1883.
    TASTER.PERCIPIENT.SUBSTANCE.ANSWERS GIVEN.
    1.—M.EVinegar “A sharp and nasty taste.”
    2.—M.EMustard “Mustard.”
    3.—M.RDo.“Ammonia.”
    4.—M.ESugar“I still taste the hot taste of the mustard.”
    September 4th.
    5.—E. G. & MEWorcestershire sauce.“Worcestershire sauce.”
    6.—M. G.EDo.“Vinegar.”
    7.—E. G. & MEPort wine“Between eau de Cologne and beer.”
    8.—M. G.RDo.“Raspberry vinegar.”
    9.—E. G. & MEBitter aloes“Horrible and bitter.”
    10.—M. G.RAlum “A taste of ink—of iron—of vinegar. I feel it on my lips—it is as if I had been eating alum.”
    {i-54}
    11.—M. G.EAlum(E. perceived that M. G. was not tasting bitter aloes, as E. G. and M. supposed, but something different. No distinct perception on account of the persistence of the bitter taste.)
    12.—E. G. & MENutmeg“Peppermint—no—what you put in puddings—nutmeg.”
    13.—M. G.RDo.“Nutmeg.”1 1 In some cases two experiments were carried on simultaneously with the same substance; and when this was done, the first percipient was of course not told whether her answer was right or wrong. But it will perhaps be suggested that, when her answer was right, the agent who was touching her unconsciously gave her an intimation of the fact by the pressure of his hand; and that she then coughed or made some audible signal to her companion, who followed suit. Whatever the theory may be worth, it will, we think, be seen that the success of the second percipient with the nutmeg was the only occasion, throughout the series, to which it can be applied.
    14.—E. G. & MESugarNothing perceived.
    15.—M. G.RDo.Nothing perceived. (Sugar should be tried at an earlier stage in the series, as, after the aloes, we could scarcely taste it ourselves.)
    16.—E. G. & MECayenne pepper“Mustard.”
    17.—M. G.RDo.“Cayenne pepper.” (After the cayenne we were unable to taste anything further that evening.
    September 5th.
    18.—E. G. & MECarbonate of sodaNothing perceived.
    19.—M. G.RCarraway seeds“It feels like meal—like a seed loaf—carraway seeds.” (The substance of the seeds seemed to be perceived before their taste. )
    20.—E. G. & MECloves“Cloves.”
    21.—E. G. & MECitric acidNothing perceived.
    22.—M. G.RDo.“Salt.”
    23.—E. G. & MELiquorice“Cloves.”
    24.—M. GRCloves“Cinnamon.”
    25.—E. G. & MEAcid jujube“Pear drop.”
    26.—M. G.R Do.“Something hard, which is giving way—acid jujube.”
    27.—E. G. & MECandied ginger“Something sweet and hot.”
    28.—M. G.RDo.“Almond toffy.” (M. G. took his ginger in the dark, and was some time before he realised that it was ginger.)
    29.—E. G. & MEHome-made Noyau“Salt.”
    30.—M. G.RDo.“Port wine.” (This was by far the most strongly smelling of the substances tried, the scent of kernels being hard to conceal. Yet it was named by E. as salt.)
    31.—E. G. & MEBitter aloes“Bitter.”
    32.—M. G.R Do.Nothing perceived.
    {i-55}

    “We should have preferred in these experiments to use only substances which were wholly inodorous. But in order to get any description of tastes from the percipients, it was necessary that the tastes should be either very decided or very familiar. It would be desirable, before entering on a series of experiments of this kind, to educate the palates of the percipients by accustoming them to a variety of chemical substances, and also by training them to distinguish, with shut eyes, between the more ordinary flavours. It is well known how much taste is helped by sight and determined by expectation; and when it is considered that the percipients in these cases were judging blindfold of the mere shadow of a savour, it will perhaps be thought that even some of their mistakes are not much wider of the mark than they might have been had a trace of the substance been actually placed upon their tongues.”

    In later experiments, Mr. Guthrie endeavoured to meet the difficulty caused by odorous substances, and even succeeded in obtaining what appeared to be transferences of smell-impressions. The “subjects” and the agents were placed in different rooms. An opening, 10½ inches square, had been made in the wooden partition between the two rooms; and this had been filled in with a frame, covered with india-rubber and fitting tightly. Through a slit in this frame the agent (Mr. Guthrie or his relative, Miss Redmond) passed a hand, which both the “subjects” could then touch. Under these conditions, as far as could be judged, it was impossible for any scent to pass; and, certainly, if any did pass, it would have needed extreme hyperæsthesia to detect it. The following results were obtained on December 5th, 1883:—

    1.—Miss Redmond tasted powdered nutmeg.

    E. said “Ginger.”

    R. said “Nutmeg.”

    2.—Mr. G. tasted powder of dry celery.

    E.: “A bitter herb.”

    R.: “Something like camomile.”

    3.—Miss Redmond tasted coffee.

    At the same time, without any previous intimation, Mr. G., with two pins, pricked the front of the right wrist of Miss Redmond.

    E. said: “Is it a taste at all?” Mr. G.: “Why do you ask?”

    “Because I feel a sort of pricking in the left wrist.” She was told it was the right wrist, but said she felt it in the left.

    R.: “Is it cocoa or chocolate?” Answer given in the negative.

    E.: “Is it coffee?”

    4.—Mr. G. tasted Worcestershire sauce.

    R.: “Something sweet . . also acid . . a curious taste.”

    E.: “Is it vinegar?”

    5.—Miss Redmond smelt eau de Cologne.

    R.: “Is it eau de Cologne?”

    {i-56}

    6.—Miss Redmond smelt camphor.

    E.: “Don’t taste anything.”

    R.: Nothing perceived.

    7.—Mr. G. smelt carbolic acid.

    R.: “What you use for toothache … creosote.”

    E. afterwards said she thought of pitch.

    8.—Mr. G. Right instep pricked with pins.

    E. guessed first the face, then the left shoulder; then R. localised the pain on the right foot.

    The pain was then silently transferred to the left foot. E. localised it on the left foot. Both maintained their opinions.

    I will quote one more taste-series, for the sake of illustrating a special point—namely, the deferment of the percipient’s consciousness of the sensation until a time when the agent had himself ceased to feel it. This fact is of great interest, on account of the marked analogy to it which we shall encounter in many of the spontaneous telepathic cases. The instances below are too few to be conclusive; but we used to notice the same thing in our experiments with the Creery family—the object on which the attention of the agents had been concentrated being sometimes correctly named after the experiment had been completely abandoned as a failure. (Cf., Vol. II., p. 327.)

    June 11th, 1885.

    Dr. Hyla Greves was in contact with Miss Relph, having tasted salad oil.

    Miss Relph said: “I feel a cool sensation in my mouth, something like that produced by sal prunelle.”

    Mr. R. C. Johnson in contact, having tasted Worcestershire sauce in another room.

    “I taste something oily; it is very like salad oil.” Then, a few minutes after contact with Mr. Johnson had ceased, “My mouth seems getting hot after the oil.” (N.B.—Nothing at all had been said about the substances tasted either by Dr. Greves or Mr. Johnson.)

    Dr. Greves in contact, having tasted bitter aloes.

    “I taste something frightfully hot … something like vinegar and pepper … Is it Worcestershire sauce?”

    Mr. Guthrie in contact, also having tasted bitter aloes.

    “I taste something extremely bitter, but don’t know what it is, and do not remember tasting it before … It is a very horrid taste.”

    The possibility of the transference of pain, to a percipient in the normal state, is also a recent discovery. In December, 1882, we obtained some results which—with our well-tried knowledge of the percipient’s character—we regard as completely satisfactory; but our more striking successes in this line happen to have been with {i-57} hypnotic subjects.1 1 See Proceedings of the S.P.R., Vol. i., pp. 225–6; Vol. ii., p. 250. The form of experiment has difficulties of its own. For, in mercy to the agent, the pain which it is hoped to transfer cannot be very severely inflicted; and, moreover, in such circumstances of investigation as Mr. Guthrie’s, it is only a very limited amount of the area of the body that can practically be used—a fact which of course increases the percipient’s chances of accidental success. Still, the amount of success obtained with Mr. Guthrie’s “subjects,” in a normal state, is such as certainly excludes the hypothesis of accident. In some of the most remarkable series, contact has been permitted, it being difficult to suppose that unconscious pressure of the hand could convey information as to the exact locality of a pain.2 2 See, for instance, the record of Mr. Hughes’s series in Mr. Guthrie’s “Further Report,” above referred to. But complete isolation of the percipient is, no doubt, a more satisfactory condition; and at seven of the Liverpool meetings, which took place at intervals from November, 1884, to July, 1885, the experiment was arranged in the following way. The percipient being seated blindfolded, and with her back to the rest of the party, all the other persons present inflicted on themselves the same pain on the same part of the body. Those who took part in this collective agency were three or more of the following: Mr. Guthrie, Professor Herdman, Dr. Hicks, Dr. Hyla Greves, Mr. R. C. Johnson, F.R.A.S., Mr. Birchall, Miss Redmond, and on one occasion another lady. The percipient throughout was Miss Relph.

    In all, 20 trials were made. The parts pained were—

    1.—Back of left hand pricked. Rightly localised.

    2.—Lobe of left ear pricked. Rightly localised.

    3.—Left wrist pricked. “Is it in the left hand?”—pointing to the back near the little finger.

    4.—Third finger of left hand tightly bound round with wire. A lower joint of that finger was guessed.

    5.—Left wrist scratched with pins. “It is in the left wrist, like being scratched.”

    6.—Left ankle pricked. Rightly localised.

    7.—Spot behind left ear pricked. No result.

    8.—Right knee pricked. Rightly localised.

    9.—Right shoulder pricked. Rightly localised.

    10.—Hands burned over gas. “Like a pulling pain . . then tingling, like cold and hot alternately——localised by gesture only.

    11.—End of tongue bitten. “It is in the lip or the tongue.”

    12.—Palm of left hand pricked. “Is it a tingling pain in the hand, here?”—placing her finger on the palm of the left hand.

    13.—Back of neck pricked. “Is it a pricking of the neck?”

    {i-58}

    14.—Front of left arm above elbow pricked. Rightly localised.

    15.—Spot just above left ankle pricked. Rightly localised.

    16.—Spot just above right wrist pricked. “I am not quite sure, but I feel a pain in the right arm, from the thumb upwards, to above the wrist.”

    17.—Inside of left ankle pricked. Outside of left ankle guessed.

    18.—Spot beneath right collarbone pricked. The exactly corresponding spot on the left side was guessed.

    19.—Back hair pulled. No result.

    20.—Inside of right wrist pricked. Right foot guessed.

    Thus in 10 out of the 20 cases, the percipient localised the pain with great precision; in 6 the localisation was nearly exact, and with these we may include No. 10, where the pain was probably not confined to a single well-defined area in the hands of all the agents; in 2 no local impression was produced; and in 1, the last, the answer was wholly wrong.

    § 11. We may pass now to a totally new division of experimental cases. So far the effect of thought-transference on the receiving mind has been an effect in consciousness—the actual emergence of an image or sensation which the percipient has recognised and described. But it is not necessary that the effect should be thus recognised by the percipient; his witness to it may be unconscious, instead of conscious, and yet may be quite unmistakeable. The simplest example of this is when some effect is produced on his motor system—when the impression received causes him to perform some action which proves to have distinct reference to the thought in the agent’s mind.1 1 Even an effect on the sensory system may bear witness to an unconscious impression, if it is an indirect effect, led up to by certain hidden processes. In the Proceedings of the S.P.R., Vol. i., pp. 257–60, Vol. ii., pp. 203–4, and Vol. iii., pp. 453–9, a case in point is given. A young man’s fingers having been concealed from him by a paper screen, anæsthesia and rigidity were repeatedly produced in one or another of them, by a process in which the concentrated attention of the “agent” on the particular finger proved to be an indispensable element. A psychical account of this result seems possible, if thought-transference can work, so to speak, underground. Such a case, however, may possibly indicate something beyond simple thought-transference—some sort of specific physical influence; and it should be noted that the “subject,” though at the time he was wide awake and in a perfectly normal state, had frequently on former occasions been hypnotised by the agent. It is only in connection with hypnotism, again, that we find authentic cases of the direct effect of volition in producing the identical movement willed—such as raising the hand, dropping a book, &c. Some of these will be given in the next chapter.

    The cases fall into two classes. In one class the actions are purely automatic: in the other some conscious idea of what was to be done has preceded and accompanied the muscular effect; so that that effect would be at most semi-automatic. To begin with this semi-automatic class; it might be thought that examples would be found in those rarer cases of the “willing-game” where contact, and {i-59} movement on the agent’s part, are avoided. But we have received no records of such cases where it is certain that the precautions necessary to exclude the barest possibility of slight unconscious physical signs were rigidly enforced; and it will be preferable to describe some experiments made by members of our own group, where this point was kept steadily in view. We have had several interesting series in which the “subject’s” power of utterance has been inhibited by the silent determination of the operator. Our first experiments of this sort were made in January, 1883. The “subject” was our friend, Mr. Sidney Beard, who had been thrown into a light hypnotic trance by Mr. G. A. Smith. A list of twelve Yeses and Noes in arbitrary order was written by one of ourselves and put into Mr. Smith’s hand, with directions that he should successively “will”; the “subject” to respond or not to respond, in accordance with the order of the list. Mr. Beard was lying back with closed eyes; and a tuning-fork was struck and held at his ear, with the question, “Do you hear?” asked by one of ourselves. This was done twelve times with a completely successful result, the answer or the failure to answer corresponding in each case with the “yes” or “no” of the written list—that is to say, with the silently concentrated will of the agent.

    1 1 Similar trials on other occasions were equally successful; as also were trials where the tuning-fork was dispensed with, and the only sound was the question, “Do you hear?” asked by one of the observers. On these latter occasions, however, Mr. Smith was holding Mr. Beard’s hand; and it might be maintained that “yes” and “no” indications were given by unconscious variations of pressure. How completely unconscious the supposed “reader” was of any sensible guidance will be evident from Mr. Beard’s own account. “During the experiments of January 1st, when Mr. Smith mesmerised me, I did not entirely lose consciousness at any time, but only experienced a sensation of total numbness in my limbs. When the trial as to whether I could hear sounds was made, I heard the sounds distinctly each time, but in a large number of instances I felt totally unable to acknowledge that I heard them. I seemed to know each time whether Mr. Smith wished me to say that I heard them; and as I had surrendered my will to his at the commencement of the experiment, I was unable to reassert my power of volition whilst under his influence.”

    A much more prolonged series of trials was made in November, 1883, by Professor Barrett, at his house in Dublin. The hypnotist was again Mr. G. A. Smith.

    “The ‘subject’ was an entire stranger to Mr. Smith, a youth named Fearnley, to whom nothing whatever was said as to the nature of the experiment about to be tried, until he was thrown into the hypnotic state in my study. He was then in a light sleep-waking condition—his eyes were closed and the pupils upturned—apparently sound asleep; but he readily answered in response to any questions addressed to him by Mr. Smith or by myself.

    “I first told him to open the fingers of his closed hand, or not to open them, just as he felt disposed, in response to the question addressed to him. That question, which I always asked in a uniform tone of voice, was in {i-60} each case, ‘Now, will you open your hand?’ and at the same moment I pointed to the word ‘Yes’ or ‘No,’ written on a card, which was held in sight of Mr. Smith, but entirely out of the range of vision of the ‘subject,’ even had his eyes been open, which they were not. Without the slightest change of expression or other observable muscular movement, and quite out of contact with the ‘subject,’ Mr. Smith then silently willed the subject to open or not to open his hand, in accordance with the ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ Twenty successive experiments were made in this way; seventeen of these were quite successful, and three were failures. But these three failures were possibly due to inadvertence on Mr. Smith‘s part, as he subsequently stated that on those occasions he had not been prompt enough to direct his will in the right direction before the question was asked.

    “The experiment was now varied as follows: The word ‘Yes’ was written on one, and the word ‘No’ on the other, of two precisely similar pieces of card. One or other of these cards was handed to Mr. Smith at my arbitrary pleasure, care, of course, being taken that the ‘subject’ had no opportunity of seeing the card, even had he been awake. When ‘Yes’ was handed, Mr. Smith was silently to will the ‘subject’ to answer aloud in response to the question asked by me, ‘Did you hear me?’ When ‘No’ was handed, Mr. Smith was to will that no response should be made in reply to the same question. The object of this series of experiments was to note the effect of increasing the distance between the willer and the willed,—the agent and the percipient. In the first instance Mr. Smith was placed three feet from the ‘subject,’ who remained throughout apparently asleep in an arm-chair in one corner of my study.

    “At three feet apart, fifteen trials were successively made, and in every case the ‘subject’ responded or did not respond in exact accordance with the silent will of Mr. Smith, as directed by me.

    “At six feet apart, six similar trials were made without a single failure.

    “At twelve feet apart, six more trials were made without a single failure.

    “At seventeen feet apart, six more trials were made without a single failure.

    “In this last case Mr. Smith had to be placed outside the study door, which was then closed with the exception of a narrow chink just wide enough to admit of passing a card in or out, whilst I remained in the study observing the ‘subject.’ To avoid any possible indication from the tone in which I asked the question, in all cases except the first dozen experiments, I shuffled the cards face downwards, and then handed the unknown ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to Mr. Smith, who looked at the card and willed accordingly. I noted down the result, and then, and not till then, looked at the card.

    “A final experiment was made when Mr. Smith was taken across the hall and placed in the dining-room, at a distance of about thirty feet from the ‘subject,’ two doors, both quite closed, intervening. Under these conditions, three trials were made with success, the ‘Yes’ response being, however, very faint and hardly audible to me, who returned to the study to ask the usual question after handing the card to the distant operator. At this point, the ‘subject’ fell into a deep sleep, and made no further replies to the questions addressed to him.

    “Omitting these final experiments, the total number of successive trials at different distances was forty-three. If the result had been due to accident, there would have been an even chance of failures and of {i-61} successes,—whereas in fact there was not a single failure in the entire series.

    “I subsequently made a series of a dozen successive trials in an absolutely dark room, conveying my intention to Mr. Smith by silently squeezing his hand, once for ‘No,’ twice for ‘Yes.’ Every trial was successful. When Mr. Smith was placed outside the darkened room, I handed him the card through a small aperture, which could be closed. Eight trials gave six results quite right, one wrong, and one doubtful. Afterwards twenty trials, made when Mr. Smith was recalled, and the room lighted, were all entirely successful. There was, I need hardly say, no contact between operator and ‘subject’ in any of these experiments.

    “The difference in the power of the will of the hypnotist and that of any other person was strikingly manifest, and the proof of the existence of a peculiar ‘rapport’ between operator and subject was simply overwhelming. I several times exerted my will in opposition to that of Mr. Smith—that is to say, willed that the ‘subject’ should or should not respond, when Mr. Smith willed the opposite, both of us being equally distant from the ‘subject.’ In every case his will triumphed. As in the case of Mr. Beard, the ‘subject,’ on being aroused, stated that he had heard the question each time, but that when he gave no answer he felt unaccountably unable to control his muscles so as to frame the word.

    “It was noticeable that neither in the normal nor in the hypnotic state was this subject able to tell any word or number or describe any diagram thought of or viewed by the operator. Only his ability to act in a particular way could be controlled, and he was not susceptible to even the most rudimentary form of thought-transference proper.”

    The following shorter series with another operator, Mr. Kershaw, of Southport, and with Mrs. Firth, a sick-nurse, as “subject,” though the precautions were less elaborate than in the case just recorded, was to an eye-witness almost equally satisfactory. For the trial was quite suddenly suggested to Mr. Kershaw by the present writer; and not only was it planned out of Mrs. Firth’s hearing, but Mr. Kershaw himself had some difficulty in understanding what was wanted. A variety of small circumstances combined to show that the form of experiment was entirely new both to operator and “subject.”

    The trial took place at Southport, on September 7th, 1883. Mrs. Firth, who had been previously thrown into a light stage of trance, was placed in a chair in the middle of a bare room. Mr. Kershaw and I stood about three yards behind her; and sight of us, or of any part of us, on her part was out of the question. The window was in the wall in front of her, but altogether on one side; and there were no other reflecting surfaces in the room. I drew up the subjoined list of yeses and noes, and held it for Mr. Kershaw to see. He made a quiet connecting motion of the hand (not touching me, and being many {i-62}

    feet from Mrs. Firth), when there was to be an answer, and an equally-quiet transverse or separating pass when there was to be none. I attribute no virtue to the passes, except so far as they were a means of vivifying Mr. Kershaw’s silent intention to himself. The passes were almost absolutely noiseless, and the extremely faint sound which they made, from the very nature of the gentle motion, can scarcely have varied. Complete silence was preserved but for my question, “Do you hear?” repeated time after time, in a perfectly neutral tone; and there did not appear to be the very faintest chance of signalling, even had there been an opportunity for arranging a scheme.

    1.—Yes   Right (i.e., Mrs. Firth responded).
    2.—No Right (i.e., Mrs. Firth did not respond).
    3.—YesRight.
    4.—YesRight.
    5.—No Right.
    6.—YesRight.
    7.—No At first no answer, which was right: then I gave a very loud stamp, which provoked a “Yes.”
    8.—No Right.
    9.—YesRight.

    I will add one more short series, which took place at my lodgings at Brighton, on September 10th, 1883. The operator was Mr. Smith; the “subject” an intelligent young cabinet-maker, named Conway. Mr. Smith and I stood behind him, without any contact with him. I held the list, and pointed to the desired answer each time. The silence was absolute. I repeated the question, “What is your name?” in a perfectly neutral and monotonous manner.

    1.—Yes   Right (i.e., the “subject” said “Conway”).
    2.—YesRight.
    3.—NoThis time the answer “Conway” was given; but when the next question was asked, the “subject” seemed unable to answer for some seconds, as though Mr. Smith‘s intention had taken effect a little too late.
    4.—YesRight.
    5.—NoRight.
    6.—NoRight.
    7.—YesRight.
    8.—NoRight.
    9.—YesRight.
    10.—YesRight.
    11.—NoRight.
    12.   YesRight.

    § 12. But in experiments of this class it is clearly difficult to be sure that the conscious idea of the evoked or the inhibited action does not precede or accompany the muscular effects. Indeed, as we have seen, the percipient’s own account has sometimes shown that it did so. I proceed, then, to our second class of cases. There is, fortunately, one sort of act where the verdict of the performer that it was {i-63} automatically performed may be taken as conclusive; the act of writing. If words are written down which the writer is obliged to read over, and even to puzzle over, just as anyone else might do, in order to learn what they are, his unconsciousness of them in the act of writing may be taken as established. Now written words are of course as good as spoken ones, as evidence that a particular idea has been in some way communicated. If, then, one person’s automatic writing corresponds unmistakeably to the idea on which another person’s mind was concentrated at the time, and if the possibility of sensory indications has been excluded, we have a clear example of some novel influence acting, not only without the participation of the recognised organs of sense, but without the participation of the percipient’s conscious intelligence. Here again we find the advantage of the generic word “telepathy”—for it would clearly be inaccurate to call a phenomenon “thought-transference” where what is transferred does not make its appearance, on the percipient’s side, as thought or any other form of conscious perception.

    We have in our collection several examples of this motor form of experimental telepathy; where a mental question on the part of some one present has been answered in writing, with a planchette1 1 A planchette has two advantages over a simple pencil. It is very much more easily moved to write; and it is very much easier to make with it the movements necessary for the formation of letters without realising what the letters are. or a simple pencil, without any consciousness of either the question or the answer on the part of the person whose hand was automatically acting. But the following group of cases is decidedly the most remarkable that has come under our notice.

    The Rev. P. H. Newnham, Vicar of Maker, Devonport, has had many indications of spontaneous transference of thought from himself to his wife;2 2 See, e.g., the cases quoted in Chap. v., §§2 and 8. and at one period of his life, in 1871, he carried out a long and systematic series of experiments, which were of the motor type that we are now considering—he writing down a question, and the planchette under his wife’s hands replying to it. He recorded the results, day by day, in a private diary, which he has kindly placed at our disposal. From this diary I quote the following extracts:—

    My wife always sat at a small low table, in a low chair, leaning backwards. I sat about eight feet distant, at a rather high table, and with my back towards her while writing down the questions. It was absolutely impossible that any gesture or play of features, on my part, could have been visible or intelligible to her. As a rule she kept her eyes shut; but never became in the slightest degree hypnotic, or even naturally drowsy.

    {i-64}

    Under these conditions we carried on experiments for about eight months, and I have 309 questions and answers recorded in my note-book, spread over this time. But the experiments were found very exhaustive of nerve power, and as my wife’s health was delicate, and the fact of thought-transmission had been abundantly proved, we thought it best to abandon the pursuit.

    I may mention that the planchette began to move instantly, with my wife. The answer was often half written before I had completed the question.

    On first finding that it would write easily, I asked three simple questions which were known to the operator;1 1 Mr. Newnham uses this word where we should use “subject” or “percipient.” then three others, unknown to her, relating to my own private concerns. All six having been instantly answered in a manner to show complete intelligence, I proceeded to ask:—

    7.2 2 The numbers prefixed to the questions are those in the note-book. Write down the lowest temperature here this winter. A. 8.

    Now, this reply at once arrested my interest. The actual lowest temperature had been 7.6° so that 8 was the nearest whole degree; but my wife said at once that, if she had been asked the question, she would have written 7 and not 8; as she had forgotten the decimal, but remembered my having said that the temperature had been down to 7 something.

    I simply quote this, as a good instance, at the very outset, of perfect transmission of thought, coupled with a perfectly independent reply; the answer being correct in itself, but different from the impression on the conscious intelligence of both parties.3 3 It will be borne in mind throughout that Mrs. Newnham had, at the time when the answer was produced, no conscious knowledge of the question which her husband had written down.

    Naturally our first desire was to see if we could obtain any information concerning the nature of the intelligence which was operating through the planchette, and of the method by which it produced the written results. We repeated questions on this subject again and again, and I will copy down the principal questions and answers in the connection.

    January 29th.

    13. Is it the operator’s brain, or some external force, that moves the planchette? Answer “brain” or “force.”

    A. Will.

    14. Is it the will of a living person, or of an immaterial spirit, distinct from that person? Answer “person” or “spirit.”

    A. Wife.

    15. Give first the wife’s Christian name; then, my favourite name for her.

    (This was accurately done.)

    27. What is your own name?

    A. Only you.

    28. We are not quite sure of the meaning of the answer. Explain.

    A. Wife.

    Failing to get more than this, at the outset, we turned to the same thought after question 114; when, having been closely pressed on another subject, we received the curt reply—“Told all I know.”

    {i-65}

    February 18th.

    117. Who are you that writes, and has told all you know?

    A. Wife.

    118. But does no one tell wife what to write? If so, who?

    A. Spirit.

    119. Whose spirit?

    A. Wife’s brain.

    120. But how does wife’s brain know (certain) secrets?

    A. Wife’s spirit unconsciously guides.

    121. But how does wife’s spirit know things it has never been told?

    A. No external influence.

    122. But by what internal influence does it know (these) secrets?

    A. You cannot know.

    March 15th.

    132. Who, then, makes the impressions upon her?

    A. Many strange things.

    133. What sort of strange things?

    A. Things beyond your knowledge.

    134. Do, then, things beyond our knowledge make impressions upon wife?

    A. Influences which no man understands or knows.

    136. Are these influences which we cannot understand external to wife?

    A. External—invisible.

    137. Does a spirit, or do spirits, exercise those influences?

    A. No, never (written very large and emphatically).

    138. Then from whom, or from whence, do the external influences come?

    A. Yes; you will never know.

    139. What do you mean by writing “yes” in the last answer?

    A. That I really meant never.

    April 10th.

    192. But by what means are my thoughts conveyed to her brain?

    A. Electro-biology.

    193. What is electro-biology?

    A. No one knows.

    194. But do not you know?

    A. No. Wife does not know.

    My object in quoting this large number of questions and replies [N.B. those here given are mere samples] has not been merely to show the instantaneous and unfailing transmission of thought from questioner to operator; but, more especially, to call attention to a remarkable characteristic of the answers given. These answers, consistent and invariable in their tenor from first to last, did not correspond with the opinions or expectations of either myself or my wife. Neither myself nor my wife had ever taken part in any form of (so-called) “spiritual” manifestations before this time; nor had we any decided opinion as to the agency by which phenomena of this kind were brought about. But for such answers as those numbered 14, 27, 137, 192, and 194, we were both of us totally unprepared; and I may add that, so far as we were prepossessed by any opinions whatever, these replies were distinctly opposed to such opinions. In a word, it is simply impossible that these replies should {i-66} have been either suggested or composed by the conscious intelligence of either of us.

    I had a young man reading with me as a private pupil at this time. On February 12th he returned from his vacation; and, on being told of our experiments, expressed his incredulity very strongly. I offered any proof that he liked to insist upon, only stipulating that I should see the question asked. Accordingly, Mrs. Newnham took her accustomed chair in my study, while we went out into the hall, and shut the door behind us. He then wrote down on a piece of paper:—

    87. What is the Christian name of my eldest sister?

    We at once returned to, the study, and found the answer already waiting for us:—

    A. Mina.

    (This name was the family abbreviation of Wilhelmina; and I should add that it was unknown to myself.)

    I must now go on to speak of a series of other experiments, of a very remarkable kind.

    We soon found that my wife was perfectly unable to follow the motions of the planchette. Often she only touched it with a single finger; but even with all her fingers resting on the board, she never had the slightest idea of what words were being traced out. It struck me that it would be a good thing to take advantage of this peculiarity on her part, to ask questions upon subjects that it was impossible for her to know anything about. I had taken a deep interest in Masonic archæology, and I now questioned planchette on some subjects connected therewith.

    February 14th.

    92. What is the English of the great word of the R.A.?

    After an interruption, of which I shall speak hereafter, one great word of the degree, but not the one I meant, was written, very slowly and clearly.

    February 18th.

    112. What is the translation of the Great Triple Word?

    A. (The first syllable of the word in question was written correctly, and then it proceeded.) The end unknown. Three languages. Greece. Egypt. Syriac.

    115. Who are you that know?

    (Answer scrawled and illegible.)

    116. Please repeat same answer legibly.

    A. Manifestation triune person.

    March 26th.

    166. Of what language is the first syllable of the Great Triple R.A. Word?

    A. Don’t know.

    167. Yes, you do. What are the three languages of which the word is composed?

    A. Greek, Egypt, Syriac first syllable (correctly given), rest unknown.

    {i-67}

    168. Write the syllable which is Syriac.

    A. (First syllable correctly written.)

    169. Write the syllable which is Egyptian.

    A. Second.

    170. Can you not write the syllable itself?

    A. Third Greek.

    174. Write down the word itself.

    A. First three and last two letters were written correctly, but four incorrect letters, partly borrowed from another word of the same degree, came in the middle.

    176. Why do you write a word of which I know nothing?

    A. Wife tried hard to tell the word, but could not quite catch it.

    177. Catch it from whom?

    A. Not quite sure.

    178. Not quite sure of what?

    A. I know nothing. Wife doesn’t quite know.

    In the above series of answers we have, it seems to me, a very remarkable combination of knowledge and ignorance. There is a perfect appreciation of my thoughts, in the queries; but a strange, persistent, almost dogged, incapability of seeing my thoughts, in the replies. Especially in the answer to 116, and in some other answers [not here quoted], there is a reference to an opinion which was published by Dr. Oliver, whose works I had been carefully reading about four months before, but with whose theory, in this case, I most strongly disagreed. So that here was an opinion intimated which it was impossible that the operator could have been aware of, and which the questioner had absolutely rejected as untenable!

    182. Write out the prayer used at the advancement of a Mark Master Mason.

    A. Almighty Ruler of the Universe and Architect of all worlds, we beseech Thee to accept this, our brother, whom we have this day received into our most honourable Company of Mark Master Masons. Grant him to be a worthy member of our brotherhood; and may he be in his own person a perfect mirror of all Masonic virtues. Grant that all our doings may be to Thy honour and glory, and to the welfare of all mankind.

    This prayer was written off instantaneously and very rapidly. It is a very remarkable production indeed. For the benefit of those who are not members of the craft, I may say that no prayer in the slightest degree resembling it is made use of in the Ritual of any Masonic degree; and yet it contains more than one strictly accurate technicality connected with the degree of Mark Mason. My wife has never seen any Masonic prayers, whether in “Carlile,” or any other real or spurious Ritual of the Masonic Order.

    Here, then, assuredly was a formula composed by some intelligence totally distinct from the conscious intelligence of either of the persons engaged in the experiment.

    I proceeded to inquire as follows:—

    {i-68}

    183. I do not know this prayer. Where is it to be found?

    A. Old American Ritual.

    184. Where can I get one?

    A. Most likely none in England.

    185. Can you not write the prayer that I made use of in my own Lodge?

    A. No, I don’t know it.

    In these last answers we see a new moral element introduced. There is evasion, or subterfuge, of a more or less ingenious kind; and totally foreign to the whole character and natural disposition of the operator. A similar attempt at deliberate invention, rather than plead guilty to total ignorance, is contained in the following answers:—

    May 7th.

    255. In what Masonic degree was the Triple Word first used?

    A. Wife does not know.

    256. Cannot you tell her?

    A. How can wife know what no one else does?

    257. Does no one, then, know the answer to this?

    A. No one knows now.

    258. What do you mean by “now”? Did anyone once know?

    A. The last one who knew died at least twenty years ago.

    259. What was his name?

    A. In America; don’t know name.

    [Many more instances of these evasive replies occur.]

    May 10th.

    Planchette again gave us an example of its sense of the humorous.

    I had been obliged to engage a clergyman who was not a favourable specimen of his profession, as I could procure no one else in time to get the Sunday’s work done. He was much amused with planchette, and desired to ask:—

    277. How should a bachelor live in this neighbourhood?

    (The answer was illegible.)

    278. Please repeat answer.

    A. Three months.

    (Planchette evidently did not catch the exact query.)

    279. I did not ask how long but how?

    A. Eating and drinking and sleeping and smoking.

    That clergyman never consulted planchette again.

    I will conclude with a very pretty instance of a mistake instantly corrected. It was on the same evening, May 10th; I had to preach on the following Whit-Monday, on the occasion of laying a foundation-stone with Masonic ceremonial, so I asked:—

    275. Give me a text for Whit-Monday’s sermon.

    A. If I go not away, the Comforter will not come to you.

    The selection of a subject suitable for Whitsuntide is plainly the first idea caught by the intelligence; so I proceeded:—

    276. That will not do for my subject. I want a text for the Monday’s sermon.

    {i-69}

    A. Let brotherly love continue.

    I will add one example where, contrary to the usual rule, the idea of the answer, though not that of the question, reached the level of consciousness in Mrs. Newnham’s mind.

    59. What name shall we give to our new dog?

    A. Nipen.

    The name of Nipen, from Feats on the Fiord, shot into the operator’s brain just as the question was asked.

    The above quotations form a fair sample of Mr. Newnham’s 309 experiments of the same type; and no one who admits the bona fides of the record, and believes that Mrs. Newnham, sitting with closed eyes eight feet behind her husband, did not obtain through her senses an unconscious knowledge of what he wrote, will deny that some sort of telepathic influence was at work, acting below the level of the percipient’s consciousness. The experiments are further interesting as suggesting, in the character of many of the replies, an unconscious intelligence—a second self quite other than Mrs. Newnham’s conscious self. “Unconscious intelligence” is no doubt a somewhat equivocal phrase, and it is necessary to know in every case exactly what is meant by it. It may be used in a purely physical sense—to describe the unconscious cerebral processes whereby actions are produced which as a rule are held to imply conscious intelligence; as, for instance, when complicated movements, once performed with thought and effort, gradually become mechanical. But it may be used also to describe psychical processes which are severed from the main conscious current of an individual’s life. Unconsciousness in any further sense it would be rash to assert; for intelligent psychic process without consciousness of some sort, if not a contradiction in terms, is at any rate something as impossible to imagine as a fourth dimension in space. The events in question are outside the individual’s consciousness, as the events in another person’s consciousness are; but they differ from these last in not revealing themselves as part of any continuous stream of conscious life; and no one, therefore, can give an account of them as belonging to a self. What their range and conditions of emergence may be we cannot tell; since, in general, their very existence can only be inferred from certain sensible effects to which they lead.1 1 It may be asked what right I have to make any such inference; since à la rigueur the effects, being sensible and physical, do not require us to suppose that they had any other than physical antecedents. It is true that it is impossible to demonstrate that the physical antecedents, which undoubtedly exist, have any psychical correlative. But the results in question have often no analogy to the automatic actions which we are accustomed to attribute to “unconscious cerebration.” They are not the effects of habit and practice; they are new results, of a sort which has in all our experience been preceded by intention and reflection, and referable to a self. But perhaps the simplest illustration of what is here meant by “unconscious intelligence” is to be found in occasional facts of dreaming. Thus, it has occurred to me at least once, in a dream, to be asked a riddle, to give it up, and then to be told the answer—which, on waking, I found quite sufficiently pertinent to show that the question could not have been framed without distinct reference to it. Yet for the consciousness which I call mine, that reference had remained wholly concealed: so little had I known myself as the composer of the riddle that the answer came to me as a complete surprise. The philosophical problem of partial selves cannot be here enlarged on. For a discussion of the subject from the point of view of cerebral localisation, as well as for further quotations from Mr. Newnham’s record, I may refer the reader to Mr. Myers’ paper on “Automatic Writing,” in Vol. iii. of the Proceedings of the S.P.R. I may recall the undoubted phenomena of what {i-70} has been termed “double consciousness,” where a double psychical life is found connected with a single organism. In those cases the two selves, one of which knows nothing of the other, appear as successive; but if we can regard such segregated existences as united or unified by bonds of reference and association which, for the partial view of one of them at least, remain permanently out of sight, then I do not see what new or fundamental difficulty is introduced by conceiving them as simultaneous; and simultaneity of the sort is what seems to be shown, in a fragmentary way, by cases like the present. I shall have to recur to this conception in connection with some of the facts of spontaneous telepathy (see pp. 230–1).

    A further noteworthy point is that so often the questions and not the answers in the agent’s mind should have been telepathically discerned; but we may perhaps conceive that the impulse first conveyed set the percipient’s independent activity to work, and so put an end for the moment to the receptive condition. The power to reproduce the actual word thought of is sufficiently shown in the cases where names were given (15 and 87), and in some of the Masonic answers; and the following examples belong to the same class.

    48. What name shall we give to our new dog?

    A. Yesterday was not a fair trial.

    49. Why was not yesterday a fair trial?

    A. Dog.

    And again:—

    108. What do I mean by chaffing C. about a lilac tree?

    A. Temper and imagination.

    109. You are thinking of somebody else. Please reply to my question.

    A. Lilacs.

    Here a single image or word seems to have made its mark on the percipient’s mind, without calling any originative activity into play; and we thus get the naked reproduction. In these last examples we again notice the feature of deferred impression. The influence {i-71} only gradually became effective, the immediate answer being irrelevant to the question. We may suppose, therefore, that the first effect took place below the threshold of consciousness.1 1 The following case, though not strictly experimental, is sufficiently in point to be worth quoting. Though unfortunately not recorded in writing at the time, it was described within a few days of its occurrence to Mr. Podmore, who is acquainted with all the persons concerned. The narrator is Miss Robertson, of 229, Marylebone Road, W. “About three years ago I was speaking of planchette-writing to some of my friends, when a young lady, a daughter of the house where I was spending the evening, mentioned that she had played with planchette at school, and that it had always written for her. Thereupon I asked her to spend the evening with me, and try it again, which she agreed to do. On the morning of the day on which she had arranged to come to me, her brother, on leaving the house, said, laughing, ‘Well, Edith, it is all humbug, but if planchette tells you the name and sum of money which are on a cheque which I have in my pocket, and which I am going to cash for mother, I will believe there is something in it.’ Edith, on her arrival at my house in the evening, told me of this, and I said, ‘We must not expect that; planchette never does what one wants,’ or words to that effect. A couple of hours after, we tried the planchette, Edith’s hand alone touching it. It almost immediately wrote, quite clearly:— ‘I. SPALDING. £6:13:4.’ I had forgotten about the cheque, and I said, ‘What can that mean?’ Upon which Edith replied, ‘It is H.’s cheque, perhaps.’ I was incredulous, having a long acquaintance with planchette. I said, ‘If it is right, send me word directly you get home; I am sure it will not be.’ But the next day I received a letter from Edith, telling me that she had astonished her brother greatly by telling him the name and the amount on the cheque, which was perfectly correct. I have read this account to the young lady and her brother, who sign it as well as myself. “NORA ROBERTSON. “E. C. “D. C. H. C.” In answer to an inquiry, Miss Robertson adds, on Feb. 12, 1885:— “Miss E. C. says, in answer to your question, that she is quite certain she could not have known, or surmised, the name and amount of the cheque. “I can confirm her on the first point, for I remember questioning everybody all round at the time. She had just returned from school, and knew nothing at all about her mother’s business or money matters.” Here, it will be observed, the impression seems not only to have been unconscious, but to have remained latent for several hours before taking effect; for it is at any rate the most natural supposition that the transference actually occurred at the time when the conversation on the subject took place between the brother and sister. This latency of an impression which finally takes effect in distinct automatic or semi-automatic movements, may be seen in cases which have no connection with telepathy. It occurs, for instance, in the following “muscle-reading” experiment, described to us by Mr. George B. Trent, of 65, Sandgate Road, Folkestone:— “March 24th, 1883. “Some two months back, I was asked by a gentleman, who had read of my experiments in the paper, to oblige him with a séance. I called upon him one afternoon, and he told me that he had hidden some object, in the early morning, and he thought he had given me a puzzle. I first experimented with pins; I led him to their hiding-places at once, without the least hesitation. I then asked him to concentrate the whole of his thoughts on what he had done in the morning. I immediately led him to a davenport, unlocked it, and from amongst, I may say, perhaps a hundred papers and other articles, I selected three photographs, and from the three I fixed upon one—that of his wife. He then said he was perfectly astonished, as I had positively gone through an experiment he had set himself to do, but abandoned in favour of another he had done.” It seems probable that, at any rate in the earlier stages of this performance, the idea of what was to be done was not consciously present in the “willer’s” mind, which was apparently concentrated on something else. And if so, his muscular indications must have been the result of unconscious cerebration—an effect of nervous activity, continuing to act in accordance with a previous impulse which had lapsed from consciousness.

    § 13. I may now proceed to some further results which were obtained with percipients of less abnormal sensibility, and which demand, therefore, a careful application of the theory of probabilities.

    {i-72}

    For the development of the motor form of experiment in this direction, we have again to thank M. Richet; who here, as in the case of the card-guessing, has brought the calculus to bear effectively on various sets of results many of which, if looked at in separation, would have had no significance.1 1 I have given a fuller description and criticism of M. Richet’s investigations in Vol. ii. of the Proceedings of the S.P.R. The fact that the “subjects” of his trials were persons who had betrayed no special aptitude for “mental suggestion,” made it clearly desirable that the bodily action required should be of the very simplest sort. The formation of words by a planchette-writer requires, of course, a very complex set of muscular co-ordinations: all that M. Richet sought to obtain was a single movement or twitch. In the earlier trials an object was hidden, and the percipient endeavoured to discover it by means of a sort of divining-rod—the idea being that he involuntarily twitched the rod at the right moment under the influence of “mental suggestion” from the agent, who was watching his movements. But where the subject of communication is of such an extremely simple kind, very elaborate precautions would be needed to guard against unconscious hints. Indications from the expression or attitude of the “agent” may be prevented by blindfolding the “percipient,” and in other ways; but if the two are in close proximity, it is harder to exclude such signs as may be given by involuntary movements, or by changes of breathing. M. Richet’s later experiments were ingeniously contrived so as to obviate this objection.

    The place of a planchette was taken by a table, and M. Richet prefaces his account by a succinct statement of the orthodox view as to “table-turning.” Rejecting altogether the three theories which attribute the phenomena to wholesale fraud, to spirits, and to an unknown force, he regards the gyrations and oscillations of séance-tables as due wholly to the unconscious muscular contractions of the sitters. It thus occurred to him to employ a table as an indicator of the movements that might be produced, by “mental suggestion.” The plan of the experiments was as follows. Three persons (C, D, and E,) took their seats in a semi-circle, at a little table on which their hands rested. One of these three was always a “medium”—a term used by M. Richet to denote a person liable to exhibit intelligent movements in which consciousness and will apparently take no part. Attached to the table was a simple electrical apparatus, the effect of which was to ring a bell whenever the current was broken by the tilting of the table.

    {i-73}

    Behind the backs of the sitters at the table was another table, on which was a large alphabet, completely screened from the view of C, D, and E, even had they turned round and endeavoured to see it. In front of this alphabet sat A, whose duty was to follow the letters slowly and steadily with a pen, returning at once to the beginning as soon as he arrived at the end. At A’s side sat B, with a note-book; his duty was to write down the letter at which A’s pen happened to be pointing whenever the bell rang. This happened whenever one of the sitters at the table made the simple movement necessary to tilt it. Under these conditions, A and B are apparently mere automata. C, D, and E are little more, being unconscious of tilting the table, which appears to them to tilt itself; but even if they tilted it consciously, and with a conscious desire to dictate words, they have no means of ascertaining at what letter A’s pen is pointing at any particular moment; and they might tilt for ever without producing more than an endless series of incoherent letters. Things being arranged thus, a sixth operator, F, stationed himself apart both from the tilting table and from the alphabet, and concentrated his thought on some word of his own choosing, which he had not communicated to the others. The three sitters at the first table engaged in conversation, sang, or told stories; but at intervals the table tilted, the bell rang, and B wrote down the letter which A’s pen was opposite to at that moment. Now, to the astonishment of all concerned, these letters, when arranged in a series, turned out to produce a more or less close approximation to the word of which F was thinking.

    For the sake of comparing the results with those which pure accident would give, M. Richet first considers some cases of the latter sort. He writes the word NAPOLEON; he then takes a box containing a number of letters, and makes eight draws; the eight letters, in the order of drawing, turn out to be UPMTDEYV He then places this set below the other, thus:—

    NAPOLEON

    UPMTDEYV

    Taking the number of letters in the French alphabet to be 24, the probability of the correspondence of any letter in the lower line with the letter immediately above it is, of course 1 24; and in the series of 8 letters it is more probable than not that there will not be a single correspondence. If we reckon as a success any case where the letter in the lower line corresponds not only with the letter above it, but {i-74} with either of the neighbours of that letter in the alphabet1 1 This procedure of counting neighbouring letters seems to require some justification. It might be justified by the difficulty, on the theory of mental suggestion, of obtaining an exact coincidence of time between the tilting and the pointing. But I think that M. Richet does justify it (Rev. Phil., p. 654), by reference to some other experiments—not yet published, but of which he has shown us the record—where intelligible words were produced of which no one in the room was, or had been, thinking. For here also neighbouring letters appeared, but in such a way as left no room for doubt, in the reader’s mind, as to what the letter should have been. (e.g., where L has above it either K, L, or M), then a single correspondence represents the most probable amount of success. In the actual result, it will be seen, there is just one correspondence, which happens to be a complete one—the letter E in the sixth place. It will not be necessary to quote other instances. Suffice it to say that the total result, of trials involving the use of 64 letters, gives 3 exact correspondences, while the expression indicating the most probable number was 2·7; and 7 correspondences of the other type, while the most probable number was 8. Thus even in this short set of trials, the accidental result very nearly coincided with the strict theoretic number.

    We are now in a position to appreciate the results obtained when the factor of “mental suggestion” was introduced. In the first experiment made, M. Richet, standing apart both from the table and from the alphabet, selected from Littré’s dictionary a line of poetry which was unknown to his friends, and asked the name of the author. The letters obtained by the process above described were JFARD; and there the tilting stopped. After M. Richet’s friends had puzzled in vain over this answer, he informed them that the author of the line was Racine; and juxtaposition of the letters thus—

    JFARD

    JEANR

    shows that the number of complete successes was 2, which is about 10 times the fraction representing the most probable number; and that the number of successes of the type where neighbouring letters are reckoned was 3, which is about 5 times the fraction representing the most probable number. M. Richet tells us, however, that he was not actually concentrating his thought on the author’s Christian name. Even so, it probably had a sub-conscious place in his mind, which might sufficiently account for its appearance. At the same time accident has of course a wider scope when there is more than one result that would be allowed as successful; and the amount of success was here not nearly striking enough to have any independent weight.

    It is clearly desirable—with the view of making sure that F’s mind, if any, is the operative one—not to ask a question of which the {i-75} answer might possibly at some time have been within the knowledge of the sitters at the table; and in the subsequent experiments the name was silently fixed on by F. The most striking success was this:—

    Name thought of: CHEVALON

    Letters produced: CHEVAL

    Here the most probable number of exact successes was 0, and the actual number was 6.

    Taking the sum of eight trials, we find that the most probable number of exact successes was 2, and the actual number 14; and that the most probable number of successes of the other type was 7, and the actual number 24. It was observed, moreover, that the correspondences were much more numerous in the earlier letters of each set than in the later ones. The first three letters of each set were as follows—

    JFA—NEF—FOQ—HEN—CHE—EPJ—CHE—ALL

    JEA—LEG—EST—HIG—DIE—DOR—CHE—ZKO

    Here, out of 24 trials, the most probable number of exact successes being 1, the actual number is 8; the most probable number of successes of the other type being 3, the actual number is 17. The figures become still more striking if we regard certain consecutive series in the results. Thus the probability of obtaining by chance the three consecutive correspondences in the first experiment here quoted was 1 512; and that of obtaining the 6 consecutive correspondences in the CHEVALON experiment was about 1 100,000,000.

    The experiment was repeated four times in another form. A line of poetry was secretly and silently written down by the agent, with the omission of a single letter. He then asked what the omitted letter was; it was correctly produced in every one of the four trials. The probability of such a result was less than  300,000.

    And now follows a very interesting observation. In some cases, after the result was obtained, subsequent trials were made with the same word, which of course the agent did not reveal in the meantime; and the amount of success was sometimes markedly increased on these subsequent trials. Thus, when the name thought of was D’O R M O N T,

    the first three letters produced on the first trial were EPJ* * In the printed text, all the words in the following three lines except “second,” “third,” and “fourth” and the three-letter combinations are represented by ditto marks. —Ed.

    the first three letters produced on the second trial were EPF

    the first three letters produced on the third trial were EPS

    the first three letters produced on the fourth trial were DOR

    Summing up these four trials, the most probable number of exact successes was 0, and the actual number was 3; the most probable {i-76} number of successes of the other type was 1 or at most 2; and the actual number was 10. The probability of the 3 consecutive successes in the last trial was about  10,000.

    In respect of this name d’Ormont, there was a further very peculiar result. On the fourth trial, the letters produced in the manner described stood thus—DOREMIOD. Thus, if the name thought of were spelt DOREMOND, the approximation would be extraordinarily close, the probability of the accidental occurrence of the 5 consecutive successes being something infinitesimal.

    1 1 Moreover the E in the 4th place had appeared in two of the preceding trials and the final O D in one of them. Now, as long as we are merely aiming at an unassailable mathematical estimate of probabilities for each particular case, it does not seem justifiable to take ifs of any sort into consideration. M. Richet, who was the agent, expressly tells us that he was imagining the name spelt as d’Ormont; and on the strict account, therefore, the success reached a point against which the odds, though still enormous, were decidedly less enormous than if he had been imagining the other spelling. But when we are endeavouring to form a correct view of what really takes place, it would be unintelligent not to take a somewhat wider view of the phenomena. And such a view seems to show that in those underground mental regions where M. Richet’s results (if more than accidental) must have had their preparation, a mistake or a piece of independence in spelling is by no means an unusual occurrence. The records of automatism, quite apart from telepathy, afford many instances of such independence. Thus a gentleman, writing automatically, was puzzled by the mention of a friend at Frontunac—a place he had never heard of; weeks afterwards his own writing gave him the correct name—Fond du Lac. Mr. Myers’ paper, above referred to, contains one case where a planchette wrote, “My name is Norman,” presumably meaning Norval; and another, witnessed by Professor Sidgwick, where the Greek letter x was automatically written as K H, with the result that for a time the word completely puzzled the writer. And while engaged on this very point I have received a letter from Mr. Julian Hawthorne, in which he tells me that the spelling of the planchette-writing obtained through the automatism of a young child of his own was “much better than in her own letters and journals.”

    I will insert here an incident to which, since it occurred in connection with a person who has been detected in the production of spurious {i-77} phenomena, I wish to attribute no evidential importance. Throughout this book care has been taken to rest our case exclusively on phenomena and records of phenomena derived from (as we believe) quite untainted sources; but there are two reasons which seem to me to make the following experience worth describing. First, those who already believe in thought-transference will feel little doubt that we have here an instance of it, which is in itself independent of the character and pretensions of the percipient; and this being so, they will find, in the close parallelism that the case presents in some points to M. Richet’s experiments, an interesting confirmation of these. And secondly, it may be useful to suggest that thought-transference is probably the true explanation of certain results professedly produced by “spiritualistic mediumship”; for till telepathic percipience is allowed for, as a natural human faculty, the occasional manifestations of it in dubious circumstances are certain to be a source of confusion and error.

    On September 2, 1885, Mr. F. W. H. Myers, Dr. A. T. Myers, and the present writer paid an impromptu visit to a professional “medium” in a foreign town, who had no clue whatever to our names and identity. We had decided beforehand on a name on which to concentrate our thoughts, with a view to getting it reproduced. There was no opportunity for employing M. Richet’s precautions and checks. The “medium,” her daughter, and the three visitors sat round a table on which their hands were placed, and the present writer pointed to the successive letters of a printed alphabet; at intervals the sound of a rap was heard, and the letter thus indicated was written down. Now these conditions could not have been considered adequate, had the result been that the name in our minds was correctly given; for though our two companions were not apparently looking at us and not in contact with us, it might have been supposed that some involuntary and unconscious movement on our part revealed to one of them at what points to make the raps. But as the result turned out, it will be seen, I think, that this objection does not apply. The name that had been selected was John Henry Pratt. The result obtained in the way described was JONHNYESROSAT. From the N in the fifth place to the end, Dr. Myers and myself regarded the letters that were being given as purely fortuitous, and as forming gibberish; and though Mr. F. W. H. Myers detected a method in them, he was as far as we were from expecting the successive letters before they appeared. On inspection, the method {i-78} becomes apparent. If in three places an approximation (of the sort so often met with by M. Richet) be allowed, and a contiguous letter be substituted, the complete name will be found to be given, thus:—

       R
       P
    T

    the first word being phonetically spelt, and the other two being correct anagrams. It is highly improbable that such an amount of resemblance was accidental; and it is difficult to suppose that it was due to muscular indications unconsciously given by us in accordance with an unconscious arrangement of the letters in our minds in phonetic and anagrammatic order. If these suppositions be excluded, the only alternative will be thought-transference—the letters whose image or sound was transferred being modified by the percipient herself, in a way which seems, from some experiments unconnected with thought-transference, to be quite within the scope of the mind’s unconscious operations.1 1 For a curious case of the automatic production of anagrams see Proceedings of the S.P.R., Vol. ii., pp. 226–31. But in whatever way the knowledge of the letters or syllables reached the “medium’s” mind, I see no reason to think that the expression of it by raps was other than a conscious act. The sounds were such as would be made by gently tapping the foot against the wooden frame of the table; and at a subsequent trial with one of these so-called “mediums”—the daughter—I managed by very gradually advancing my own foot to receive on it first a part and ultimately the whole of the impact. The movement required to make the raps may have become semiautomatic from long habit, but can hardly have been unconscious. I may add that, out of a good many words and sentences which were spelt out in the same way at several different sittings, the case recorded was (with a single doubtful exception) the only one that contained the slightest indication of any abnormal faculty.

    To return to M. Richet’s experiments—a result of a different kind was the following, which is especially noteworthy as due to the agency of an idea that was itself on the verge of the unconscious. M. Richet chose a quotation at random from Littré’s dictionary, and asked for the name of the author, which was Legouvé. The letters produced were JOSEPHCHD, which looked like a complete failure. But the quotation in the dictionary was adjacent to another from the works of Joseph Chénier; and M. Richet’s eye, in running over the page, had certainly encountered the latter name, which had probably retained a certain low place in his consciousness. Another {i-79} very interesting case of a result unintended by the agent, though probably due to something in his mind, was this. The name thought of was Victor; the letters produced on three trials were
    DALEN
    DAMES
    DANDS
    —seemingly complete failures. But it appeared that while the agent had been concentrating his thoughts on “Victor,” the name of a friend, Danet, had spontaneously recurred to his memory. We should, of course, be greatly extending the chances of accidental

    success, if we reckoned collocations of letters as successful on the ground of their resemblance to any one of the names or words which may have momentarily found their way into the agent’s mind while the experiment was in progress. Here, however, the name seems to have suggested itself with considerable persistence, and the resemblance is very close. And if the result may fairly be attributed to “mental suggestion,” then, of the two names which had a certain lodgment in the agent’s mind, the one intended to be effective was ineffective, and vice versâ.

    It is a remarkable fact that in the few hitherto recorded cases of experimental telepathy, where words have been indicated by writing or by other movements on the percipient’s part, the idea or word transferred seems as often as not to have been one which was not at the moment occupying the agent’s consciousness; that is to say, the influence has proceeded from some part of the agent’s mind which is below the threshold of conscious attention. (See p. 84 below, and Vol. II., pp. 670–1.) This conception of unconscious agency—of an “unconscious intelligence” in the agent as well as in the percipient—will present itself again very prominently when we come to consider the cases of spontaneous telepathy. But the experimental instances have a theoretic importance of another sort. They seem to exhibit telepathic production of movements by what is at most an idea, and not a volition, on the agent’s part. This, indeed, is a hypothesis which seems justified even by M. Richet’s less exceptional results. For we must remember that in a sense A is throughout more immediately the agent than F; it is what A’s mind contributes, not what F’s mind contributes, that produces the tilts at the right moments.1 1 When A, in pointing, began at the beginning of the alphabet, the sense of time might conceivably have led to an unconscious judgment as to the point arrived at. This idea had occurred to M. Richet. It seems, however, an unnecessary multiplication of hypotheses; for we learn from him that in some trials A began at uncertain places, and that under these conditions coherent words were obtained. The fact that so often the approximate letter was given, instead of the exact one, might seem at first sight to favour the hypothesis of unconscious reckoning; but it will be observed that exactly the same approximations took place in our own experiment (pp. 77–8), where the alphabet was in the “medium’s” sight. But this {i-80} is of course through no will of A’s; he is ignorant of the required word, and has absolutely no opportunity of bringing his volition into play. His “agency” is of a wholly passive sort; and his mind, as it follows the course of his pen, is a mere conduit-pipe, whereby knowledge of a certain kind obtains access to the “unconscious intelligence” which evokes the tilts. If, then, the knowledge manifests itself as impulse, can we avoid the conclusion that in this particular mode of access—in “mental suggestion” or telepathy as such—a certain impulsive quality is involved? We shall encounter further signs of such an impulsive quality among the spontaneous cases.1 1 The impulse might no doubt be otherwise accounted for if we supposed that a close connection was established in F’s mind between the idea of the objecti.e., the successive letters—and the idea of the movement, and that this complex idea was what was transferred and what ultimately took effect. But it is hard to apply this hypothesis to cases where a word is produced which, though latent in F’s mind, has no resemblance to the word whose production he is willing. The transference of the idea of the latent word, even to the exclusion of the right word, can be quite conceived; but can we suppose that, subconsciously or unconsciously, an idea of movement was combined with the idea of its letters in the agent’s mind, at the very moment when that on which his attention was fixed, and with which ex hypothesi the conscious idea of movement was connected, was a quite different set of letters? Can we suppose that the idea of movement overflowed into the unconscious region of his mind, and there on its own account formed an alliance with alien elements, the effect of which on the percipient would prevent the effect intended? It must be remembered that where a word which is not the one intended gets transferred from F to the “medium,” there is no knowledge, conscious or unconscious, on F’s part, as to what that word will be. A number of words are latent in his mind; one of these finds an echo in another mind. But how should the idea of movement find out which particular one, out of all the words, is destined thus to find an echo, so as to associate itself with its letters and no others? And if we suppose the association to be between the unconscious idea of movement and the unconscious idea of letters in general, this is no less dissimilar and opposed to anything that the conscious part of F’s mind has conceived. For it is not in letters as such, but in the exclusive constituents of a particular word, that he is interested; if indeed he is interested in anything beyond the word as a whole. The difficulty here seems to justify the suggestion—with which I imagine that M. Richet would agree—that the physiological impulse does not depend on any idea of movement, or any special direction of the agent’s will to that result. This might be tested, if F were a person ignorant of the form of the experiment, and out of sight of the table. (See pp. 294, 537–8.)

    But of course the relation between F and the “medium” plays also a necessary part in the result; the impulse to tilt when a particular letter is reached only takes effect when it falls (so to speak) on ground prepared by “mental suggestion” from F—on a mind in which the word imagined by him has obtained an unconscious lodgment. The unconscious part of the percipient’s mind would thus be the scene of confluence of two separate telepathic streams, which proceed to combine there in an intelligent way—one proceeding from F’s mind, which produces unconscious knowledge of the word, and the other proceeding from A’s mind, which produces an unconscious image {i-81} of the successive letters.1 1 It will be seen that the results of such “unconscious intelligence” go considerably beyond the received results of mere “unconscious cerebration.” Unconscious cerebration is amply competent to produce such seemingly intelligent actions as ordinary writing; but what is now done more resembles the formation of a word by picking letters from a heap, or type-writing by a person who is unused to his instrument. The process is not one in which every item is connected by long-standing association with the one before and after it; every item is independent, and implies the recognition, at an uncertain moment, of a particular relation—that between the next letter required for the word and the same letter in its place in a quite distinct series. Another possible supposition would be that F’s thought affects, not the “medium,” but A; or conversely, that A’s thought affects not the “medium,” but F;—that A obtains unconscious knowledge of the word, or that F obtains unconscious knowledge of the letter, and so is enabled to communicate an impulse to the “medium” at the right moment. And we should then have to suppose a secret understanding between two parts of A’s or F’s mind, the part which takes account of the letters of the alphabet, and the part which takes account of the letters of the word—the former being conscious and the latter unconscious, or vice versâ, according as A or F is the party affected.

    One hesitates to launch oneself on the conceptions which these experiments open up; but the only alternative would be to question the facts from an evidential point of view. So regarded, they are of an extremely simple kind; and if their genuineness be granted, we are reft once and for all from our old psychological moorings. The whole question of the psychical constitution of man is opened to its furthest depths; and our central conception—telepathy—the interest of which, even in its simpler phases, seemed almost unsurpassable, takes on an interest of a wholly unlooked-for kind. For it now appears as an all-important method or instrument for testing the mind in its hidden parts, and for measuring its unconscious operations.

    § 14. The above sketch (for it is little more) may give an idea of the chief experimental results so far obtained in the course of serious and systematic research.2 2 Some further experimental cases will be found in Chap. i. of the Supplement, and in the Additional Chapter at the end of Vol. ii. But though the investigation may be laboriously and consecutively pursued by those who make a special study of the subject, it is one which admits also of being prosecuted in a more haphazard and sporadic manner. A group of friends may take it up for a few evenings, and then get tired of it; and it is quite possible for valuable results to be obtained without any recognition of their value. One or two specimens of these casual successes that we so {i-82} frequently hear of may be worth citing, if only because the knowledge that such results are obtainable may stimulate further trials. Our own satisfaction in such fragments of evidence is often more than counterbalanced by the impossibility of getting our friends to devote time and trouble to the work.

    The following case, received in September, 1885, from Mrs. Wilson, of Westal, Cheltenham, is interesting as an apparent victory of “thought-reading” over “muscle-reading.” A group of five “willers” one of whom was in contact with the would-be percipient, were to concentrate their minds on the desire that the latter should sit down to the piano and strike the middle C. Had she done so, the result would have been worth little; but this was what happened:—

    “When A. I. entered blindfolded—her hand in the hand of B, held over the forehead—M. A. W. was possessed with the desire to will her, without bodily contact, to come to her and give her a kiss on the forehead, and she at once exerted (unknown to the others) all her will to achieve this object. A. I. came slowly up to M. A. W., till she stood quite close, touching her, and commenced bending down towards her, when M. A. W., thinking it was hardly fair to succeed against the other ‘willers,’ tried to reverse her will, and with intense effort willed A. I. to turn away and not give the intended kiss. Slowly A. I raised her head, stood a moment still, then turned in another direction towards the piano, but not near it, and sat down in an armchair. A few seconds after she said: ‘I can’t feel any impression now, nor any wish to do anything.’ She was released from her bandage and questioned as to her feelings. ‘Did you get any impression of what you had to do? What did you feel?’ She replied: ‘I had a distinct feeling that I had to go and kiss M. A. W. on the forehead; but when I came up to someone and bent down to do it, I was sensible of a strong feeling that I was not to do it—and could not do it; and after that I could get no impression whatever.’

    “MARY A. WILSON.

    “ALICE M. W. INGRAM.”

    The percipient in both the following cases was our friend, the Hon. Alexander Yorke. In the summer of 1884 he mentioned to two nieces, as a joke, that some one had suggested to him the possibility of discerning the contents of letters pressed to the forehead; and this quack suggestion led by accident to an apparently genuine experiment in thought-transference.

    The account is from the Misses Adeane, of 19, Ennismore Gardens, S.W.

    “June, 1884.

    “Taking a letter from a heap on my mother’s table, I glanced at the contents, and then placed it on my uncle’s head, where he held it. A minute had hardly elapsed before he said, quite quietly, ‘This letter is not addressed to your mother.’ He then paused, as if waiting for another impression. ‘It is written to Charlie’ (my brother), and another pause, ‘by an uncle—not a real uncle—a sort of uncle.’ Another pause, ‘It {i-83} must be about business.’ At this point I was so much astonished that I could not help telling him how true and correct all his impressions had been, which practically put an end to the experiment by giving a clue as to what the business was, &c. My younger sister was the only other person in the room at the time. The letter was addressed to my brother at Oxford by his trustee, and uncle by marriage, and related to business; he had forwarded it to my mother to read, and I selected it partly by chance, and partly because I thought, if there was only guessing in the case, it would have been a puzzler. My uncle, Mr. Yorke, does not know the writer of the letter or his handwriting.

    “MARIE C. ADEANE.

    “MAUDE ADEANE.”

    Again, the mother of these informants, Lady Elizabeth Biddulph, writes to us, on June 12, 1884:—

    “My girls came down to the drawing-room with my brother, Mr. Alexander Yorke, about 3.30 on Sunday afternoon, May 18th. I was sitting with one of Mr. Biddulph’s brothers, and his sister, Mrs. L. They had just brought me a letter sent by mistake to 31, Eaton Place. Presently Captain and Lady Edith Adeane came in, and then my two girls began telling us of what had happened upstairs. I immediately rushed at the letter I had just received, and laughing, held it to Mr. Yorke’s forehead: he objected, saying, ‘I shall probably fail, and then you will only laugh at the whole thing.’ He thrust my hand away, and I left the matter alone and went on talking to my relations. Presently my brother rose to go, and hesitating rather, said, ‘Well, my dear, the impression about that letter is so strong that I must tell you the Duchess of St. Albans wrote it.’ It was so. She does not correspond with me; the letter, too, having been addressed by mistake to 31, Eaton Place, made it more unlikely there should be any clue, and its contents were purely of a business-like character.

    “ELIZABETH P. BIDDULPH.”

    On another similar occasion, the present writer saw a letter taken up casually from a writing-table, and held to Mr. Yorke’s forehead, in such a way that he could not possibly catch a glimpse of the writing. He correctly described the writer as an elderly man, formerly connected with himself, but could not name him. The writer had, in fact, been his tutor at one time. It need hardly be said that no importance is to be attributed to the holding of the letters to the forehead. In every case the writer and the contents of the letter were known to some person in the percipient’s immediate vicinity, and that being so, any other hypothesis than that of thought-transference is gratuitous.

    The following incident is an excellent casual illustration of the motor form of experiment to which the cases described on pp. 78–9 belonged. It presents, indeed, a point which would lead some to place it in a separate category: the names unexpectedly produced were those of dead persons. But where the “communication” contains nothing {i-84} beyond the content, or the possible manufacture, of the minds of the living persons present, it seems reasonable to refer it to those minds—at any rate until the power of the dead to communicate with the living be established by accumulated and irrefragable evidence.

    One evening in August, 1885, some friends were assembled in a house at Rustington; and the younger members of the party suggested “table-turning” as an amusement. Three ladies—Mrs. W. B. Richmond, Mrs. Perceval Clark, and another—were seated apart from the larger group; and a small table on which they laid their hands, and which was light enough to be easily moved by unconscious pressure, soon became lively. The alphabet being repeated, the sentence “Harriet knew me years ago,” was tilted out. The name of me was asked for. “Kate Gardiner” was the answer. These names conveyed nothing to the three ladies at the table, but they caught the attention of a member of the other group, Mr. R. L. Morant. This gentleman was acting as holiday-tutor to Mrs. Richmond’s boys, and had not before that been acquainted with any of the party; nor had Mrs. Richmond herself the slightest knowledge of his family-history. On hearing the names, he asked that “Harriet’s” surname should be given. The name “Morant” was tilted out. In reply to further questions, put of course in such a way as not to suggest the answers, and while Mr. Morant remained at the further end of the room, the tilts produced the information that Harriet and Kate met at Kingstown, and that Harriet was Mr. Morant’s great-aunt, his father “Robin” Morant being her nephew.

    We have received in writing three independent and concordant accounts of this occurrence—from Mrs. Richmond, from the third lady at the table (who is hostile to the subject, but who was probably the unconscious percipient), and from Mr. Morant, who adds:—

    “I felt distinctly and always rightly, when it would answer, and what it would answer. I found that it always answered the questions of which I knew the answer; and was silent when I did not: e.g., it would not say how many years ago [the meeting was]. I was quite ignorant of where they met; that was the only answer beyond my knowledge. [It is not known if this answer was correct.] All the names given are correct: my father’s name was Robert, but he was always called Robin. Kate Gardiner was a friend of my father; I believe she helped to arrange his marriage. Harriet Morant was his aunt. I am ignorant of much about this aunt; and from reading some old correspondence in June, I was particularly anxious to learn more about these names. No one at the table can possibly have known anything whatever about any one of the names given.”1 1 See another very similar case in Vol. ii., pp. 670–1.

    It is, of course, a matter of interest to know what indications of genuine telepathy may be afforded by these less systematic trials. For experiments with a comparatively small number of “subjects” (like those before described), however conclusive we may consider them as to the existence of a special faculty, afford no means of judging how common that faculty may be. If it exists, {i-85} we have no reason to expect it to be extremely uncommon; on the contrary, we should rather expect to find an appreciable degree of it tolerably widely diffused. But (putting aside the results of §7, above,) our only means, at present, for judging how far this is the case is by considering the evidence of persons who were, so to speak, amateur observers, and who in some cases were not even aware that the matter had any scientific importance. Such evidence must, of course, be received with due allowances, and, if it stood alone, might be wholly inadequate to establish the case for telepathic phenomena; but if these be otherwise established, it would be illogical to shut our eyes to alleged results which fall readily into the same class, provided the trials appear to have been conducted with intelligence and care.

    It is unnecessary to say that this last proviso at once excludes the vast majority of the cases which one reads about in the newspapers, or hears discussed in private circles. We have already seen that the subject of “thought-reading” has obtained its vogue by dint of exhibitions which, however clever and interesting, have no sort of claim to the name. The prime requisite is that the conditions shall preclude the possibility of unconscious guidance; that contact between the agent and the percipient shall be avoided; or that the form of experiment shall not require movements, but the percipient shall give his notion of the transferred impression—card, number, taste, or whatever it may be—by word of mouth. That these conditions have been observed is itself an indication that experiments have been intelligently conducted; and the cases of this sort of which we have received records are at any rate numerous enough to dispel the disquieting sense that the possibility of accumulating evidence for our hypothesis depends on the transient endowment of a few most exceptional individuals. I have spoken above of the urgent importance of spreading the responsibility for the evidence as widely as possible—in other words, of largely increasing the number of persons, reputed honest and intelligent, who must be either knaves or idiots if the alleged transference of thought took place through any hitherto recognised channels. And our hopes in this direction are, of course, the better founded, in so far as the necessary material for experimentation is not of extreme rarity. If what has been here said induces a wider and more systematic search for this material, and increased perseverance in following up all indications of its existence, a very distinct step will have been taken towards the general acceptance of the facts.

    {i-86}

    CHAPTER III.

    THE TRANSITION FROM EXPERIMENTAL TO SPONTANEOUS TELEPATHY.

    § 1. IN all the cases of the action of one mind on another that were considered in the last chapter, both the parties concerned—percipient as well as agent—were consciously and voluntarily taking part in the experiment with a definite idea of certain results in view. Spontaneous telepathy, as its name implies, differs from experimental in precisely this particular—that neither agent nor percipient has consciously or voluntarily formed an idea of any result whatever. Something happens for which both alike are completely unprepared. But between these two great classes of cases there is a sort of transitional class, which is akin to each of the others in one marked feature. In this class the agent acts consciously and voluntarily; he exercises a concentration of mind with a certain object, as in experimental thought-transference; he is in this way truly experimenting.1 1 It should be observed, however, that unless he records his experiment at the time, the case will stand on a different footing from those of the last chapter. But the percipient is not consciously or voluntarily a party to the experiment; as in spontaneous telepathy, his mind has not been in any way adjusted to the result; he finds himself affected in a certain manner, he knows not by what means.

    In another way, also, this class of cases serves as a connecting link between the other two. For it introduces us to results produced at a much greater distance than any of those that have been so far described. Not that greater distance between the agent and percipient is in any way a distinguishing mark of the spontaneous, as opposed to the experimental, effects; the former no less than the latter—as we shall see reason to think—may take place between persons in the same room. But in the large majority of the spontaneous cases that we shall have to notice, the distance was considerable. And in the transitional class we meet {i-87} with specimens of both kinds—effects produced in the same room, and effects produced at a distance of many miles.

    § 2. In these transitional cases—as in those of the last chapter—the effect may show itself either in ideas and sensations which the percipient describes, or in actions of a more or less automatic sort. The motor cases have been by far the most heard of, and are, indeed, popularly supposed to be tolerably common; but this idea has no real foundation. The allegations of certain persons that, e.g., they can make strangers in church or in a theatre turn their heads, by “willing” that they should do so, cannot be accepted as establishing even a primâ facie case. Till accurate records are kept, such cases must clearly be reckoned as mere illusions of post hoc propter hoc—of successes noted and failures forgotten. Authentic instances of the kind seem, as it happens, always to be more or less closely connected with mesmerism. And even as regards mesmeric cases where a definite action or course of action is produced by silent or distant control, the first thing to remark is that many phenomena are popularly referred to this category which have not the slightest claim to a place in it. The common platform exhibition, where a profession is made of “willing” a particular person to attend, and he rushes into the room at the appointed moment, is not to be attributed to any influence then and there exercised, but is the effect of the command or the threat impressed on his mind when in its wax-like condition of trance on a previous evening. Nor, as a rule, do the cases where “subjects” are said to be drawn by their controller from house to house, or even to a distant town, prove any specific power of his will, or anything beyond the general influence and attraction which he has established, and which is liable every now and then to recrudesce in his absence, and to manifest itself in this startling form.1 1 Signs of this general mesmeric influence occur occasionally in the records of witchcraft. (See, e.g., The Discovery of Sorcery and Witchcraft practised by Jane Wenham, London, 1712.) It would scarcely be safe to interpret in any other way such an isolated case as the following of the late Mr. H. S. Thompson’s:—

    “Mr. John Dundas, who was very much interested in mesmerism, was staying with me at Fairfield, about eight miles from Sutton. He one evening suggested that I should try and influence Mrs. Thornton at a distance; this was about 9 o’clock. I tried, but only for a few minutes, never thinking I should succeed. We went over to Sutton next day, when Mr. Harland said, ‘You must take care what experiments you try on Mrs. Thornton, as she has become so sensitive to you, that she not only goes to sleep when you are present, but last night after dinner she went to sleep, and rushed to the hall door, saying she must go to Fairfield, as Mr. Thompson wanted her. And we had great difficulty in waking her.’” The incident is a striking one; but we need to know whether Mrs. Thornton ever behaved in the manner described at times when Mr. Thompson was not trying to influence her.

    {i-88}

    Very much rarer are the really crucial cases where the intended effect—the origination or inhibition of a motor-impulse—is brought about at the moment by a deliberate exercise of volition. In some of the more striking instances, the inhibition has been of that specific sort which temporarily alters the whole condition of the “subject,” and induces the mesmeric trance. In the Zoist for April, 1849, Mr. Adams, a surgeon of Lymington, writing four months after the event, describes how a guest of his own twice succeeded in mesmerising the man-servant of a common friend at a distance of nearly fifty miles, the time when the attempt was to be made having in each case been privately arranged with the man’s master. On the first occasion, the unwitting “subject” fell at the time named, 7.30 p.m., into a state of profound coma not at all resembling natural sleep, from which he was with difficulty aroused. He said that “before he fell asleep he had lost the use of his legs; he had endeavoured to kick the cat away, and could not do so.” On the second occasion a similar fit was induced at 9.30 a.m., when the man was in the act of walking across a meadow to feed the pigs. But the following case is more striking, as resting on the testimony of a man whose name must perforce be treated with respect. Dr. Esdaile says:—1 [☼]1 Natural and Mesmeric Clairvoyance, pp. 227–8. See also Mr. Cattell’s case in the Zoist, Vol. viii., p. 143; where the special circumstances seem sufficiently to exclude the hypothesis of expectancy. These examples of distant influence have a bearing on the question as to the efficacy of concentrated attention in more ordinary mesmeric processes. Elliotson asserts that his own manipulations were often successful, however mechanically and inattentively carried out; and Bertrand (Du Magnétisme Animal, p. 341) makes a similar remark. Other operators have said that their passes were ineffectual, unless accompanied by distinct intention. The Rev. C. H. Townshend made this observation in an experiment with the celebrated naturalist, Agassiz, whom he was mesmerising while himself distracted by the non-arrival of some expected letters. “Although I was at the time engaged in the mesmeric processes to all appearance as actively as usual, my patient called out to me constantly and coincidently with the remission of my thought, ‘You influence me no longer; you are not exerting yourself.’” And the above cases certainly favour the view that the exercise of any specific influence will normally have a well-marked psychical side. (See also Nos. 688, 689, 690.) It is interesting to find Esdaile making the same observation as Townshend in respect even of the very definite manipulations of his Hindoo assistants, where, if anywhere, we might have assumed a purely physical and mechanical agency.

    (1) “I had been looking for a blind man on whom to test the imagination theory, and one at last presented himself. This man became so susceptible that, by making him the object of my attention, I could entrance him in whatever occupation he was engaged, and at any distance within the hospital enclosure. … My first attempt to influence the blind man was made by gazing at him silently over a wall, while he was engaged in the act of eating his solitary dinner, at the distance of twenty yards. He gradually ceased to eat, and in a quarter of an hour was profoundly entranced and cataleptic. This was repeated at the most untimely hours, when he could not possibly know of my being in his neighbourhood, and always with like results.”

    {i-89}

    Cases of waking a hypnotic “subject” by the silent exercise of the will have been recorded by Reichenbach,1 1 Der Sensitive Mensch (Stuttgart, 1855), Vol. ii., pp. 665–6. and by the Committee appointed by the French Royal Academy of Medicine to investigate “animal magnetism.” In their Report, published in 1831, this Committee say that they “could entertain no doubt as to the very decided effects which magnetism produced upon the ‘subject,’ even without his knowledge, and at a certain distance.” A more recent case will be found in Vol. II., p. 685.

    § 3. But, besides such examples of the induction of trance, the records of mesmerism contain a good many cases of the induction or inhibition of particular actions; and where persons who appeared to be in a perfectly normal state have had their will similarly dominated, or their actions dominated against their will, it has almost always, I think, been through the agency of some person who has given indications of considerable mesmeric power. The Rev. J. Lawson Sisson, Rector of Edingthorpe, North Walsham, (whose interest in mesmerism, like that of so many others, began with the discovery of his own power to alleviate pain,) describes the following experiment as having been performed on an incredulous lady, whose first experience of his influence had been a few moments’ subjection to the slightest possible hypnotic process in the course of the evening.2 2 For results of a still simpler type, see the record of the experiments made on M. Petit, in the Report of the French Committee above mentioned. Mr. Sisson says of one of his subjects that, when she was walking many yards in front of him, and engaged in conversation, “I could, by raising my hand and willing it, draw her head quite back. It fell back, neither to right nor left, as though it had been pulled by a cord.”

    (2) “Conversation went on on other topics, and then followed a light supper. Several of the gentlemen, myself among the number, were obliged to stand. I stood talking to a friend, against the wall, and at the back of Miss Cooke, some three or four feet off her. Her wine-glass was filled, and I made up my mind that she should not drink without my ‘willing.’ I kept on talking and watching her many futile attempts to get the glass to her mouth. Sometimes she got it a few inches from the level of the table, sometimes she got it a little higher, but she evidently felt that it was not for some reason to be done. At last I said, ‘Miss Cooke, why don’t you drink your wine?’ and her answer was at once, ‘I will when you let me.’”

    The Zoist contains several cases of apparently the same kind; though, unfortunately, the narrators have seldom recognised the need of making it clear that the possibility of physical indications was completely excluded. Thus Mr. Barth records of a patient of his own (Vol. VII., p. 280):—

    {i-90}

    (3) “When she wished to leave the room, I could at any time prevent her, by willing that she should stay, and this silently. I could not arrest her progress whilst she was in motion, but if she stood for a moment and I mentally said ‘Stand,’ she stood unable to move from the spot. If she placed her hand on the table I could affix it by my will alone, and unfix it by will. If she held a ruler or paper-knife in her closed hand, I could compel her by will alone to unclose her hand and drop the article. Frequently when she has been at the tea-table, and I quite behind and out of sight, have I locked her jaws or arrested her hand with her bread-and-butter in it, when half way betwixt her plate and her mouth.”

    And Mr. N. Dunscombe, J.P. (Zoist, Vol. IX., p. 438), narrates of himself that, having attended some mesmeric performances, he was for some time at the mercy of the operator’s silent will.

    (4) “He has caused me, by way of experiment, to leave my seat in one part of my house, and follow him all through it and out of it until I found him. He was not in the room with me, neither had I the slightest idea of his attempting the experiment. I felt an unaccountable desire to go in a certain direction.”

    Most remarkable of all are the cases of acts performed under the silent control of the late Mr. H. S. Thompson, of Moorfields, York, though here again we have to regret that the signed corroboration of the persons affected was not obtained at the time. Mr. Thompson’s interest in mesmerism lay almost entirely in the opportunities which his power gave him of alleviating suffering; and having succeeded in giving relief to a patient, it is to him a comparatively small matter to be able to say (Zoist, Vol. V., p. 257):—

    “I have often, by the will, made her perform a series of trifling acts, though, when asked why she did them, she has answered that she did them without observing them, and had no distinct wish to do them as far as she was aware.”

    Some of his descriptions, however, are more explicit. He gave us permission to publish, for the first time on his authority, an account of an after-dinner incident which made much sensation in Yorkshire society when it occurred, and which even twenty years afterwards was still alluded to with bated breath, as a manifest proof of the alliance of mesmerists with the devil. The account was sent to us in November, 1883.

    (5) “In 1837, I first became acquainted with mesmerism through Baron Dupotet. The first experiment I tried was upon a Mrs. Thornton, who was staying with some friends of mine, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Harland, of {i-91} Sutton. She told me that no one had ever succeeded in mesmerising her, though she soon submitted to being mesmerised by me. She went to sleep at once, and was very strongly influenced by my will. One night when I was dining with Mr. Harland, after the ladies had left the room, some gentleman proposed that I should will her to come back again, which I did. She came directly, and after this I could not go to the house without her going to sleep, even if she did not know that I was there.”

    In the same letter, Mr. Thompson continues:—

    “I have met with many cases of thought-reading, but none so distinct as in a little girl named Crowther. She had had brain fever, which had caused a protrusion of the eyes. Of this ill effect I soon relieved her, and found that she was naturally a thought-reader. I practised on her a good deal, and at length there was no need for me to utter what I wished to say, as she always knew my thoughts. I was showing some experiments to a Dr. Simpson, and he asked me to will her to go and pick a piece of white heather out of a large vase full of flowers there was in the room, and bring it to me. She did this as quickly as if I had spoken to her. All these experiments were performed when the girl was awake, and not in a mesmeric sleep.”

    The next account (received in 1883) is none the less interesting that it is of a partial failure; and in this case we have the advantage of the percipient’s own testimony. The lady who sent it to us is a cousin of Mr. Thompson’s and has had other similar experiences; but at this distance of time can only recollect the following, whose absurdity vividly impressed her mind.

    (6) “I was sitting one day in the library. No one else was in the room except my cousin, Henry Thompson, who was reading at the other end of the room. Gradually I felt an unaccountable impulse stealing over me, an impulse to go up to him and kiss him. I had been in the habit of kissing him from childhood upwards at intervals, when I left the sitting-room before going to bed, or when he came to say good-bye at the termination of a visit, &c., as a matter of course, not of pleasure. In this instance the inclination to kiss him struck me as being so extraordinary and ridiculous as to make it an impossibility. I have no recollection of leaving the room, though I may have done so, but in the evening when he said to me at dinner, ‘I tried to will you to-day and failed,’ I answered at once, ‘I know perfectly when you were willing me, and what you wanted me to do, though I did not suspect it at the time. But you were willing me to kiss you in the library, and I had the greatest inclination to do so!’ ‘And why would you not?’ he asked, and laughed immoderately at my answering that I was so astonished at myself for feeling an inclination to kiss him that I resisted it at once. I had never been mesmerised by him, and my will was not subservient to his.

    “L. F. C.”

    {i-92}

    And here a word may be in place as to the relation of the will to telepathic experiments in general. That the will of the agent or operator is usually in active play, admits, of course, of no doubt; but the nature and extent of its operation are sometimes misconceived. In ordinary thought-transference, it is probably effective only so far as it implies strong concentration of the agent’s own attention on the sensation or image which he seeks to convey. As a rule he will naturally desire that the experiment should succeed; but, provided only that the necessary concentration be given, there is nothing to show, or even to suggest that, if for some special reason he desired failure, his desire would ensure that result. It is somewhat different with cases like the above, where a distinct set of visible actions—as that the performer shall walk to a particular spot or select a particular object—is the thing aimed at; in so far as there the desire is likely to be keener and more persistent. When we are picturing a series of movements to be performed by a person in our sight, we easily come to regard that person’s physique under a half-illusion that we can direct it from moment to moment, as though it were our own; and we are more on edge, so to speak, than when we are merely imagining (say) a word or a number, and waiting for the “subject” to name it, or write it down. But even here there is little foundation for the idea that the operator’s will in any way dominates the other will, or that he succeeds by superior “strength of will” in any ordinary sense. It is still primarily an image, not any form of force, that is conveyed—but an image of movement, i.e., an image whose nervous correlate in the brain is in intimate connection with motor-centres; and the muscular effect is thus evoked while the “subject” remains a sort of spectator of his own conduct. The last example of Mr. Thompson’s powers goes as near as any I know to the actual production of an effect on the self-determining faculty of a person in a normal state; but even here, it will be observed, the action suggested was of a simple sort, and one which the “subject” had often voluntarily performed. And in mesmeric cases—as in the experiments on inhibition of utterance in the last chapter—where, no doubt, the self-determining faculty is often to a great extent abrogated, we must still beware of concluding that the “subject’s” will is dominated and directed this way or that by a series of special jets of energy. It is rather that his instinct of choice, his free-will as a whole, has lapsed, as one of the general features of the trance-condition. It is worth noting, moreover, that in none of {i-93} the cases quoted have the “willer” or the “willed” been further removed from one another than two neighbouring rooms. The liability to have definite acts compelled from a distance, which figures in romance and in popular imagination as the natural and terrible result of mesmeric influence, is precisely the result for which we can find least evidence.

    We have, however, in our own collection, two first-hand instances where the distance between the agent and the percipient was greater, and where the action to be performed was of a rather more complicated sort.1 1 See Vol. ii., pp. 680–1. In case 687 the distance was about 100 yards. We received the following case in 1883 from the agent, Mr. S. H. B., a friend of our own. The first part of the account was copied by us from a MS. book, in which Mr. B. has recorded this and other experiments.

    (7) “On Wednesday, 26th July, 1882, at 10.30 p.m., I willed very strongly that Miss V., who was living at Clarence Road, Kew, should leave any part of that house in which she might happen to be at the time, and that she should go into her bedroom, and remove a portrait from her dressing-table.

    “When I next saw her she told me that at this particular time and on this day, she felt strongly impelled to go up to her room and remove something from her dressing-table, but she was not sure which article to misplace. She did so and removed an article, but not the framed portrait which I had thought of.

    “Between the time of the occurrence of this fact and that of our next meeting, I received one or two letters, in which the matter is alluded to and my questions concerning it answered.

    “S. H. B.”2 2 This entry is undated; but Mr. B. assures us that it was written very soon after the event.

    Mr. B. was himself at Southall on the evening in question. He has shown the letters of which he speaks to the present writer, and has allowed him to copy extracts.

    On Thursday, July 27th, without having seen or had any communication with Mr. B., Miss Verity (now residing in Castellain Road, W., who allows the publication of her name) wrote to him as follows:—

    “What were you doing between ten and eleven o’clock on Wednesday evening? If you make me so restless, I shall begin to be afraid of you. I positively could not stay in the dining-room, and I believe you meant me to be upstairs, and to move something on my dressing-table. I want to see if you know what it was. At any rate, I am sure you were thinking about me.”

    Mr. B. then wrote and told Miss Verity that the object he had thought of was Mr. G.’s photograph. She answered:—

    “I must tell you it was not G.’s photo, but something on my table {i-94} which perhaps you would never think of. However, it was really wonderful how impossible I found it to think or do anything until I came upstairs, and I knew for certain that your thoughts were here; in fact, it seemed as if you were very near.”

    [More than a year after these letters were written, an absolutely concordant account was given viva voce to the present writer by Miss Verity, whom he believes to be a thoroughly careful and conscientious witness.]

    We have a parallel instance to this on equally trustworthy authority; but the person impressed has a dread of the subject, and will not give his testimony for publication.1 1 The following case, though sufficiently like the above to be worth quoting, cannot be pressed as evidence; for there is an appreciable chance that the impulse felt was accidental. Its interest partly depends on the fact that the ladies concerned report that they have occasionally had very striking successes in the ordinary experimental thought-transference. The account was received in 1884, from the Misses Barr, of Apsley Town, East Grinstead. “I and my sister E. had been in the habit, for some years, of trying our power of ‘will’ over my youngest sister H., and had succeeded so well that in the winter of 1874–5, E., being then in London, determined to test her will-power over H., who was then living in the North of Scotland. E. was very anxious to have a certain pair of shoes sent to her in time for a ball to which she was going, and there was not time enough for a letter to go to Scotland, and for the shoes to be sent by post. She therefore determined to ‘will H.’ to go into her room in the house in Scotland, fetch the shoes, and start them off by post. “On the afternoon of that day H. brought the shoes into the drawing-room, where we were sitting, saying, ‘I’ve a fixed idea that E. wants these shoes, so I am just going to send them off to her.’ “E. was delighted, yet half-surprised, to receive them on the following day. “LIZZIE M. BARK.” “I perfectly remember the above incident, and also the vague but impressed feelings which prompted my actions. My sister E. had been absent in England for some weeks, and I did not know she was going to a ball. It was a most unusual thing for me to enter her room while she was away, and I wondered at myself for doing so, and especially for opening one of her drawers. “HARRIET A. S. BARR.”

    § 4. I now turn to the second class of transitional cases; that where ideas and sensations unconnected with movement are excited, in a person who is not a conscious party to the experiment, by the concentrated but unexpressed will of another. And here, even more than before, I have to admit how scanty in every sense are the accounts which former observers have published.2 2 See however Vol. ii., pp. 334–6 and 676–8. Of ideational cases, one of the most striking, if correctly reported, is that given by the Rev. L. Lewis in the Zoist, Vol. V, p. 324.

    “Gateacre, October, 1847.

    (8) “One evening, at a friend’s house, and in the presence of several spectators, E. C. was put into the sleep, when I suggested to the magnetiser [Mr. Lewis’s son] that he should attempt inducing personation, that is, making the magnetised person assume different characters by means of the will and passes alone.

    “The first individual agreed upon was myself, with whom E. C. was well acquainted, and my name was given to the magnetiser on paper. After a {i-95} few passes having been made by him over E. C., she assumed rather a dictatorial tone, complaining of interruption when spoken to, as it was Saturday night, when she was busy writing. I shall draw a curtain over my other frailties, and proceed to the mention of characters well known in the world, but whom E. C. had never seen.

    “The first of these was Queen Victoria. With regard to this name the company observed the same silence as before, only writing it on paper, and the magnetiser pursued the same method also with E. C. But the dignity which she very soon assumed, the lofty tone with which she asked questions, so contrary to her usual disposition, the orders she issued to the various persons of the household, and especially her conversation with Prince Albert (whose person the magnetiser had assumed),1 1 It is probably to be understood that the magnetiser assumed this part after his “subject” had assumed the other. her remonstrances at his staying so long from the castle contrary to her express commands, and her threats that he should not be permitted to leave again, excited instantly peals of laughter, and on reflection, the most intense astonishment.

    “The name of Sir Robert Peel was then written by one of the company, and given to the magnetiser. He then magnetised her, and she soon gave unequivocal proofs of her personating the noble baronet by conversations with the Queen on the state of the country, and answering several political questions in accordance with his well-known sentiments.

    “From Conservatism it was thought the best step next to take was Liberalism, and the name of Daniel O’Connell was handed to the magnetiser. Now E. C.’s replies were of a different nature, whether political or religious; but there was one question which she answered in a peculiar manner, yet whether in unison with the views of the late celebrated ‘Liberator’ I know not. When the magnetiser asked her what she thought of the English Church Establishment, she replied that the ‘Establishment was already on crutches, and would soon be down.’

    “The last personation was that of a young lady whom E. C. had never seen or heard of, and who was then more than one hundred miles distant, but her mother and sisters were present. The same mode of secrecy was adopted in this as well as in all other instances, so that it was impossible E. C. should have been able to guess the name. The absent person was the daughter of a lady at whose house these experiments were made. When E. C. was willed to personate the proposed character, the first thing she uttered was an exclamation of surprise at finding herself suddenly at home. Being asked her name, she ridiculed the idea of such a question being put in the presence of her family, but being pressed by her magnetiser to pronounce it, and promised not to be troubled with any further questions, she ingeniously said, and with somewhat of an arch look, that it began with the third letter in the alphabet. On being told that she had not given a direct reply, she rather pettishly answered, ‘Well, then, it is Clara.’ This was the fact.

    “Except in the precise order in which these cases occurred, I can vouch for their correctness, having been present when they happened.

    “L. LEWIS.”

    {i-96}

    The following instance, however, has more weight with us, who know the observer, and have had ample proof of his accuracy. Mr. G. A. Smith, of 2, Elms Road, Dulwich, (who has assisted us in most of our mesmeric work,) narrated the incident to us within two months of its occurrence; and has now supplied a written account.

    (9) “One evening in September, 1882, at Brighton, I was trying some experiments with a Mrs. W., a ‘subject’ whom I had frequently hypnotised. I found that she could give surprisingly minute descriptions of spots which she knew—with details which her normal recollection could never have furnished. I did not for a moment regard these descriptions as implying anything more than intensified memory, but resolved to see what would happen when she was requested to examine a place where she had never been to. I therefore requested her to look into the manager’s room at the Aquarium, and to tell me all about it. Much to my surprise, she immediately began to describe the apartment with great exactness, and in perfect conformity with my own knowledge of it. I was fairly astonished; but it occurred to me that although my subject’s memory could not be at work, my own mind might be acting on hers. To test this, I imagined strongly that I saw a large open umbrella on the table, and in a minute or so the lady said, in great wonder: ‘Well! how odd, there’s a large open umbrella on the table,’ and then began to laugh. It, therefore, seemed clear that her apparent knowledge of the room had been derived somehow from my own mental picture of it; but I may add I was never able to produce the same effect again.”

    This may he fairly reckoned among transitional cases, inasmuch as the lady was quite unaware at the time that any person’s influence was being brought to bear upon her.

    § 5. It will be seen that in both these last examples the agent and percipient were close together, and the latter was in the hypnotic state. And among transitional cases, we have absolutely no specimens of the deliberate transference of a perfectly unexciting idea—as of a card or a name—to a distant and normal percipient. This may appear an unfortunate lacuna in the transition that I am attempting to make; but the fact itself can hardly surprise us. It must be remembered that in most of our experimental cases there was a true analogy to the passivity of hypnotism, in the adjustment of the percipient’s mind, the sort of inward blankness and receptivity which he or she established by a deliberate effort; that even where this was absent, the rapport involved in the mere sense of personal proximity to the agent probably went for something in the results; and also that (with few exceptions) the sort of image to be expected was known—that the percipient realised whether it was a card, a {i-97} name, or a taste. That an impression should flash across a mind in this state of preparation is clearly no guarantee that anything similar will occur when the percipient is occupied with wholly different things, while the agent is secretly concentrating his thoughts on a card or a taste in another place. And indeed the supposed conditions—a purely unemotional idea on the part of the would-be agent, and a state of complete unpreparedness on the part of the person whom it is attempted to influence—seem the most unfavourable possible: where the percipient mind is unprepared—that is, where the condition on one side is unfavourable—we should naturally expect that a stronger impulsive force must be supplied from the other side. But we have further to note that, even if the trial succeeded, the success would be hard to establish. For to the percipient the impression would only be a fleeting and uninteresting item in the swarm of faint ideas that pass every minute through the mind; and as he is ex hypothesi ignorant that the trial is being made, there would be nothing to fix this particular faint item in his memory. It would come and go unmarked, like a thousand others. And this same possibility must be equally borne in mind in respect of spontaneous telepathy. For though in most of the cases to be quoted in the sequel, a special impulsive force will be inferred from the fact that the agent was at the time in a state psychically or physically abnormal, we must not be too positive that the telepathic action is confined to the well-marked or ostensive instances on which the proof of it has to depend. The abnormality of the agent’s state, though needed to make the coincidence striking enough to be included in this book, may not for all that be an indispensable condition; genuine transferences of idea, of which we can take no account, may occur in the more ordinary conditions of life; and the continuity of the experimental and the spontaneous cases may thus conceivably be complete. Meanwhile, however, a certain gap in the evidence has to be admitted; and there is nothing for it but to pass on to the more extreme cases where the senses begin to be affected—the percipients having been for the most part in a normal state, and at various distances from the agents.

    § 6. The sensory cases to be found in the Zoist are a trifle less fragmentary than some that I have quoted, but depend again on the uncorroborated statement of a single observer. Mr. H. S. Thompson (Vol. IV., p. 263) says:—

    {i-98}

    (10) “I have tried an amusing experiment two or three times very successfully. I have taken a party (without informing them of my intentions) to witness some galvanic experiments, and whilst submitting myself to continued slight galvanic shocks, have fixed my attention on some one of the party. The first time I tried this I was much amused by the person soon exclaiming, ‘Well, it is very strange, but I could fancy that I feel a sensation in my hands and arms as though I were subject to the action of the battery.’ I found that out of seven persons, four experienced similar sensations more or less. None of them showed any symptom of being affected before I directed my attention towards them. After that [sic] they were made acquainted with the experiment, I found their imagination sometimes supplied the place of my will, and they fancied I was experimenting upon them when I was not so. This we so often see in other cases.”

    Muscular and tactile hallucinations are, of course, eminently of a sort which may be produced by expectancy; and all that can be said is that Mr. Thompson seems to have been alive to this danger. I may perhaps be allowed to state of this gentleman that, as far as we are aware, (and we have questioned both a near relative of his and a bitter detractor,) it was never alleged that he was an untrustworthy witness, or prone to exaggerate his powers.

    The impression in the next example seems to have been on the borderland between sensation and idea. It is given by the Rev. L. Lewis in the same paper as the account above quoted. His son had resolved to test the statement that in a mesmeric state a “subject” might, by the operator’s unexpressed will, be impressed with delusions such as are usually only produced by direct suggestion.

    (11) “The girl [one whom he had often hypnotised] being gone into the sleep, the first thing that occurred to him was that she should imagine herself a camphine lamp, which was then burning on the table. He wrote down the words, which were not uttered by anyone, and were handed to the company. Then, without speaking, he strongly willed that she should be a lamp, making over her head the usual magnetic passes. E. C. was in a few minutes perfectly immovable, and not a word could be elicited from her. When she had continued in this strange state for some time, he dissipated the illusion by his will, without awaking her, when she immediately found her tongue again, and on being asked how she had felt when she would not speak, she replied, ‘Very hot, and full of naphtha.‘”

    The next case (contained in a letter from Mr. H. S. Thompson, to Dr. Elliotson, Zoist, Vol. V., p. 257,) takes us a little further, for the agent and percipient were at a considerable distance from one another; and though the experience was of a vague sort, very much more was produced than a mere idea—namely, a physical impression of the agent’s presence, strong enough to be described as felt.

    {i-99}

    (12) “I have tried several experiments on persons not in the mesmeric state, and some who had never been mesmerised. I have repeatedly found that I have been able, by will, to suggest a series of ideas to some persons, which ideas have induced corresponding actions; and again, by fixing my attention upon others, and thinking on some particular subject, I have often found them able most accurately to penetrate my thoughts. Neither have I observed that it was always necessary to be near them, or to be in the same room with them, to produce these effects. … Some months ago I was staying at a friend’s house, and this subject came under discussion. Two friends had left the house the day before.1

    1 It seems practically certain, from what follows, that by “the day before” Mr. Thompson meant “earlier in the day.” Otherwise the case would have had no relation to what he is speaking of. Neither of them, that I am aware of, had ever been in the mesmeric state; but I knew that to some extent they had this faculty. I proposed to make trial whether I could will them to think I was coming to see them at that moment. I accordingly fixed my attention upon them for some little time. Six weeks elapsed before I saw either of them again; and when we met I had forgotten the circumstance, but one of them soon reminded me of it by saying, ‘I have something curious to tell you, and want also to know whether you have ever tried to practise your power of volition upon either of us; for on the evening of the day I left the house where you were staying, I was sitting reading a book in the same room with Mr. ——. My attention was withdrawn from my book, and for some moments I felt as though a third person was in the room, and that feeling shortly after became connected with an idea that you were coming or even then present. This seemed so very absurd that I tried to banish the idea from my mind. I then observed that Mr. ——’s attention was also drawn from the book which he was reading, and he exclaimed, ‘It is positively very ridiculous, but I could have sworn some third person was in the room, and that impression is connected with an idea of Henry Thompson.’”

    § 7. But the most pronounced cases are of course those where an actual affection of vision is produced. Here previous observations of an authentic sort almost wholly fail us.2 2 It is hardly necessary to say that we cannot reckon in this class hallucinations, even though dependent on the special influence of another person, where no definite exercise of will has been exerted by that person at the time. For instance, the following case of Mr. H. S. Thompson’s may (in default of more precise detail) be ascribed to faith and imagination on the part of the “subject.” “Mr. Harland’s wife had been ill for three years, said to be heart-disease, with spasms of the heart, and neuralgic pains in head and spine. A few passes removed the pains, and in the course of a few days she gained so much strength that she walked round the garden, which she had not done for three years. In a few days she was able to walk to a friend’s house two miles off; she became very sensitive and slept well. I frequently put her to sleep at night, but when I did not go to her house I always used to will her to go to sleep, and when I asked if she had had a good night, she used to say, ‘I always have a good night when you mesmerise me,’ and when I said, ‘I was not here last night,’ she answered, ‘Oh, yes, but you were, I heard you come up stairs after I had gone to bed, and knock at my door. I said, “Come in,” but you would not speak to me, and walked up to me, and held your hand over my head, saying, “Sleep,” and I did sleep, and had a very good night; you surely were in the house, for I saw you as plainly as I do now.’” I have no wish to extenuate the negative importance of this fact. At the same time, it must be remembered how very exceptional, probably, are the occasions on which {i-100} the experiment has been attempted. When the two persons concerned in a “willing” experiment have been together, the object, as a rule, has been to produce the effect which shall present the most obvious test for spectators or for the agent himself—namely, motor effects. And when some one of the few persons who possess an appreciable degree of the abnormal power has attempted to exercise it at a distance, it is still the production of actions that he would most naturally aim at; for it is in this direction that such a power has been popularly expected to show itself. Thus it is reasonable to conclude that deliberate attempts to produce a visual hallucination in another person, by the exercise of the will, have been very few and far between. Still this is, of course, no complete explanation of the rarity of the phenomenon; for no definable line separates these rare attempts from the ordinary experiments in thought-transference, when the agent concentrates his attention on a visible object. In those experiments there is, so to speak, an opportunity for a visual hallucination, if the agent is able to produce one. But the percipient has never (as far as I know) received more than a vivid idea, or at most a picture of the object in the mind’s eye. And this fact sufficiently indicates that the more pronounced sensory result is one requiring most special conditions—one which would remain extremely rare however much it were sought for, and the proof of which will rightly be regarded with all the more jealous scrutiny.

    The previous records of the phenomenon to which I can point are really only four in number;1 1 We cannot, of course, recognise as even on the threshold of evidence the following remote and third-hand case from A Treatise on the Second-Sight, &c., by “Theophilus Insulanus” (Edinburgh, 1763), p. 40. But it is curious enough to be worth quoting, the imperfection of the alleged transference being very parallel to what has been already observed in some of our own experiments. “The said ensign [viz., Ensign Donald Macleod], a person of candour, who lived then at Laoran, informed me that, having gone with his wife to visit his father-in-law in the Isle of Skye, night coming on, they were obliged to put up with a cave on the side of Lough Urn, to pass the night; and as they were at supper, his wife took a cabbock of cheese in her hand, and, having covered it with three or four apples, wished it in a seer’s hand, who lived with her father, and who, that night, by her second-sight, saw the gentlewoman offering her a cabbock of cheese, but was at a loss to know what the round things were that covered it, as, perhaps, she had seen none of the kind in her lifetime, until her master’s daughter, upon her arrival, told her the whole.” and these are so far from conclusive, that they would hardly even be worth mentioning, if stronger examples could not be added from our own collection. The first case is thus meagrely described by Dr. Elliotson (Zoist, Vol. VIII., p. 69):—

    “I have a friend, who can, by his will, make certain patients think of any others he chooses, and fancy he sees those persons: he silently thinking of certain persons, the brain of the patient sympathises with his brain. Nay, by silently willing that these persons shall say and do certain {i-101} things which he chooses, he makes the patients believe they see these imaginary appearances doing and uttering those very things.”

    That a man of indisputable ability should have thought such a statement of such a fact adequate is truly extraordinary. The same may be said of the following sentence of Dr. Charpignon’s Physiologic du Magnétisms, (Paris, 1848,) p. 325:—

    “Nous avons maintes fois formé dans notre pensée des images fictives, et les somnambules que nous questionnions voyaient ces images comme des réalités.” [Translation]We have often formed fictive images in our minds, and the subjects we were interrogating saw those images as realities.

    Even if these descriptions be accurate in the main, we are unable to judge how far the vision was really externalised by the patients. In the next case this point is clear; but the distinct assurance is still lacking that the agent was on his guard against the slightest approach to a suggestive movement. The incident is cited in the Annales Médico-Psychologiques, 6th series, Vol. V., p. 379, by Dr. Dagonet, doctor at the Saint Anne Asylum.

    “Un interne [house-physician] lui dit: ‘Regardez done, Didier, voilà une jolie femme.’ II n’y avait personne. Didier reprit: ‘Mais non, elle est laide,’ et il ajoute: ‘Qu’a-t-elle dans les bras?’ Ces questions se rap-portaient exactement à ce que pensait son interlocuteur. A un certain moment Didier se précipita même pour empêcher de tomber l’enfant qu’il croyait voir dans les bras de la femme imaginaire dont on lui parlait.” [Translation]An intern said to him, "Look, Didier, a pretty woman." There was nobody there. Didier replied, "No, no, she is ugly." He added: "What is she holding in her arms?" These questions were linked directly to what the other speaker was thinking. At one point Didier even rushed over to save from a fall the child he thought he saw in the arms of the imaginary woman he was told about.

    This is a specimen of the stray indications of thought-transference that may be found even in strictly scientific literature; but the significance of the phenomenon seems to have been altogether missed. It is described among a number of observations of an ordinary kind, made on an habitual somnambulist, and as though it were quite on a par with the rest.

    The next account, though, like Dr. Charpignon’s, first-hand from the agent, is more remote, and equally uncorroborated. It is to be found in an article by Councillor H. M. Wesermann, in the Archiv für den Thierischen Magnetismus, Vol. VI., pp. 136–9; and is dated Düsseldorf, June 15th, 1819. The first four items in the list are impressions alleged to have been made on a sleeping percipient but the fifth is a waking and completely externalised hallucination.

    First Experiment at a Distance of Five Miles.—I endeavoured to acquaint my friend, the Hofkammerrath G. (whom I had not seen, with whom I had not spoken, and to whom I had not written, for thirteen years), with the fact of my intended visit, by presenting my form to him in his sleep, through the force of my will. When I unexpectedly went to him on the following evening, he evinced his astonishment at having seen me in a dream on the preceding night.

    {i-102}

    Second Experiment at a Distance of Three Miles.—Madame W., in her sleep, was to hear a conversation between me and two other persons, relating to a certain secret; and when I visited her on the third day she told me all that had been said, and showed her astonishment at this remarkable dream.

    Third Experiment at a Distance of One Mile.—An aged person in G. was to see in a dream the funeral procession of my deceased friend S., and when I visited her on the next day her first words were that she had in her sleep seen a funeral procession, and on inquiry had learned that I was the corpse. Here then was a slight error.

    Fourth Experiment at a Distance of One-Eighth of a Mile.—Herr Doctor B. desired a trial to convince him, whereupon I represented to him a nocturnal street-brawl. He saw it in a dream, to his great astonishment. [This means, presumably, that he was astonished when he found that the actual subject of his dream was what Wesermann had been endeavouring to impress on him.]

    Fifth Experiment at a Distance of Nine Miles.—The intention was that Lieutenant N. should see in a dream, at 11 o’clock p.m., a lady who had been five years dead, who was to incite him to a good action. Herr N., however, contrary to expectation, had not gone to sleep by 11 o’clock, but was conversing with his friend S. on the French campaign. Suddenly the door of the chamber opens; the lady, dressed in white, with black kerchief and bare head, walks in, salutes S. thrice with her hand in a friendly way, turns to N., nods to him, and then returns through the door. Both follow quickly, and call the sentinel at the entrance; but all had vanished, and nothing was to be found. Some months afterwards, Herr S. informed me by letter that the chamber door used to creak when opened, but did not do so when the lady opened it—whence it is to be inferred that the opening of the door was only a dream-picture, like all the rest of the apparition.”1 1 Other cases of the hallucination of a door opening or shutting are Nos. 15, 30, 190, 198, 495, 530, 537, 591, 659, 670, 676, 696, 698. In Nasse’s Zeitschrift für Psychische Aertze (Leipzig) for 1820, Part IV., pp. 757–67, Wesermann again describes the first and fifth of these experiments, and states that the trials were made in the autumn of 1808.

    To such a record, if it stood alone, we should attach very little importance, in default of any evidence as to the intellectual and moral trustworthiness of Wesermann. There is, fortunately, no necessity for dwelling on these cases, as the possibility of the alleged phenomenon will certainly not be admitted except on the strength of contemporary and corroborated instances.

    § 8. In the examples that I am about to quote, one grave defect must at once be admitted. Though in all of them testimony is given by both agent and percipient, the agent in every case, and the percipient in one, withhold their names from publication. We, of course, regret this restriction exceedingly; but it can hardly be deemed unnatural or unreasonable. It must be remembered that {i-103} these cases of apparitions intentionally produced stand in a most peculiar position, as compared even with the other remarkable incidents with which we are concerned in the present work. In the case of the more normal telepathic phantasm, neither party is in the least responsible for what occurs. A dies or breaks his leg; B thinks that he sees A’s form or hears his voice: neither can help it; if their experiences coincide, that is not their business; perhaps it is a chance. But in the present class of cases, the agent determines to do something that to most of his educated fellow-creatures will appear a miracle; and however little he himself may share that view, he may still have good grounds for shrinking from the reputation either of a miracle-worker or of a miracle-monger. The percipient’s position is somewhat different; but modern miracles are by no means tempting things to get publicly mixed up with, even for a person whose share in them has been passive. And the extreme rarity of the phenomenon is another daunting fact. For a single specimen of this deliberate type of phantasm, we have a hundred specimens of the wholly spontaneous type: and the witness who is willing to give his name for publication, where he is assured that he will find himself in numerous and respectable company, may fairly hesitate when aware that the incident he records is almost unexampled.

    However, it may be hoped that this difficulty, like others, will gradually be removed by a modification of public opinion on the whole subject. Meanwhile, I can but give the evidence under the conditions imposed. In the first case, the agent is slightly known to us. The percipient is our friend, the Rev. W. Stainton Moses, who believes that he has kept a written memorandum of the incident, but has been prevented by a long illness, and by pressure of work, from hunting for it among a large mass of stored-away papers. The agent’s account was written in February, 1879, and includes a few purely verbal alterations made in 1883, when Mr. Moses pronounced it correct.

    (13) “One evening early last year, I resolved to try to appear to Z, at some miles distance. I did not inform him beforehand of the intended experiment; but retired to rest shortly before midnight with thoughts intently fixed on Z, with whose room and surroundings, however, I was quite unacquainted. I soon fell asleep, and awoke next morning unconscious of anything having taken place. On seeing Z a few days afterwards, I inquired, ‘Did anything happen at your rooms on Saturday night?’ ‘Yes,’ replied he, ‘a great deal happened. I had been sitting over the fire with M, smoking and chatting. About 12.30 he rose to leave, and I let him out myself. I returned to the fire to finish {i-104} my pipe, when I saw you sitting in the chair just vacated by him. I looked intently at you, and then took up a newspaper to assure myself I was not dreaming, but on laying it down I saw you still there. While I gazed without speaking, you faded away. Though I imagined you must be fast asleep in bed at that hour, yet you appeared dressed in your ordinary garments, such as you usually wear every day.’ ‘Then my experiment seems to have succeeded,’ said I. ‘The next time I come, ask me what I want, as I had fixed on my mind certain questions I intended to ask you, but I was probably waiting for an invitation to speak.’

    “A few weeks later the experiment was repeated with equal success, I, as before, not informing Z when it was made. On this occasion he not only questioned me on the subject which was at that time under very warm discussion between us, but detained me by the exercise of his will some time after I had intimated a desire to leave.1 1 As regards the interchange of remarks with a hallucinatory figure, see below, p. 476, and Vol. ii., p. 460. But it is possible, of course, that this detail as to the prolonging of the interview has become magnified in memory; or that the second vision partook more of the nature of a dream than the first. This fact, when it came to be communicated to me, seemed to account for the violent and somewhat peculiar headache which marked the morning following the experiment; at least I remarked at the time that there was no apparent cause for the unusual headache; and, as on the former occasion, no recollection remained of the event, or seeming event, of the preceding night.”

    Mr. Moses writes:—

    “21, Birchington Road, N.W.

    “September 27th, 1885.

    “This account is, as far as my memory serves, exact; and, without notes before me, I cannot supplement it. “W. STAINTON MOSES.”

    Mr. Moses tells us that he has never on any other occasion seen the figure of a living person in a place where it was not.

    The next case, otherwise similar, was more remarkable in that there were two percipients. The narrative has been copied by the present writer from a MS. book of Mr. S. H. B.’s, to which he transferred it from an almanack diary, since lost.

    (14) “On a certain Sunday evening in November, 1881, having been reading of the great power which the human will is capable of exercising, I determined with the whole force of my being that I would be present in spirit in the front bedroom on the second floor of a house situated at 22, Hogarth Road, Kensington, in which room slept two ladies of my acquaintance, viz., Miss L. S. V. and Miss E. C. V., aged respectively 25 and 11 years. I was living at this time at 23, Kildare Gardens, a distance of about 3 miles from Hogarth Road, and I had not mentioned in any way my intention of trying this experiment to either of the above ladies, for the simple reason that it was only on retiring to rest upon this Sunday night that I made up my mind to do so. The time at which I determined I would be there was 1 o’clock in the morning, and I also had a strong intention of making my presence perceptible.

    {i-105}

    “On the following Thursday I went to see the ladies in question, and, in the course of conversation (without any allusion to the subject on my part), the elder one told me, that, on the previous Sunday night, she had been much terrified by perceiving me standing by her bedside, and that she screamed when the apparition advanced towards her, and awoke her little sister, who saw me also.

    “I asked her if she was awake at the time, and she replied most decidedly in the affirmative, and upon my inquiring the time of the occurrence, she replied, about 1 o’clock in the morning.

    “This lady, at my request, wrote down a statement of the event and signed it.

    “This was the first occasion upon which I tried an experiment of this kind, and its complete success startled me very much.

    “Besides exercising my power of volition very strongly, I put forth an effort which I cannot find words to describe. I was conscious of a mysterious influence of some sort permeating in my body, and had a distinct impression that I was exercising some force with which I had been hitherto unacquainted, but which I can now at certain times set in motion at will.

    “S. H. B.”

    [Of the original entry in the almanack diary, Mr. B. says: “I recollect having made it within a week or so of the occurrence of the experiment, and whilst it was perfectly fresh in my memory.”]

    Miss Verity’s account is as follows:—

    “January 18th, 1883.

    “On a certain Sunday evening, about twelve months since, at our house in Hogarth Road, Kensington, I distinctly saw Mr. B. in my room, about 1 o’clock. I was perfectly awake and was much terrified. I awoke my sister by screaming, and she saw the apparition herself. Three days after, when I saw Mr. B., I told him what had happened; but it was some time before I could recover from the shock I had received, and the remembrance is too vivid to be ever erased from my memory.

    “L. S. VERITY.”

    In answer to inquiries, Miss Verity adds:—

    “I had never had any hallucination of the senses of any sort whatever.”

    Miss E. C. Verity says:—

    “I remember the occurrence of the event described by my sister in the annexed paragraph, and her description is quite correct. I saw the apparition which she saw, at the same time and under the same circumstances.

    “E. C. VERITY.”

    Miss A. S. Verity says:—

    “I remember quite clearly the evening my eldest sister awoke me by calling to me from an adjoining room; and upon my going to her bedside, where she slept with my youngest sister, they both told me they had seen S. H. B. standing in the room. The time was about 1 o’clock. S. H. B. was in evening dress, they told me.1 1 Mr. B. does not remember how he was dressed on the night of the occurrence.

    “A. S. VERITY.”

    {i-106}

    [Miss E. C. Verity was asleep when her sister caught sight of the figure, and was awoke by her sister’s exclaiming, “There is S.” The name had therefore met her ear before she herself saw the figure; and the hallucination on her part might thus be attributed to suggestion. But it is against this view that she has never had any other hallucination, and cannot therefore be considered as predisposed to such experiences. The sisters are both equally certain that the figure was in evening dress, and that it stood in one particular spot in the room. The gas was burning low, and the phantasmal figure was seen with far more clearness than a real figure would have been.

    The witnesses have been very carefully cross-examined by the present writer. There is not the slightest doubt that their mention of the occurrence to S. H. B. was spontaneous. They had not at first intended to mention it; but when they saw him, their sense of its oddness overcame their resolution. I have already said that I regard Miss Verity as a careful and conscientious witness; I may add that she has no love of marvels, and has a considerable dread and dislike of this particular form of marvel.]

    The next case of Mr. S. H. B.’s is different in this respect, that the percipient was not consciously present to the agent’s mind on the night that he made his attempt. The account is copied from the MS. book mentioned above.

    (15) “On Friday, December 1st, 1882, at 9.30 p.m., I went into a room alone and sat by the fireside, and endeavoured so strongly to fix my mind upon the interior of a house at Kew (viz., Clarence Road), in which resided Miss V. and her two sisters, that I seemed to be actually in the house. During this experiment I must have fallen into a mesmeric sleep, for although I was conscious I could not move my limbs. I did not seem to have lost the power of moving them, but I could not make the effort to do so, and my hands, which lay loosely on my knees, about 6 inches apart, felt involuntarily drawn together and seemed to meet, although I was conscious that they did not move.

    “At 10 p.m. I regained my normal state by an effort of the will, and then took a pencil and wrote down on a sheet of note-paper the foregoing statements.

    “When I went to bed on this same night, I determined that I would be in the front bedroom of the above-mentioned house at 12 p.m., and remain there until I had made my spiritual presence perceptible to the inmates of that room.

    “On the next day, Saturday, I went to Kew to spend the evening, and met there a married sister of Miss V. (viz., Mrs. L.) This lady I had only met once before, and then it was at a ball two years previous to the above date. We were both in fancy dress at the time, and as we did not exchange more than half-a-dozen words, this lady would naturally have lost any vivid recollection of my appearance, even if she had remarked it.

    “In the course of conversation (although I did not think for a moment of asking her any questions on such a subject), she told me that on the previous night she had seen me distinctly upon two occasions. She {i-107} had spent the night at Clarence Road, and had slept in the front bedroom. At about half-past 9 she had seen me in the passage, going from one room to another, and at 12 p.m., when she was wide awake, she had seen me enter the bedroom and walk round to where she was sleeping, and take her hair (which is very long) into my hand. She also told me that the apparition took hold of her hand and gazed intently into it, whereupon she spoke, saying, ‘You need not look at the lines, for I have never had any trouble.’ She then awoke her sister, Miss V., who was sleeping with her, and told her about it. After hearing this account, I took the statement which I had written down on the previous evening, from my pocket, and showed it to some of the persons present, who were much astonished although incredulous.

    “I asked Mrs. L. if she was not dreaming at the time of the latter experience, but this she stoutly denied, and stated that she had forgotten what I was like, but seeing me so distinctly she recognised me at once.

    “Mrs. L. is a lady of highly imaginative temperament, and told me that she had been subject, since childhood, to psychological fancies,1 1 Asked to explain this phrase, Mr. B. says: “I have never heard of Mrs. L. having had any hallucinations. The fancies I alluded to were simply a few phenomena accounted for on the ground of ‘telepathic’ rapport between herself and Mr. L., such as having a distinct impression that he was coming home unexpectedly (whilst absent in the North of England), and finding on several occasions that the impressions were quite correct.” &c., but the wonderful coincidence of the time (which was exact) convinced me that what she told me was more than a flight of the imagination. At my request she wrote a brief account of her impressions and signed it.

    “S. H. B.”

    [Mr. B. was at Southall when he made this trial. He tells me that the above account was written down about ten days after the experiment, and that it embodies the entry made in his rough diary on the night of the trial.]

    The following is the lady’s statement, which was forwarded to Mr. B., he tells us, “within a few weeks of the occurrence.”

    “8, Wordsworth Road, Harrow.

    “On Friday, December 1st, 1882, I was on a visit to my sister, 21, Clarence Road, Kew, and about 9.30 p.m. I was going from my bedroom to get some water from the bathroom, when I distinctly saw Mr. S. B., whom I had only seen once before, about two years ago, walk before me past the bathroom, towards the bedroom at the end of the landing. About 11 o’clock we retired for the night, and about 12 o’clock I was still awake, and the door opened2 2See p. 102, note. and Mr. S. B. came into the room and walked round to the bedside, and there stood with one foot on the ground and the other knee resting on a chair. He then took my hair into his hand, after which he took my hand in his, and looked very intently into the palm. ‘Ah,’ I said (speaking to him), ‘you need not look at the lines, for I never had any trouble.’ I then awoke my sister; I was not nervous, but excited, and began to fear some serious illness would befall her, she being delicate at the time, but she is progressing more favourably now.

    “H. L.” [Full name signed.]

    {i-108}

    Miss Verity corroborates as follows:—

    “I can remember quite well Mrs. L.’s mentioning her two visions—one at 9.30 and one at 12—at the time, and before S. H. B. came. When he came, my sister told him, and immediately he took a card (or paper, I forget which) out of his pocket, containing an account of the previous evening. I consider this testimony quite as good as if Mrs. L. were giving it, because I can recall so well these two days.

    “My sister has told me that she never experienced any hallucination of the senses except on this occasion.

    “L. S. VERITY.”

    The present writer requested Mr. B. to send him a note on the night that he intended to make his next experiment of the kind, and received the following note by the first post on Monday, March 24th, 1884.

    “March 22nd, 1884.

    (16) “Dear Mr. Gurney,—I am going to try the experiment to-night of making my presence perceptible at 44, Norland Square, at 12 p.m. I will let you know the result in a few days.—Yours very sincerely,

    “S. H. B.”

    The next letter was received in the course of the following week:—

    “April 3rd, 1884.

    “DEAR MR. GURNEY,—I have a strange statement to show you, respecting my experiment, which was tried at your suggestion, and under the test conditions which you imposed.

    “Having quite forgotten which night it was on which I attempted the projection, I cannot say whether the result is a brilliant success, or only a slight one, until I see the letter which I posted you on the evening of the experiment.

    “Having sent you that letter, I did not deem it necessary to make a note in my diary, and consequently have let the exact date slip my memory.

    “If the dates correspond, the success is complete in every detail, and I have an account signed and witnessed to show you.

    “I saw the lady (who was the subject) for the first time last night, since the experiment, and she made a voluntary statement to me, which I wrote down at her dictation, and to which she has attached her signature. The date and time of the apparition are specified in this statement, and it will be for you to decide whether they are identical with those given in my letter to you. I have completely forgotten, but yet I fancy that they are the same.

    “S. H. B.”

    This is the statement:—

    “44, Norland Square, W.

    “On Saturday night, March 22nd, 1884, at about midnight, I had a distinct impression that Mr. S. H. B. was present in my room, and I distinctly saw him whilst I was quite widely awake. He came towards me, and stroked my hair. I voluntarily gave him this information, when he called to see me on Wednesday, April 2nd, telling him the time and {i-109} the circumstances of the apparition, without any suggestion on his part. The appearance in my room was most vivid, and quite unmistakeable.

    L. S. VERITY.”

    Miss A. S. Verity corroborates as follows:—

    “I remember my sister telling me that she had seen S. H. B., and that he had touched her hair, before he came to see us on April 2nd.

    “A. S. V.”

    Mr. B.’s own account is as follows:—

    “On Saturday, March 22nd, I determined to make my presence perceptible to Miss V., at 44, Norland Square, Notting Hill, at 12 midnight, and as I had previously arranged with Mr. Gurney that I should post him a letter on the evening on which I tried my next experiment (stating the time and other particulars), I sent a note to acquaint him with the above facts.

    “About ten days afterwards I called upon Miss V., and she voluntarily told me, that on March 22nd, at 12 o’clock midnight, she had seen me so vividly in her room (whilst widely awake) that her nerves had been much shaken, and she had been obliged to send for a doctor in the morning.

    “S. H. B.”

    [Unfortunately Mr. B.’s intention to produce the impression of touching the percipient’s hair is not included in his written account. On August 21st, 1885, he wrote to me, “I remember that I had this intention;” and I myself remember that, very soon after the occurrence, he mentioned this as one of the points which made the success “complete in every detail”; and that I recommended him in any future trial to endeavour instead to produce the impression of some spoken phrase.]

    It will be observed that in all these instances the conditions were the same—the agent concentrating his thoughts on the object in view before going to sleep. Mr. B. has never succeeded in producing a similar effect when he has been awake. And this restriction as to time has made it difficult to devise a plan by which the phenomenon could be tested by independent observers, one of whom might arrange to be in the company of the agent at a given time, and the other in that of the percipient. Nor is it easy to press for repetitions of the experiment, which is not an agreeable one to the percipient, and is followed by a considerable amount of nervous prostration. Moreover, if trials were frequently made with the same percipient, the value of success would diminish; for any latent expectation on the percipient’s part might be argued to be itself productive of the delusion, and the coincidence with the agent’s resolve might be explained as accidental. We have, of course, requested Mr. B. to try to produce the effect on ourselves; but though he has more than once made the attempt, it has not succeeded. We can therefore only wait, in the hope that time will bring fresh opportunities, and that other persons may be {i-110} induced to make the trial.1 [☼]1 Since this was written two further cases have been received—Nos. 685 and 686 in the Additional Chapter at the end of Vol. ii. I am strongly sensible of the natural repulsion which descriptions of such isolated marvels are likely to produce in most educated minds, and the more so when the details are of a slightly ludicrous kind. But the evidence to the facts is of such a quality that it could not have been suppressed without doing grave injustice to the case for telepathy.2 2It is, of course, of prime importance in cases of this sort to obtain the direct testimony of both the parties concerned. Partly for the lack of this, and partly because the percipient had received an intimation (though a considerable time before) that the experiment was some day to be tried, I do not lay stress on the following example. At the same time it is worth quoting, as I believe the narrator (who is personally known to me) to be a careful, as he is certainly an honest, witness. Mr. John Moule, of Codicote, Welwyn, Herts, after describing how, as a young man, he had considerable success as a mesmerist, adds:— “In the year 1855, I felt very anxious to try and affect the most sensitive of my mesmeric subjects away from my house, and unknown to them. I chose for this purpose a young lady, a Miss Drasey, and stated that some day I intended to visit her wherever she might be, although the place might be unknown to me; and told her, if anything particular should occur, to note the time, and when she called at my house again, to state if anything had occurred. One day about two months after (I not having seen her in the interval) I was by myself in my chemical factory, Redman’s Row, Mile End, London, all alone, and I determined to try the experiment, the lady being in Dalston, about three miles off. I stood up, raised my hands, and willed to act upon the lady. I soon felt that I had expended energy. I immediately sat down in a chair, and went to sleep. I then saw in a dream, my friend coming down the kitchen stairs, where I dreamt I was. She saw me, and suddenly exclaimed, ‘Oh! Mr. Moule,’ and fainted away. This I dreamt, and then awoke. I thought very little about it, supposing I had had an ordinary dream; but about three weeks after she came to my house, and related to my wife the singular occurrence of her seeing me sitting in the kitchen, where she then was, and that she fainted away, and nearly dropped some dishes she had in her hands. All this I saw exactly in my dream, so that I described the kitchen furniture, and where I sat, as perfectly as if I had been there, though I had never been in the house. I gave many details, and she said, ‘It is just as if you had been there.’ After this, she made me promise that I would never do it again, as she would never feel happy with the idea of me appearing to her. Some time after this, she left this country for Australia, and died a few years afterwards.” If this record is accurate, the case differs from those given in the text, inasmuch as the effect was reciprocal, the agent himself being telepathically impressed. Cf. case 685.

    § 9. But even a reader who can sufficiently rely on our knowledge of the witnesses to feel that the evidence is important, may find an objection of another kind. He may question our right to make any theoretic connection between the experimental results before discussed and these last-described cases. I have called the phenomena of the present chapter transitional, and have pointed out the way in which they form a bridge from the experimental thought-transference of the last chapter to the spontaneous telepathy that will occupy us for the future. But it may seem that the line of connection is after all only an external one; and that there is a deep essential difference—a gulf which cannot be thus lightly crossed—between the more ordinary facts of thought-transference and these apparitions of the agent. It is not only that in the latter the percipient’s impression has been of an external object—of something not merely flashed on the mind, but independently located in space: {i-111} that might be a mere question of degree. The more radical difference is this—that what the one party perceived was not that on which the mind of the other party had been concentrated. In a “thought-transference” experiment of the normal type, the percipient’s image or idea of a card or diagram is due (as we hold) to the fact that the agent has been directing his attention to that very image or idea. But in the case of these will-produced phantasms, the agent has not been picturing his own visible aspect. So far as he has been thinking of himself at all, it has been not of his aspect particularly, but of his personality, and of his personality in relation to the percipient. It is thus probable that the percipient’s aspect has formed a larger part of the agent’s whole idea than his own; yet it is his aspect, and nothing else, that is telepathically perceived. And a similar departure from the normal

    experimental type will meet us again in the large majority of the spontaneous telepathic cases. In some of these, the content of the agent’s mind, at the time when the percipient received some sensory impression of him, has been a forcible idea of the percipient, and of himself in relation to the percipient; in others, we shall find that even this bond was lacking, and that the percipient’s impression cannot be even loosely identified with any part of the conscious contents of the agent’s mind.

    These facts have, no doubt, a very real theoretic importance: they reveal a certain incompleteness in the transition which I have been endeavouring to make. As long as the impression in the percipient’s mind is merely a reproduction of that in the agent’s mind, it is possible to conceive some sort of physical basis for the fact of the transference. The familiar phenomena of the transmission and reception of vibratory energy are ready to hand as analogies—the effect, for instance, of a swinging pendulum on another of equal length attached to the same solid support; or of one tuning-fork or string on another of the same pitch; or of glowing particles of a gas on cool molecules of the same substance. Still more tempting are the analogies of magnetic and electrical induction. A permanent magnet brought into a room will throw any surrounding iron into a similar condition; an electric current in one coil of wire will induce a current in a neighbouring coil; though here even the medium of communication is unknown. So it is possible to conceive that vibration-waves, or nervous induction, are a means whereby activity in one brain may evoke a kindred activity in another—with, of course, a similar {i-112} correspondence of psychical impressions. Even here, perhaps, the conception should rather be regarded as a metaphor than an analogy. We have only to remember that the effect of all the known physical forces diminishes with distance—whereas we shall find reason to think that, under appropriate conditions, an idea may be telepathically reproduced on the other side of the world as easily as on the other side of a room. The employment, therefore, of words like force, impulse, impact, in speaking of telepathic influences, must not be held to imply the faintest suspicion of what the force is, or any hypothesis whatever which would co-ordinate it with the recognised forces of the material world. Not only, as with other delicate phenomena of life and thought, is the subjective side of the problem the only one that we can yet attempt to analyse: we do not even know where to look for the objective side. If there really is a physical counterpart to the fact of transmission—over and above the movements in the two brains which are the termini of the transmission—that counterpart remains wholly unknown to us.

    But a much more serious difficulty in the way of any physical conception of telepathy presents itself as soon as we pass to the cases where the image actually present in the agent’s mind is no longer reproduced in the percipient’s. A is dying at a distance; B sees his form. We may perhaps trace a relation between the processes in their two minds; but it certainly does not amount to anything like identity or distinct parallelism. That being so, there can be no such simple and immediate concordance as we have supposed, between the nervous vibrations of their two brains; and that being so, there is no obvious means of translating into physical terms the causal connection between their experiences. This difficulty will take a somewhat different aspect when we come later to consider the part which the mind’s unconscious operations may bear in telepathic phenomena. We may see grounds for thinking that a considerable community of experience (especially in emotional relations) between two persons may involve nervous records sufficiently similar to retain for one another some sort of revivable affinity, even when the experience has long lost its vividness for conscious memory. Meanwhile it is best to admit the difficulty without reserve, and to state in the most explicit way that in the rapprochement between experimental thought-transference and spontaneous telepathic impressions we are confining ourselves to the psychical aspect; we connect the phenomena as being in all cases {i-113} affections of one mind by another, occurring otherwise than through the recognised channels of sense. The objector may urge that if we have not, we ought to have, a physical theory which will embrace all the phenomena—that we ought not to talk about a rapport between A’s mind and B’s unless we can establish a bridge between their two brains. This seems rather to assume that the standing puzzle of the relation between cerebral and psychical events in the individual, B, can only be stated in one crude form—viz., that the former are prior and produce the latter; and though for ordinary purposes such an expression is convenient, the convenience has its dangers. Still, as the converse proposition—that the psychical events are the prior—would be equally dangerous, a crux remains which we cannot evade. Since we cannot doubt that B’s unwonted experience has its appropriate cerebral correlate, we have to admit that the energy of B’s brain is directed in a way in which it would not be directed but for something that has happened to A. In this physical effect it is impossible to assume that an external physical antecedent is not involved; and the relation of the antecedent to the effect is, as I have pointed out, hard to conceive, when the neural tremors in A’s brain are so unlike the neural tremors in B’s brain as they must presumably be when A’s mind is occupied with his immediate surroundings, or with the idea of death, and B’s mind is occupied with a sudden and unaccountable impression or vision of A.

    But however things may be on the physical plane, the facts recorded in this book are purely psychical facts; and on the psychical plane it is possible to give to a heterogeneous array of them a certain orderly coherence, and to present them as a graduated series of natural phenomena. Can it be asserted that this treatment is illegitimate unless a concurrent physical theory can also be put forward? It is surely allowable to do one thing at a time. There is an unsolved mystery in the background; that we grant and remember; but it need not perpetually oppress us. After all, is there not that standing mystery of the cerebral and mental correlation in the individual—a mystery equally unsolved and perhaps more definitely and radically insoluble—at the background of every fact and doctrine of the recognised psychology? The psychologists work on as if it did not exist, or rather as if it were the most natural and intelligible thing in the world, and no one complains of them. All that we claim is a similar freedom.

    {i-114}

    CHAPTER IV.

    GENERAL CRITICISM OF THE EVIDENCE FOR SPONTANEOUS TELEPATHY.

    § 1. WE have now to quit the experimental branch of our subject. We have been engaged, so far, with cases of thought-transference deliberately sought for and observed within the four walls of a room, both the agent and the percipient being aware of the object in view; and with the further cases where—though the distance between the agent and the percipient was often greater, and the latter had no intimation of what was intended—there was still a deliberate desire on the agent’s part to exert a telepathic influence, and a concentration of his mind on that object. For the remainder of our course we shall be entirely occupied with cases where no such desire or idea existed—where the effect produced on the percipient, though we may connect it with the state of the agent, was certainly not an effect which he was aiming at producing. And this change in the character of the facts is accompanied by a marked change in the character of the evidence—a change for which some of the transitional cases in the last chapter have already prepared us. Our conclusions will now have to be drawn from the records of persons who, at the time when the phenomena which they describe took place, were quite unaware that these would ever be used as evidence for telepathy or anything else. Nor have my colleagues and I any observations of our own to compare with what our witnesses tell us; the facts are known to us only through the medium of their report, and we shall have to decide how far the medium may be a distorting one. Our method of inquiry will thus be the historical method; and success will depend upon the exercise of a wider and less specialised form of common-sense than was required in the experimental work. A great many more points have to be taken into account in weighing human testimony than in arranging the conditions of a crucial trial of thought-transference. There, one precise and simple form of danger had to be guarded against—the {i-115} possibility of conscious or unconscious physical signs: here, dangers multiform and indeterminate will have to be allowed for. We shall be brought face to face with questions of character, of the general behaviour of human beings in various circumstances, and of the unconscious workings of the human mind; and a quite different sort of logic must come into play, involving often a very complex estimate of probabilities

    .

    So all-important is it for our purpose to form a correct judgment as to the possible sources of error in this new department of evidence, that I have thought it best to devote the present chapter entirely to that subject.

    § 2. First, then, to face the most general objection of all. This may perhaps be stated as follows. All manner of false beliefs have in their day been able to muster a considerable amount of evidence in their support, much of which was certainly not consciously fraudulent. The form of superstition varies with the religious and educational conditions of the time; but within certain limits a diligent collector will be able to obtain evidence for pretty well anything that he chooses. There is, of course, a line—and every age will have its own line—beyond which it would be impossible for anyone who wished to be thought sane and educated to go; for instance, it would be impossible in the present day to obtain anything like respectable contemporary testimony for the transformation of old women into hares and cats. But short of this line there is always a range of ideas and beliefs as to which opinion is divided—which it is perfectly allowable to repudiate, and which science may treat with scorn, but which it is not a sign of abnormal ignorance or stupidity to entertain. And within this range evidence, and even educated evidence, for the beliefs will pretty certainly be forthcoming. For however much advancing knowledge may have limited the field of superstition, the fund of possibilities in the way of mal-observation, misinterpretation, and exaggeration of facts is still practically inexhaustible; and with such a fund to draw on, the belief, or the mere desire or tendency to believe, in any particular order of phenomena is sure, now and again, to light on facts which can be made to yield the semblance of a proof.

    Now, though it is difficult to deny the force of this argument when stated in general terms, I think that it can be shown not seriously to invalidate the evidence which is here relied on as proof of the reality of spontaneous telepathy. For the sake of comparison, it will {i-116} be worth while to glance at the most striking example that modern times supply of the support of false beliefs by a large array of contemporary evidence—the case of witchcraft.

    We may begin by excluding the enormous amount of the witch-evidence which consisted in confessions extracted by torture, terror, or false promises—“the casting evidence in most tryals,” as Hutchinson says; and also the large class of cases where the actual facts attested would not be disputed;—as where a woman was condemned because a child who had been with her hung its head on its return home, and rolled over in its cradle in the evening; or because a good many people or cattle had fallen sick in her village; or because she kept a tame frog, presumed to be her “imp”; or because on the very day that she had scolded a carter whose cart knocked up against her house, the self-same cart stuck in a gate, and the men who should have emptied it at night felt too tired to do so.1 1 Lilienthal, Die Hexenprocesse der beiden Städte Braunsberg (Königsberg,1861), p. 152; A Detection of Chelmsford Witches (London, 1579); Malleus Maleficarum (Lyons, 1620), Vol. i., p. 242; Müller, Beiträge zur Geschichte des Hexenglaubens (Brunswick, 1854), p. 35, &c.; Ady, Candle in the Dark (London, 1656), p. 135; Hutchinson, Historical Essay Concerning Witchcraft (London, 1720), p. 147. Putting these cases aside as irrelevant, anyone who looks carefully into the remaining records will find (1) that the actual testimony on which the alleged facts were believed came exclusively from the uneducated classes; and (2) that the easy acceptance of this evidence by better educated persons was due to the ignorance which was at that time all but universal respecting several great departments of natural phenomena—those of hallucination, trance, hysteria, and mesmerism. This ignorance took effect in the following way—that every piece of evidence to marvellous facts was perforce regarded as presenting one simple alternative:—either the facts happened as alleged; or the witnesses must be practising deliberate fraud. The latter hypothesis was, of course, an easy one enough to make in respect of this or that individual case, and was supported by indisputable examples; but it could not long be applied in any wholesale manner. The previous character of many of the persons involved, the aimlessness of such a fraud, the vast scale of the conspiracy which would have had to be organised in order to impose it on the world, and above all the fact that many of the witnesses brought on themselves nothing but opprobrium and persecution by their statements, made it practically impossible to doubt that the testimony was on the whole honestly given. Fraud, then, being excluded, there remained nothing but to believe {i-117} the facts genuine. Sane men and women spoke with obvious sincerity of what they had seen with their own eyes; how could such a proof be gainsaid? This is a point which Glanvil and other writers of the witch-epoch are for ever urging; if we reject these facts, they argue, we must reject all beliefs that have their basis in human testimony.

    Happily we have now a totally different means of escaping from the dilemma. We know now that subjective hallucinations may possess the very fullest sensory character, and may be as real to the percipient as any object he ever beheld. I have myself heard an epileptic subject, who was perfectly sane and rational in his general conduct, describe a series of interviews that he had had with the devil, with a precision, and an absolute belief in the evidence of his senses, equal to anything that I ever read in the records of the witches’ compacts. And further, we know now that there is a condition, capable often of being induced in uneducated and simple persons with extreme ease, in which any idea that is suggested may at once take sensory form, and be projected as an actual hallucination. To those who have seen robust young men, in an early stage of hypnotic trance, staring with horror at a figure which appears to them to be walking on the ceiling, or giving way to strange convulsions under the impression that they have been changed into birds or snakes, there will be nothing very surprising in the belief of hysterical girls that they were possessed by some alien influence, or that their distant persecutor was actually present to their senses. It is true that in hypnotic experiments there is commonly some preliminary process by which the peculiar condition is induced, and that the idea which originates the delusion has then to be suggested ab extra.from outside But with sensitive “subjects” who have been much under any particular influence, a mere word will produce the effect; nor is there any feature in the evidence for witchcraft that more constantly recurs than the touching of the victim by the witch.1 1 Thus, in a case mentioned by De l’Anere, in the Tableau de l’Inconstance des mauvais Anges et Démons (Paris, 1612), p. 115, all the children who believed themselves to have been taken to a “Sabbath,” stated that the witch had passed her hand over their faces, or placed it on their heads. Moreover, no hard and fast line exists between the delusions of induced hypnotism and those of spontaneous trance, or of the grave hystero-epileptic crises which mere terror is now known to develop. And association between persons who were possessed with certain exciting ideas would readily account for the generation of a mutually contagious influence; as in cases where magic rites were performed by several persons in company; or {i-118} where a whole household or community was affected with some particular delusion.1 1 A True and Just Record of the Information taken at St. Osey, in Essex (London, 1582); Potts, Wonderfull Disooverie of Witches in the Countie of Lancaster, &c.. (London, 1613); the case of the Flowers in A Collection of Rare and Curious Tracts relating to Witchcraft between the Years 1618 and 1664, pp. 19, 21; Glanvil, Sadducismus Triumphatus, p. 581: Hutchinson, Op. cit., p. 53; Durbin, A Narrative of Some Extraordinary Things (Bristol, 1800), p. 47; Horst, Zauber-Bibliothek, p. 219; Madden, Phantasmata, Vol. i., pp. 346–7; T. Hutchinson, History of Massachusetts Bay (Boston, 1692), Vol. ii., p. 18; Richet, L’Homme et l’Intelligence (Paris, 1884), p. 392.

    The above seems a sufficient explanation of the testimony which to the eyes of contemporaries appeared the strongest—the testimony of “possessed” persons, and of the professed participators in the incantation scenes and nocturnal orgies. As regards the alleged statements of independent persons who testified to having witnessed the aërial rides, transformations into animal forms, and such-like marvels, I would remark in the first place that the literature of witchcraft may be searched far and wide without encountering half-a-dozen first-hand statements of the sort;2 [☼]2 If “first-hand” be restricted (as it is throughout this book) to statements in the witness’s own words, I cannot point to a single such statement; but in the above phrase I mean merely the author’s statement of what was told directly to herself. The circumstantial evidence (also very meagre) for these miracles stands on different ground; as there the facts recorded are quite credible, and only the inference need be rejected. For example, the external evidence relied on for the supposed transformations was usually that the accused proved to have some bodily hurt on the same day as a wolf or some other animal had been wounded. and in the second place, that there is a characteristic of uneducated minds which is only exceptionally observed in educated adults—the tendency to confound mental images, pure and simple, with matters of fact. This tendency naturally allies itself with any set of images which is prominent in the beliefs of the time; and it is certain now and then to give to what are merely vivid ideas the character of bonâ fide memories. The imagination which may be unable to produce, even in feeble-minded persons, the belief that they see things that are not there, may be quite able to produce the belief that they have seen them—which is all, of course, that their testimony implies.3 3 Another explanation might be attempted, if (on the analogy of certain Indian juggling tricks) we could suppose the spectator to have been unawares subjected to a “mesmeric glamour,” whereby the suggestion of the magical occurrence was enabled to develop in his mind into an actual vision of it. One story in the Malleus Maleficarum, where a girl appeared to herself and to her friends to be a mare, while a priest (over whom the evil influence had no power) saw her as a girl, strongly recalls some of the Indian stories. See also the curious account of imps which appears in Witches of Huntingdon, Renfrew, and Essex (London, 1646). Such a result would, however, enormously transcend the range of mesmeric influence as so far recognised in the West; and we certainly need not strain hypotheses to save the credit of writers like Sprenger.

    There is, however, one small class of phenomena connected with witchcraft which stands on different ground, as regards the quality of {i-119} the evidence adduced for it. A few cases are recorded, on really respectable authority, of a remarkable susceptibility, shown by persons whom we might now recognise as hypnotic “subjects,” to the conscious or unconscious influence of some absent person supposed to be a witch; and perhaps also of abnormal powers of discernment on the part of the supposed witches themselves. These alleged telepathic cases naturally fell into discredit along with all the other phenomena of occult agency. For the belief in witchcraft faded and ultimately died as a whole; not because each sort of phenomenon was in turn exposed or explained, or because any critical account of hallucinations and popular delusions was forthcoming, or even because a certain amount of distinct fraud was proved, but because the general tide of uncritical opinion took a turn towards scepticism as to matters supernatural. Now we are certainly not concerned to maintain that this or that instance of alleged telepathic influence ought to have been allowed to stand as genuine, when belief in the more phantastic phenomena was undermined. Is [sic] is probable that in the former, as in the latter, the influence of imagination was not allowed for, and that the different items of evidence were never tested and compared in the manner that true scientific scepticism would dictate. We, at any rate, have difficulty enough in testing the accuracy of contemporary evidence, and certainly are not going to rest any part of our case on the records of a by-gone age. But if anyone who has studied the evidence for witchcraft urges these cases as a proof that the more recent telepathic evidence is unworthy of attention, it is reasonable to remark that if telepathy is in operation now, it was probably in operation then; and that the only cases of supposed magic with which persons of sense and education seem, at the time, to have come to close quarters were similar in character to cases for which persons of sense and education are still found to offer their personal testimony.1 1 Of the early records the best known is the evidence of the Père Surin and others in respect of the hysterical epidemic in the Ursuline convent at Loudun, in 1633. But perhaps the most carefully observed case is the older one given in the Most Strange and Admirable Discovery of the Three Witches of Warboys (London, 1593), of which Sir W. Scott’s account (Demonology and Witchcraft, p. 238) gives a very imperfect idea. Another example of much the same kind is given in G. More’s True Discourse against S. Harsnet (London, 1600). The cases where the victim showed uneasiness when the absent witch was at large, and relief when she was bolted, though quite inconclusive, seem occasionally to have been rationally tested. (Witchcraft further Displayed, London, 1712, p. 21; History of the Witches of Renfrewshire, Paisley, 1809, p. 134; Sadducismus Debellatus, London, 1698, p. 47.) The assertions that “possessed persons” were able to read secrets present sometimes this sign of sobriety, that the revelations are said to have concerned only past and present, not future, things (see, e.g., Lercheimer, Ein Christlich Bedenken und Erinnerung von Zauberei, Heidelberg, 1585; and Majolus, Dies Caniculares, Mainz, 1614, p. 593); but as such a power finds no parallel in the telepathy of our day, it is satisfactory rather than otherwise to find that it is supported by hardly anything that can be called evidence. The strongest item is perhaps the testimony of Poncet to the powers of some of the convulsionnaires of St. Médard (see Bertrand, Du Magnétisme Animal, Paris, 1826, p. 435). Nor do the “thought-reading” stories about Somers (e.g., in Darrell’s Brief Apologie and Detection, London, 1599 and 1600), and about Escot de Parme (De l’Anere, L’Incredulité et Mescréance du Sortilège, Paris, 1622) reach even the lowest evidential grade. It would be useless to multiply indecisive instances. If the least wretchedly-attested cases, even in the most wretched collections of witch-anecdotes, turn out to be those which admit of a telepathic explanation, yet much stronger cases might well be damned by such company. And though some of the less credulous authors, who have a real notion of natural causes and of what constitutes proof, seem to have felt the evidence for supersensuous communications to be too strong to resist (e.g., Cotta in The Infallible, True and Assured Witch, London, 1625) their general position is too wavering for their authority to have any weight. One rises from their works feeling that this was the side of the subject which had produced on them the strongest impression of reality; and that is all that can be said.

    {i-120}

    But in whatever light these residual cases be regarded, the general conclusion remains the same—that the phenomena which were characteristic of witchcraft, and which are an accepted type of exploded superstitions, never rested on the first-hand testimony of educated and intelligent persons; and the sweeping assertion which is often made that such persons were, in their day, witnesses to the truth of these absurdities needs, therefore, to be carefully guarded. What the educated and intelligent believers did was to accept from others, as evidence of objective facts, statements which were really only evidence of subjective facts. And they did this naturally and excusably, because they lived at a time when the science of psychology was in its infancy, and the necessary means of correction were not within their reach.1 1 I am speaking—it must be remembered—of the attitude of educated and intelligent persons towards assertions which might (however loosely) be described as evidence. That such persons often showed themselves credulous and uninquiring in attaching value to mere legends and local gossip is of course true enough, but does not concern the present argument. For a justification of the above remarks, see the Note on Witchcraft at the

    end of this chapter.

    One further criticism may be made as to the mental condition of those who were in any direct sense witnesses to the facts. They were invariably persons inclined to such beliefs to begin with—who had been brought up in them and had accepted them as a matter of course. We have no record of anyone who had all his life declined to admit the reality of the alleged phenomena, and who was suddenly convinced of his mistake by coming into personal contact with them.

    § 3. We are now in a position to perceive, by comparison, how the case stands with the evidence for telepathy which awaits examination. It would almost be sufficient to say that the comparison is an absolute contrast in respect of every point which has been mentioned. A very large number of our first-hand witnesses are {i-121} educated and intelligent persons, whose sobriety of judgment has never been called in question. For the most part, moreover, they have been in no way inclined to admit the reality of the phenomena, prior to themselves encountering them. By many of them even what they themselves narrate has not been regarded with special interest; while others, who have been unable to get behind their own experience, have expressed scepticism as to the existence of the phenomena as a class.1 1 It is amusing sometimes to encounter arbitrary fragments of scepticism, combined with a belief in the “supernatural” character of many of the coincidences which we are endeavouring to account for as natural. Thus a gentleman contributes a case to Knowledge (May 16th, 1884) and concludes his letter thus: “Personally, I do not believe in apparitions, nor in anything akin thereto; but coincidences such as you record from week to week must have happened to most of us, and obtuse indeed must the individual be who does not think that there is something supernatural sometimes even in coincidences.” The facts themselves have no special affinity with any particular form of faith; they are not facts in a belief of which any one is specially brought up. And here we may contrast telepathy, not only with the comparatively modern superstition of witchcraft, but with phenomena of much older and wider acceptance—the alleged apparitions of the dead. The continued existence of departed friends and relatives has been one of the most constant elements of religious belief; and that myths should grow up respecting their appearances to survivors is what might have naturally been looked for. But even in respect of the most striking sort of phenomena with which we shall here be concerned—apparitions at the time of death—we do not find in men’s prevalent habits of thought, at any stage of culture, elements which would be particularly likely to produce a myth on the subject. And as a matter of fact, if we go to the classes of persons whose beliefs have no special relation to evidence, we do actually find the one myth prevalent, and not the other. The idea of apparitions after death has a wide and strong hold on the popular mind; the idea of apparitions at the time either of death, or of serious crises in life, has no established vogue. Instances are, no doubt, to be met with in books of history, biography, and travel; and the range which such notices cover is itself important, as showing that the idea, though so far from universally prevalent, is for all that not in any sense a speciality of particular times or localities. But though numerous, the instances are sporadic; they appear as isolated marvels, which even those who experienced them regarded as such, and not as evidences to any widely-believed reality. So much is this the case that to many persons with {i-122} whom we have conversed on the subject we find that the very idea of such phenomena is practically new; and that “apparitions,” whether delusions or realities, have always been considered by them as apparitions of the dead.1 1 Next to these, the best-recognised class are undoubtedly the premonitory apparitions of “second-sight.” Since the above remarks were written, I am glad to find them implicitly confirmed by a very high authority on myth and folk-lore, Mr. Andrew Lang. In the Nineteenth Century for April, 1885, he showed very clearly and amusingly how the same types of “ghost-story” are found in the most distant places, and in the most diverse stages of culture—whether owing to some common basis of fact, or to the same pervading love of the mysterious, or (as is sometimes undoubtedly the case) to the survival of remnants of primitive superstitions in the midst of an advancing civilisation. But though most of his instances are drawn from barbarous countries, he “has not encountered, among savages, more than one example” pointing to a belief in what we call telepathic impressions; and even that one is a very doubtful example. There is, as I have said, a certain amount of sporadic evidence that the phenomena have been noticed at many different times and places; but of any pervading belief, such as would cause people to be on the qui vive for them and would ensure a perpetual supply of spurious evidence, neither we nor apparently Mr. Lang can find any indication whatever. And if this is true of the more striking telepathic cases, à fortiori is it true of the less striking. The class of apparitions and impressions which have corresponded with the death of the “agent” has only been vaguely recognised; the class which have corresponded with a state of passing excitement or danger can hardly be said to have been recognised at all. Even persons with whose general way of thinking they might seem compatible are apt to be repelled by their apparent uselessness, and certainly are not wont to exhibit any à priori belief in their reality; while to others who have encountered them, they have appeared in the objectionable light of a puzzle, without analogies and without a place in the recognised order of Nature.

    But though I think that it is not hard to distinguish the evidence on which we rely from the evidence for various forms of popular superstition, and to show that, as a matter of fact, telepathy is not a popular superstition, I am far from denying a certain degree of force to the line of objection above suggested. Ignorance, credulity, and a predisposition to believe in a particular order of marvels, are not the only sources of unconscious falsification in human testimony; and it by no means follows, because these particular elements of error are absent, that a bonâ fide first-hand narrative of contemporary facts is trustworthy. And having briefly considered certain dangers and objections from which we think that our telepathic evidence is free, I proceed now to consider certain others to which it is to a certain extent exposed, and to explain the means by which we have endeavoured to obviate or reduce them.

    {i-123}

    § 4. It will be best to enumerate, one by one, the general sources of error which may affect the testimony of honest and fairly-educated persons, to events that are both unusual and of a sort unrecognised by contemporary science. We shall thus be able to observe in detail how far each is likely to have affected the evidence here brought forward.

    The most obvious danger may seem to lie in errors of observation and inference. And first as to errors of observation. The phenomena with which these have to do are naturally objective phenomena. It is only in reference to the objective world that observation can be proved to be accurate or faulty; the faulty observation is that which interprets real things in a way that does not correspond with reality. Now misinterpretation of this sort may undoubtedly produce spurious telepathic cases; and wherever we can suppose it to have been possible, we are bound to exclude the case from our evidence. Thus we have a group of narratives of the following type, suggesting a mistake of identity.

    Mrs. Campbell, of Dunstaffnage, Oban, wrote, in June, 1884:—

    “Two years ago one of our tenant farmers was very ill, and my brother asked me to inquire how he was, on my way back from a walk I was going to take with a cousin of mine. We went, but on passing the old man’s house I forgot to go in, and soon we arrived at our avenue, when my cousin reminded me of not having asked for the sick man. I thought of returning, when I distinctly saw the old man, followed by his favourite dog, cross a field in front of us, and go into his house, and I remarked to my cousin, who also had seen the old man and his dog, that as he was so well that he was able to walk about, there was not much use in going to inquire for him, so we went on home. But on arriving there, my brother came to tell us that the old man’s son had just been to say that his father had just died.”

    Here it is possible, and therefore for evidential purposes necessary, to suppose that the figure seen was a neighbour, or perhaps the old man’s son.1 1

    I may say here, once for all, that our gratitude to an informant is none the less because his or her experience may not have appeared relevant to the direct argument of this book. Such cases have often been very useful and instructive in other ways. The next incident, given in the words of Mrs. Saxby, of Mount Elton, Clevedon, was narrated to her and other friends by the late Rev. G. Ridout, Vicar of Newland, Gloucestershire, on whom it had made a very serious impression.

    “My sister and I were left orphans when we were extremely young. We were very fond of each other. When I was nearly grown up, I was sent to Magdalen College, Oxford. While there, one day when I was {i-124} walking in the cloisters, I saw my sister walking before me, dressed in white. I knew that she was not staying in Oxford, and I was much surprised at seeing her there—but I had no doubt whatever that it was my sister. She passed along the cloister before me, I following close behind her till she turned the first angle. To my surprise, when I reached the same place, instead of seeing her before me, she was gone. Immediately the conviction that she was dead seized me, and I felt myself strengthened to receive the tidings of her death, which reached me next day.”

    The disappearance here seems to have been strangely sudden; but we have not been able to cross-examine the witness; and one knows that people of flesh and blood do sometimes get out of sight round corners in odd ways. Again, the Rev. C. Woodcock, Rector of All Saints’, Axminster, writes:—

    “January 8th, 1884.

    “The following fact was often narrated in my presence by my father, who has been dead upwards of thirty years. He was once invited, when a young man, to breakfast on the ground floor at St. James’s Palace, to meet a particular friend. He was punctual to the appointed hour; but not so the expected guest. The hour had struck, but neither party present was willing to sit down without the mutual friend. They had not long to wait for seeming satisfaction, for as each stood at a window opposite the thoroughfare to the park, both exclaimed at the same moment, ‘Oh! there he is,’ and the host, so fully satisfied in his ocular assurance, went to the door on the other side of the house, to welcome his friend, instead of waiting for his announcement. He stood there in vain; the friend never appeared, to the great astonishment of all present; for two persons standing at different windows agreed that they saw him pass at the identical moment. Within an hour, a man-servant appeared to announce that his master, the expected guest, was found dead in his bed that morning. My father was a member of the Madras C. S.; the name of his host I forget.”

    Here the eyes of two persons were concerned; but they were in an expectant state of mind, which is eminently favourable to such mistakes. In another case, two gentlemen crossed Piccadilly under the impression that they saw a friend, who, as it turned out, died in India on that day. But it is needless to multiply instances; in all of them the figure seen has been out of doors, and at some yards’ distance; and these being the very circumstances in which we know that spurious recognitions often take place, there is nothing surprising in an occasional coincidence of the sort described. Similarly, a person may hear a call, perhaps of his own Christian name, outside his house, and may mistake the voice for that of a friend; and, “in due course,” as our informants sometimes say, the news of that friend’s {i-125} death may arrive.1 1 The following example has a comic as well as a tragic side. A gentleman, with whom the present writer is well acquainted, had attained some skill in “ventriloquism,” and used occasionally to amuse himself by mystifying his friends. He was one day idly swinging on a trapeze in the Ramsgate Gymnasium, and was chatting with the wife and daughter of Mr. R., the manager of the place, who were at a window above him. “It occurred to me to put my powers into practice for the benefit of everybody, so I delivered myself of a long, low wail, carefully muffled and made distant, so as to resemble a cry from the rocks on the seashore below. Without really thinking much of what I was doing, I amused myself for about a minute by producing ‘Oh’s!’ Suddenly there was a disturbance above, Mr. R. rushed upstairs, and I saw his wife hurried off by her family in a state of collapse. I supposed she had been taken ill, and thought no more of the matter. “I did not attend the gymnasium for the next few days; but a friend who did learnt what the mystery was. It appears that Mrs. R., who had several sons abroad, had received, at one time or another, what you call ‘telepathic’ indications of any illness or death happening to any of them. My imitation of a distant person in distress had been heard and regarded by her as one of these telepathic messages, and implanted in her mind the belief that a son, who was abroad, and from whom they had not heard for some time, had at that moment died. So convinced was she that the voice she heard was that of her dying son, that she refused to listen to any comfortings, and gave herself up to despair. She did not recover from the shock for upwards of three weeks, and never quite forgave me.” But it is only to an inconsiderable fraction of the evidence here presented that such explanations could by any possibility be applied. The large majority of the alleged experiences are, on the face of them, subjective phenomena, in the sense that they are independent of any real objects in the environment, and of any mistakes possible in connection with such objects, and are due to a peculiar affection of the percipient’s own mind. This mode of regarding them (and the reservations with which the word “subjective” must be used) will be fully explained in the sequel. It is enough for the present to note that the witness who would be an unsafe authority if he said “Sea-serpents exist,” may be a safe authority if he says, “I saw what appeared to be a sea-serpent”; and this amount of assertion is all that the telepathic evidence involves. All the accuracy of observation required of the witness has to do with what he seemed to himself to see, or to hear, or to feel.

    Nor in our cases is the danger of errors of inference so serious as might be imagined. A man may, no doubt, see something odd or indefinite, at the time that his mother dies at a distance, and may infer that it bodes calamity; and if, after he hears of the death, he infers and reports that he saw his mother’s form, the error will be a very grave one. But it will be more convenient to treat retrospective mistakes of this sort under the head of errors of memory. And with a percipient’s interpretation of his impression at the moment we have really very little concern. He may see the apparition of a relative in his room, and infer first that it is the relative’s real figure in flesh and blood, and next that it is the relative’s spirit. Neither inference has any relation to our argument. {i-126} The only fact that concerns us is the fact that he had the subjective impression of seeing his relative. I may refer once more, by way of contrast, to the case of witchcraft, where the very basis of the superstition was error of inference,—error shown (and by the more intelligent class exclusively shown) not in the giving but in the interpreting of testimony.

    § 5. The tendencies to error which more vitally concern us fall broadly into two classes—tendencies to error in narration, and tendencies to error of memory. Let us ask, then, what are the various conscious or unconscious motives which may cause persons who belong to the educated class, and who have a general character for truthfulness, to narrate experiences of telepathic impressions in a manner which is not strictly accurate?

    One motive which has undoubtedly to be allowed for in some cases is the desire to make the account edifying. This danger naturally attaches to the evidence for any class of facts which can be regarded, however erroneously, as transcending natural law. Enthusiastic persons will value an unusual occurrence, not for its intrinsic interest, but for its tendency, if accepted, to convert others to their own way of belief; and they will be apt to shape and colour their account of it with a view to the desired effect. Intent on pointing the moral, they will unconsciously adorn the tale. This source of error is one which it is specially necessary to bear in mind where some particular type of story is connected with a particular religious sect. The literature of the Society of Friends, for instance, is remarkably rich in accounts of providential monitions and premonitions; and it supplies also a considerable number of telepathic cases. But we have already seen that telepathy does not specially lend itself to the support of definite articles of faith. Nor is any one who takes the trouble to study our evidence likely to maintain that errors of narration have largely entered into it under the influence of a propagandist zeal. It is rather for the sake of completeness than on account of its practical importance

    that such a possibility has been mentioned.1 1 Curiously enough, the only specially “edifying” incident which has reached us on what seemed good authority, turns out to be quite inadmissible as evidence. The account was received from the Rev. G. B. Simeon, of St. John’s Vicarage, Gainsborough, of whose accuracy as a narrator we feel no doubt. He says:— “January 10th, 1884. “When I was in Oxford, a story was going about to the effect that Dr. Pusey had seen an apparition in High Street, and I undertook to ask him whether it was true. He said No, but that the report was probably founded on the following truth:— “Two clergymen, A and B, well known to himself and very great friends, were together in the neighbourhood of Oxford. One of them, B, went away on a visit. The other, A, was in the garden, and saw his friend B come in at the gate and approach him. On expressing his surprise at seeing him return sooner than was expected, his friend B replied, in an agitated manner, ‘I have been in hell for half an hour because I loved the praise of men more than the praise of God,’ and turning, immediately left the garden. In the course of the next day, A, going out into the parish, met a third person, who stopped him and said, ‘Do you know, sir, that devoted servant of God, B, is dead suddenly?’ On further inquiry he found he had died the previous day shortly before his appearance in the garden. “The underlined words were exactly those used by Dr. Pusey, and the whole manner of his telling made me feel sure that A was himself, although I did not like to ask him point blank. But he assured me he knew it to be true, and that, doubtless, it had given rise to the story going about Oxford. I fear you will think that, like most of these things, it lacks the full details, which probably none but Dr. Pusey could give, and which I felt it would be presumptuous to ask for.” The same story—with some differences of detail—is reported to have been told by Dr. Pusey, as a personal experience, to the Sisters in Osnaburgh Street (see p. 25 of Sisterhoods of the Church of England, by Margaret Goodman). Nevertheless, we are forced to conclude that those to whom Dr. Pusey narrated the incident were mistaken in supposing him to refer to himself. For it is scarcely possible to doubt that a story published as long ago as 1819, in the Imperial Magazine (Liverpool), p. 963, and given also in the Life of Mr. W. Bramwell, 1839, is the original of what he told. The vision appears there as a dream, not a waking percept. Otherwise the central incident is the same, and the very words used by the phantom are almost identical. But the names of the parties are not given, and all our guarantee for the correctness of the account vanishes. This case is of interest, as showing the importance of probing a witness as thoroughly as possible whiles one is in the way with him.

    {i-127}

    A far more frequent and effective source of error in narration is the tendency to make the account graphic and picturesque. Among human beings, the motives which prompt narration of matters unconnected with business or the mere machinery of life are mainly two,—a desire to interest one’s auditor; and a desire to put oneself en evidence, to feed one’s own self-esteem by attracting and retaining the attention of others. The influence of each of these motives is towards making the story as good a one as possible. And though, as I have already said, a good deal of our evidence comes from persons who profess to have had no bias in favour of the reality of such events as they describe, and wish rather that they had not occurred, still the instinct to make what one says seem worth saying is too general for it ever to be safe to assume its absence. In such a subject as ours, this instinct will find its chief opportunity in making things appear marvellous. The reader must decide for himself how far the evidence to be here presented bears the stamp of the wonder-mongerer[☼] or raconteur. The desire to make people open their eyes is no doubt perfectly compatible with a habit of truthfulness in the ordinary affairs of life. Still, the desire, as a rule, is actually to see the eyes opening; and the danger is therefore greater in the case of a story which is told off-hand and vivâ voce for the sake of immediate effect, than in the case of evidence which is first written down at leisure, and has then to undergo the ordeal of a careful and detailed scrutiny. Nor must we forget that there is another instinct which tends directly {i-128} to discourage wonder-mongering, at any rate in the narration of unusual personal experiences—the instinct to win belief. Where the risk of being disbelieved is appreciable, a sense of accuracy becomes also a sense of security; a thing being credible to oneself just because it is fact, the consciousness of not exaggerating the fact begets a sort of trust that others may somehow find it credible. And with the class from whom our evidence is chiefly drawn, this influence seems not less likely to be operative than the desire to say something startling. The latter tendency is more prone on the whole to affect second-hand witnesses, who do not feel bound to exercise any economy of the miraculous, who can always fall back on the plea that they are only telling what was told to them, and who may easily be led into inaccuracies by the analogy of other marvellous stories.

    And indeed it is a matter of ordinary observation, by no means confined to “psychical research,” that where the subject of narration has nothing to do with merit, and what is alleged to have been done or suffered is not of a sort to attract admiration to the doer or sufferer, the more extravagant sort of stories are given, not as personal experiences, but on the authority of someone else. If there is exaggeration, it is “a friend” who is to blame; and this term is used on such occasions with considerable latitude. I have already noted how, in the case of witchcraft, the more bizarre incidents do not rest on anything like traceable first-hand testimony. This remark is applicable in a general way to the whole field of evidence for marvellous events, as recorded in modern literature; and the same fact has been very noticeable with respect to the evidence, of very various sorts and qualities, which has come under the attention of my colleagues and myself during the last few years. We have often taken the trouble to trace and test the matter of those sensational newspaper-paragraphs which get so freely copied from one journal into another; but in scarcely one per cent. of the cases has the evidence held water. And in the ordinary talk of society, where there is often a show or assertion of authority for the statements made, one gradually learns to diagnose with confidence the accounts which profess to be second or third hand from the original, but of which no original will ever be forthcoming. An example is the well-known tale of the dripping letter, handed to a lady by the phantasmal figure of a midshipman who had been drowned before he could execute his commission. If the newspaper-anecdotes were like bubbles that break in the pursuer’s hand, a society-marvel of this stamp may be {i-129} more fitly compared to a will-o’-the-wisp: one never gets any nearer to it. Then there is the young lady who was preserved from a railway accident by seeing the apparition of her fiancé on the platform of three consecutive stations—which induced her to alight. Here I was actually promised an introduction to the heroine: what I finally received was a reference to “a friend of the lady who told the story.” Or, again, there is the tale of second-sight, so widely told during the last three years, where the visitor saw a daughter of the house stabbed by a stranger, whom he has since identified as her husband, and has remorselessly dogged in hansom cabs. Three or four times have we been, so to speak, “one off” this story; but the various clues have shown no sign of converging; and we still occasionally hear of the happy couple as on their honeymoon.

    § 6. Turning now to the sources of error in memory, we find the danger here is of a more insidious kind, in that comparatively few persons realise the extent to which it exists in their own case. For one who is innocent of any desire to impress his auditor in any particular way, and who simply desires to tell the truth, it is not easy to realise that he may be an untrustworthy witness about matters concerning himself. The weaknesses of human memory, and the precautions which they necessitate, will be so frequent a topic in the sequel that a brief classification will here suffice.

    We must allow, in the first place, for a common result of the belief in supernatural influences and providential interpositions. Persons who are interested in such ideas will be keenly alive to any phenomena which seem to transcend a purely materialistic view of life. They will be apt to see facts of this class where they do not exist, and to interpret in this sense small or vague occurrences which if accurately examined at the time might have been otherwise explained. And where this tendency exists, it is almost inevitable that, as time goes on, the occurrence should represent itself to memory more and more in the desired light, that inconvenient details should drop out, and that the remainder should stand out in a deceptively significant and harmonious form. Of the cases to be here presented, however, only a very small proportion betray any idea on the part of the witness that what he recounts has any special religious or philosophical significance. Our informants have had no motive to conceal from us their real view of the facts; and if they narrate an incident as simply strange or {i-130} unaccountable, we have no right to assume their evidence to have been coloured by an emotional sense that materialism had been refuted in their person, or that supernatural communications had been permitted to them. Indeed, as regards religious and emotional prepossessions, we are certainly justified in thinking that they have rather been hindrances than helps to the presentation of an abundant array of evidence. For it has happened in many instances that persons whose testimony would have been a valuable addition to the case for telepathy, have felt their experiences to be too intimate or too sacred for publication.1 1 To take a single instance—a lady sends us an unsensational narrative of the ordinary type, as to how one day in 1882, when just about to sit down to the piano, she saw close to her the figure of an old school-friend, who, as it turned out, died on that day at a distance. “I am confident,” she says, “of having seen the vision, though my common-sense makes me wish to put it down to imagination. I never saw any vision of any kind before or since.” But we are withheld from quoting the account in a form which could have any evidential value, by her feeling that such publication would be wrong.

    But apart from any bias of an emotional or speculative sort, we must certainly admit a general tendency in the human mind to make any picture of facts definite. To many people vagueness of emotion or of speculation is a delight; but no one enjoys vagueness of memory. In thinking of an event which was in any way shadowy or uncertain, there is always a certain irksomeness in realising clearly how little clear it was. The same applies, of course, to events at which we look back through any considerable interval of time. The very effort to recall them implies an effort to represent them to the mind as precisely and completely as possible, and it is often not observed that the precision thus attained is not that of reality.

    Lastly, there is a general tendency to lighten the burden of memory by simplifying its contents—by bringing any group of connected events into as round and portable a form as possible. This may, of course, only result in the loss of excrescences and subordinate features, while the essential incident is left intact. But we shall find instances further on where simplification really alters the character of the evidence. Details may not simply drop out; they may undergo a change, and group themselves conveniently round some central idea. It might reasonably be expected, and we ourselves certainly began by expecting, that error from this source would always tell in the direction of actual distortion and exaggeration; if the aspect of the case was to some extent striking and significant to begin with, it would seem likely that this aspect of it should become {i-131} more pronounced as it assumed a more isolated place in the mind, and lost its connection with the normal stream of experience in the course of which it appeared. As a matter of fact, however, this is by no means always what happens. For instance, we have met with several cases of the following sort. An impression of a remarkable kind, and which, if telepathy exists, may fairly be regarded as telepathic, has been produced on a percipient while in a state which he recognised at the time as one of complete wakefulness, and which was practically proved to be so by the fact that he did not wake from it—that it formed a connected part of his waking life. But in the natural gravitation towards easy accounts of things, he gradually gets to look back on this experience as a dream; that is, he allows the verdict of subsequent memory to supplant the verdict of immediate consciousness. We must not then say in our haste, all men—or all memories—are exaggerators. Even where evidence has been modified in passing through several mouths, a comparison between later and earlier versions of the same occurrence has sometimes shown that its more striking and significant characteristics have lost rather than gained by the transmission. But this is no doubt the exception.

    § 7. Such, in brief outline, are the principal sources of error which may in a general way be supposed to affect the sort of evidence with which we are concerned; and our next step must be to fix with precision what the actual opportunities for perversion are. The evidence for telepathy has a certain type and structure of its own, and we must realise what this is, in order to know where to look for the weak points. What, then, are the essential elements of a typical telepathic phenomenon? They consist in two events or two states, of a more or less remarkable kind, and connected, as a rule, by certain common characteristics; and of a certain time-relation between the two. For example, if a flawless case is to be presented, it would be of the following type and composition: It would comprise (1) indisputable evidence that A (whom we call the agent) has had an unusual experience—say, has died; (2) indisputable evidence that B (whom we call the percipient) has had an unusual experience which includes a certain impression of A—say, has, while wide awake, had a vision of A in the room; (3) indisputable evidence that the two events coincided in time—which, of course, implies that their respective dates can be accurately fixed. When I call such evidence as this flawless, I do not, of course, mean that it is conclusive: the fact that the two {i-132} events occurred, and the fact that they occurred simultaneously, might be placed beyond dispute, and the coincidence might, for all that, be due not to telepathy, but to chance alone. But though no single case can prove telepathy, no case where the above conditions are not to some extent realised can even help to prove it. Briefly, then, if the account of some alleged instance of telepathy-is evidentially faulty, there must be misrepresentation as to one or more of the following items: (1) the state of the agent; (2) the experience of the percipient; (3) the time of (1); (4) the time of (2).

    Now the evidence where the chances of misrepresentation have primarily to be considered is clearly that of the percipient. It is the percipient’s mention of his own experience which makes, so to speak, the ground-work of the case; unless the percipient gives his own account of this experience, the case is in no sense a first-hand one; whereas if such an account is given we should consider the evidence first-hand, even though the account of the agent’s state is not obtained from himself. Of course when the agent is in a position to give an account, it is important that his evidence should be procured; but this is impossible in the numerous cases where his share in the matter consists simply in dying. In these cases, then, we are dependent on others for evidence as to the agent’s side of the occurrence; and primarily often on the percipient, who is our first and indispensable witness for the whole matter. This being premised, we shall have no difficulty in discovering where the risks of misrepresentation really lie.

    § 8. Taking the above four items in order, the first of them—the state of the agent—is the one where the risk is smallest. To take the commonest case, the very fact, death, which makes it impossible to obtain the agent’s personal testimony, is an event as to which, of all others in his history, it is least likely that a person who knew him should be in error. It is one also as to which corroboration of the percipient’s statement is often most easily obtained; either from the verbal testimony of surviving relatives and friends, or from contemporary letters, notices, and obituaries. And where the event which has befallen the agent falls short of this degree of gravity, it is probably still sufficiently out of the common for the ascertainment of it by the percipient and others to have been natural and easy; and à fortiori sufficiently out of the common to have stamped itself on {i-133} the memory of the agent himself, who may now be available as a witness.1 1 The less exceptional the event, the less of course is the evidential force of the case, and the more important it is to obtain the direct testimony of the agent. A lady of my acquaintance informed me that on the 21st of October, 1883, she had a startling and distressing vision of a kind unique in her experience—in which she seemed to pay a visit to a former school-fellow, whom she had not heard of for more than ten years, to console her in a recent bereavement. The extent of my informant’s agitation and distress was testified to by a near relative, to whom she had at once narrated her experience. A few days afterwards a notice in the Times obituary showed that her friend’s husband had died on October 20th. Had the widow’s thoughts, then, in her fresh sorrow, turned to her early associate and sympathetically impressed her? The widow, perhaps, might have told us; but on inquiry we find that the wife had died some years before her husband.

    When we come to the next item—the experience of the percipient—the risk of misrepresentation seems decidedly to increase. For the witness is now recounting something purely personal, for the occurrence of which he can produce no objective proofs. He says that he saw something, or heard something, or felt something, which struck him as remarkable (in many cases, indeed, as unique in his experience), and this has to be taken on his word; no external observation of him (even were anyone present with him at the time) could reveal whether he was actually experiencing these sensations which he afterwards described. Now to a careless glance it may seem that there is a loophole here, through which enough error may enter to invalidate the whole case. It may be said that the percipient was perhaps nervous, or unwell, or imaginative; and that a report of impressions which are received under such conditions cannot be relied on as evidence. But in what was said above as to errors of observation, this objection has been practically answered. It would be in place if the question were whether what he thought he perceived was really there; but it is not in place when the question is simply what he thought he perceived. We are discussing the experience of the percipient as the second of the four heads under which misrepresentation may enter. Now, misrepresentation of this experience would consist simply in the statement that he had had certain sensations or impressions which he had not had: misinterpretation of the experience—e.g., if he imagined that his friend was actually physically present where his form had been seen or his voice heard—has nothing to do with the evidential point. Grant that the percipient’s senses played him false—that his impression was a hallucination; that, as I have implied, is the very light in which we ourselves regard it; it may even be the light in which he regarded it himself. That does not prevent its being an unusual experience; and it is simply as an {i-134} unusual experience, which included an impression of his friend, that it has a place in the evidence.

    Now the probability that this unusual experience has been misrepresented will be very different, according as the mention of it by the percipient precedes or follows his knowledge of what has befallen the agent. If he gives his account in ignorance of that event, and independently of any ideas which it might be calculated to awake in his mind, there seems no ground at all for supposing that he has coloured his statement, at any rate in any way which would affect its evidential value. If A, a person with a general character for truthfulness, and with no motive to deceive, mentions having had an unusual experience—a hallucination of the senses, an unaccountable impression, or whatever he likes to call it—which was strongly suggestive of B, no one will tell him that he is romancing or exaggerating, and that he had no such impression as he reports. He will simply be told that his nerves are overstrung, or that he has had a waking dream, or something of that sort. And this assumption of the truth of the statement could of course not be impugned merely because it subsequently turned out that B died at the time.

    Hence, one of the points to which we have, throughout our inquiry, attached the highest value, is the proof that evidence of the percipient’s experience was in existence prior to the receipt of the news of the agent’s condition. This prior evidence may be of various sorts. The percipient may at once make a written record in a diary, or in a letter which may have been preserved. Where this has been the case, we have always endeavoured to obtain the document for inspection.1 1 There are cases where a sort of exactitude is required which makes documentary evidence almost indispensable. An instance may be found in the following account, sent to us by Miss Weale, who wrote from Nepaul, Croft Road, Torquay. “January 26th, 1884. “I had been—not on the day when the following was heard, but for some days previously—wondering why Dr. Pusey had not replied to a letter which I had written to him; when, sitting in our London drawing-room one day at about half-past 2 in the day, I suddenly heard Dr. Pusey speaking as if in a low voice close beside me. I was not cogitating about him, but suddenly and distinctly heard his voice speaking. The words were an answer to my letter written many days previously, and I so felt it to be the reply that I went to my writing-table and wrote it all down, and the day and hour; and moreover (how I know not) it was borne in on me, ‘Why he is at Pusey Hall, and that is why he has not sooner replied,’ and so it turned out to be. A few days after came a letter from him, written from Pusey Hall. The beginning of the letter bore the date of the day in question when I had heard his voice, but the end was dated the day previous, and in the letter were the precise sentences I had heard. “C. J. DORATEA WEALE.” In answer to inquiries, Miss Weale adds:— “It was not one sentence or two, but one side full of a small sheet of note-paper, such as he usually wrote on, but I don’t carry long letters about with me, and could not tell you the wording now. I scribbled down my waking dream as to Dr. Pusey’s words, being amazed at the vivid sense of his presence and voice, and all I wrote down was in the note.” Now everything here depends on the exact accuracy of the words. They were admittedly an answer to a letter, and their general tenor might easily have been surmised; unless, therefore, the words were identical, the case could be explained as a hallucination of hearing of a sufficiently ordinary type. We have obtained no complete assurance as to the verbal identity: and we have not been able to compare the letter with the note made at the time, which has probably been destroyed. A similar criticism will apply to the following well-known case, written down in the first instance by the Rev. Joseph Wilkins, a Dissenting minister at Weymouth (who died in 1800), and endorsed by the late Dr. Abercrombie, of Edinburgh, a man, I need hardly say, of great scientific acumen:—

    “Joseph Wilkins, while a young man, absent from home, dreamt, without any apparent reason, that he returned home, reached the house at night, found the front door locked, entered by the back door, visited his mother’s room, found her awake, and said to her, ‘Mother, I am going on a long journey, and am come to bid you good-bye.’ A day or two afterwards this young man received a letter from his father, asking how he was, and alleging his mother’s anxiety on account of a vision which had visited her on a night which was, in fact, that of the son’s dream. The mother, lying awake in bed, had heard some one try the front door and enter by the back door, and had then seen the son enter her room, heard him say to her, ‘Mother, I am going on a long journey, and am come to bid you good-bye,’ and had answered, ‘O dear son, thou art dead!’ words which the son also had heard her say in his dream.” From an evidential point of view, everything again depends on the identity of the words dreamt and the words heard. And as we do not hear that Dr. Abercrombie compared a note of the dream made at the time with the father’s letter, we have no assurance that Mr. Wilkins (by a lapse of memory, or through failure to perceive where the critical point lay) did not afterwards convert into absolute identity what was really a mere general resemblance. This would at once reduce the case to a mere “odd coincidence.” Or he may have mentioned his hallucination or {i-135} impression to some one who made a note of it, or who distinctly remembers that it was so mentioned; and whenever this has been done, we have endeavoured to get written corroboration from this second person. Evidence of this class affords comparatively little opportunity for the various sorts of error which have been passed in review. No amount of carelessness of narration, or of love of the marvellous, would enable a witness to time his evidence in correspondence with an event of which he was ignorant, nor to fix on the right person with whom to connect his alleged experience. Errors of memory are equally unlikely to take a form which makes the impression correspond with an unknown event; and danger from that source is, moreover, at a minimum, in cases which are distinguished by the very fact that the impression has been itself recorded immediately, or very shortly, after its occurrence.

    But apart from the actual records of the experience in writing or in someone else’s memory, it may have produced action of a sufficiently distinct sort on the percipient’s part; for instance, it may have so disturbed him as to make him take a journey, or write at once for tidings of the agent’s condition. Such immediate action, which can often be substantiated by others, affords a strong independent proof that the impression had occurred, and had been of an unusual kind. And even if he has done none of these things, yet if {i-136} he describes a state of discomfort or anxiety, following on his experience and preceding his receipt of the news, this must, at any rate, be accounted a fresh item of testimony, confirmatory of the mere statement that such-and-such an unusual experience had befallen him; and it is sometimes possible to obtain the corroboration of others who have noticed or been made aware of this anxiety, even though the source of it was not mentioned. If, however, he has kept his feelings as well as their cause, to himself, there is, of course, nothing but his subsequent memory to depend on. Here, therefore, we shall have a transitional step to the next evidential class, where the percipient’s own perception of the importance of the experience, and any possibilities of confirmation, date from a time when the condition of the agent has become known.

    § 9. Cases of this type are of course, as a class, less satisfactory. It is here that some of the recognised tendencies to error—the impulse to make vague things definite, and the impulse to make a group of facts compact and harmonious—may find their opportunity. The error will, of course, not arise without a certain foundation in fact: the news that a friend has died is not in itself calculated to create a wholly fictitious idea that one has had an unusual experience shortly before the news arrived. But an experience which has been somewhat out of the common may look quite different when recalled in the light of the subsequent knowledge. It may not only gain in significance; its very content may alter. A person perhaps heard his name called when no one was near, and, not being subject to hallucinations of hearing, he was momentarily struck by the fact, but dismissed it from his mind. A day or two afterwards he hears of a friend’s death. It then occurs to him that the events may have been connected. He endeavours to recall the sound that he heard, and seems to hear in it the tones of the familiar voice. Gradually the connection that he has at first only dimly surmised, becomes a certainty for him; and in describing the occurrence, without any idea of deceiving, he will mention his friend’s voice as though he had actually recognised it at the time. In the same way something dimly seen in an imperfect light may take for subsequent memory the aspect of a recognisable form; or a momentary hallucination of touch may recur to the mind as a clasp of farewell.

    Now such possibilities cannot be too steadily kept in view, during the process of collecting and sifting evidence. At the same time, the {i-137} interrogation of witnesses, and the comparison of earlier and later accounts, have not revealed any definite instance of this sort of inaccuracy. Now the number of alleged telepathic cases which we have examined (a number of which the narratives given in this book form less than a third) seems sufficiently large for the various types of error that really exist to have come to light; and, as a matter of fact, certain types have come to light, and have helped us to a view of what may be called the laws of error in such matters. If, then, a particular form of inaccuracy is conspicuous by its absence from our considerable list of proved inaccuracies, it may be concluded, we think, not to have been widely operative. It would be a different matter if the cases of the lower evidential class stood alone—if we were unable to present any cases where the percipient’s identification of his impression with the particular personality of the agent had been established beyond dispute. But in face of the large number of those stronger instances, it would be unwarrantably violent to suppose that in all, or nearly all, the other cases where the percipient declares that the identification was clear and unmistakeable, he is giving fictitious shape and colour to a purely undistinctive experience.

    But there is yet another reason for allowing this inferior evidence to stand for what it is worth. For even if we make very large allowance for inaccuracy, and suppose that in a certain number of these cases the visible or audible phantasm, afterwards described as recognised, was really unrecognised at the moment, the evidence for a telepathic production of it does not thereby vanish. If, indeed, a witness’s mental or moral status were such that he might be supposed capable of giving retrospective and objective distinctness to what was an utterly indefinite impression, with no external or sensory character at all, his testimony would, of course, be valueless; simply because we could not assure ourselves that he had not had experiences of that sort daily, so that the coincidence with the real event would lose all significance. But in the case of a witness of fair intelligence, the point remains that the presence of a human being was suggested to his senses in a manner which was in his experience markedly unusual or unique, at the time that a human being at a distance with whom he was more or less closely connected, was in a markedly unusual or unique condition. By itself such evidence might fairly, perhaps, be regarded as too uncertain to support any hypothesis. But if a case for telepathy can be founded on the stronger cases, where the immediate reference of the impression to the agent is as much {i-138} established as the fact of the impression itself, then we have no right to lay down as an immutable law of telepathic experience that such a reference is indispensable. Recognition is beyond doubt the best of tests; and in a vast majority of our cases we have the percipient’s testimony, and in a very large number corroborative testimony as well, to the fact of recognition. But distinctness and unusualness in the experience are also evidential points. We have, indeed, a whole class of cases where the percipient has expressly stated that a phantasm which coincided with the supposed agent’s death was unrecognised, and where, therefore, the distinctness and unusualness of the impression were the only grounds for paying any attention to the coincidence. Such cases may be far from proving telepathy; yet if telepathy be a vera causa,true cause it would be unscientific to leave them out of account.

    § 10. So much for the evidence of the state of the agent, and of the experience of the percipient, regarded simply as events, of which we want to know (1) to what extent we can rely on the description that we receive of them; (2) to what extent the presumption of a telepathic connection between them is affected by the sort of inaccuracies that may be revealed or surmised. The sketch that has been given is, of course, a mere outline. It must wait for further amplifications of detail till we come to examine the evidence itself. Meanwhile it may serve to prepare the reader’s mind, and to indicate what special points to be on the look-out for. But of those four essential items of a case, as to which the opportunities and the effect of misrepresentation were to be specially considered, two still remain, namely, the precise times of the two items already discussed—of the agent’s and the percipient’s respective shares in the incident. It is clearly essential to a telepathic case that these times should approximately coincide; and error in the assertion of this coincidence is a possibility requiring fully as much attention as error in the description of the two events.

    But here the reader may fairly ask where the line of error is to be drawn. Must the coincidence be exact to the moment? And, if not, what degree of inexactness may be permitted before we cease to regard a case as supporting the telepathic hypothesis? It is unfortunately not easy for the moment to give any satisfactory answer to this question. Two distinct questions are in fact involved. The first is a question of natural fact: What are the furthest limits of time within which it {i-139} appears, on a review of the whole subject, that a single telepathic phenomenon may really be included? At what distance of time, from the death of an absent person, may a friend receive telepathic intimation of the fact? The second question is one of interpretation and argument. It will be a most important part of our task hereafter to estimate the probability that it was by chance, and not as cause and effect, that the two events occurred at no very great distance of time from one another. The wider the interval, the greater, of course, does this probability become; in other words, the larger the scope that we give to “coincidences” which we are willing to regard as primâ facie telepathic in origin, the greater is the chance that we shall be wrong in so regarding them. Now, unless some provisional limit were assigned to the interval which may separate the two events, it would be impossible to obtain numerical data for calculating what the force of the argument for chance really is, and how far the hypothesis of some cause beyond chance is justified. This point will be made clear in the first chapter of the second volume, which deals with “the theory of chance-coincidence”; meanwhile it will be convenient to defer both these questions, and to make the following brief statement without discussion or explanation.

    There is one class of cases which are not available for a numerical estimate at all—those, namely, where the agent’s condition is not strictly limited in time; for instance, where he is merely very ill, and no particular crisis takes place at or near the time when the percipient’s impression occurs. This indefiniteness is, of course, a serious evidential weakness. But in a vast majority of the cases to be brought forward, the event that befalls the agent is short and definite. If, then, the experience of the percipient does not exactly coincide with that event, it must either follow or precede it. And, first, if it follows it; then it will be convenient to limit the interval within which this must happen to 12 hours. I may mention at once that in most of our cases the coincidence seems to have been very considerably closer than this. But in a few cases the 12 hours' limit has been reached; and if we found that, though some error in evidence had made the coincidence appear to have been closer than it really was, yet after correction the 12 hours seemed not to have been over-passed, we should still treat the case as having a primâ facie claim to be considered telepathic. Next as to the cases where the percipient’s impression precedes some marked event or crisis in the existence of the other {i-140} person concerned; the question will then be, What was that other person’s condition at the actual time that the impression occurred? If it was normal, we should not argue here for any connection between the experiences of the two parties. For instance, we should not treat as evidence for telepathy an impression, however striking, which preceded by an appreciable interval an accident or sudden catastrophe of any sort.1 [☼]1 For instance, a trustworthy informant has given us the following account:— “December, 1883. “On November 5th, 1855, I was staying at a country house with several friends. It being a wet day, we amused ourselves by reading aloud, of which I did a large share; but I was so overcome by the impression that a very dear brother was drowning, that ice had broken, and that he was drawn under it by the current, that I could not at all follow the purport of the book, and when alone, dressing for dinner, could only control my distress by arguing that there could be no fear of ice accidents, as the weather was exceptionally mild at that time. We afterwards learned my brother had been in very actual peril, having jumped into a canal dock to rescue a companion, who, being short-sighted, had fallen in in the dusk of the evening. He was then an undergraduate at Cambridge, and I was in Wales. He received a medal from the ‘Humane Society,’ and a watch, &c., from members of his college, in recognition of the act. I have never had any similar impression of death or danger to any one.” [The friends with whom our informant was staying perfectly remember her mentioning to them what she had experienced.] The brother—the Rev. J. C. Williams Ellis, of Gayton Rectory, Blisworth—confirms the facts as far as he was concerned; but from his account, and that of Mr. A. Tibbits, of 44, Oakfield Road, Clifton, who was also present, we can fix the time of the accident at about 6.30 p.m. Now further inquiry has elicited the fact that the sister’s depression began early in the afternoon, and reached its climax soon after 5. Her experience was certainly, therefore, not telepathic in origin. The history of the Wheatcroft case, quoted in Chap. ix., affords another illustration of this point: had the death not been eventually proved to have preceded, and not followed, the vision, the case could not have been used. I may add that in this instance, the 12 hours’ limit was possibly, but not certainly, exceeded. But it may happen that the percipient’s impression falls within a season in which the condition of the other party is distinctly abnormal—say a season of serious illness; and that it likewise precedes by less than 12 hours the crisis—usually death—with which that season closes. And these cases will not only have a primâ facie claim to be considered telepathic, but will also admit of being used in a strict numerical estimate.

    § 11. To return now to the evidential question, it is really in the matter of dates, rather than facts, that the risk of an important mistake is greatest. In the first place, dates are hard things to remember: many persons who have a fairly accurate memory for facts which interest them have a poor memory for dates. This is a natural failing, and it is also one that may easily escape notice; for in the vast majority of instances where a personal experience is afterwards recounted, the whole interest centres in the fact, and none at all in the date. But in examining the evidence for an {i-141} alleged telepathic case, much more than ordinary human frailty in the matter of dates has to be considered. It is just here that the action of the various positive tendencies to error, above enumerated, is really most to be apprehended. Two unusual events—say the death of a friend at a distance, and the hearing of a voice which certainly sounded like his—have happened at no very great distance of time. The latter event recalls the former to the mind of the person who experienced it; and on reflection he feels that the character of the one connects it in a certain way with the other. True, he has kept no record of the day and hour when he heard the voice; or his friend may have died in South America, and no accurate report of the date of the occurrence may ever have reached England; but the connection which has been surmised cannot but raise a presumption that the two events corresponded in time as well as in character. “Why, otherwise, should I have heard the voice at all?” the person who heard it will argue: “I am not given to hearing phantasmal voices. I did not know how to account for it before; but now I see my way to doing so.” This train of thought being pursued, it will seem in a very short time that the two events must

    have been simultaneous; and what can that mean but that they were simultaneous? And the fact thus arrived at will remain the point of the story, as long as it continues to be told. In allowing his mind to act thus, it will be seen that the percipient has merely followed the easy and convenient course. There was something baffling and aimless in the occurrence of the phantasmal voice, without rhyme or reason, at a time when the hearer was in good health and not even thinking of his friend. Rhyme and reason—significance and coherence—are supplied by the hypothesis that his friend, finding death imminent, was thinking of him. It does not occur to him that this account of the matter is in itself harder to accept than the fact of a subjective auditory hallucination. To realise this would require a certain amount of definite psychological knowledge. Things are sufficiently explained to him if they seem to cohere in an evident way. Or if he is sensible that his version of the matter introduces or suggests a decided element of the marvellous, still the marvel is of a sort which is a legitimate subject of human speculation, and with which it is interesting to have been in personal contact. And not only has his reason thus followed the line of least resistance; his memory has also been relieved by the unity which he has given to its contents. It has now got a single and well-compacted {i-142} story to carry, instead of two disconnected items. It has, so to speak, exchanged two silver pieces, of different coinages and doubtful ratio, for a single familiar florin.

    The above is no mere fancy sketch; it represents what is really not unlikely to occur. When we were just now considering how far an honest and intelligent witness is likely to imagine afterwards that a passing impression which at the time was vague and unrecognised had really been distinct and recognised, it will be remembered that such a perversion seemed decidedly unlikely—that we saw no ground for assuming that an error of that type had entered into anything like a majority of the cases where we have no conclusive evidence that it has not entered. But with the dates it is otherwise. We have received several illustrations of the liability of even first-hand witnesses to make times exactly coalesce without due proof of their having done so, or even in spite of proof that they did not do so. Having by a reasoning process of a vague kind come to the conclusion that the two events were simultaneous, they will be apt to note any items of facts or inference which tell in this direction, and not such as may tell in the other. An informant sometimes by his very accuracy reveals the attitude of mind which might easily produce inaccuracy in other cases. He will tell us that all that was proved was that the death fell in the same month as the impression; but that it is “borne in on him” that it was at the same hour. A good many people upon whom such a conviction is “borne in” will treat that as if it were itself the evidence required. One sort of case in which the tendency in question has been specially evident is that where the death has taken place at a great distance from the percipient. The instinct of artistic perfection overshoots the mark, when a ship’s log in the Indian Ocean shows that death took place at a quarter-past 3, and a clock on an English mantelpiece reveals that that is the very minute of the apparition. Telepathy, like electricity, may “annihilate space”; but it will never make the time of day at two different longitudes the same. This particular error would not, it is true, completely vitiate the case from our point of view, since the 12 hours’ interval would not have been exceeded; but pro tantoto that extent it, of course, diminishes the credit of the witness.

    § 12. Let us now examine the two dates separately, and see where the danger more particularly lies, and what tests and safeguards can be adopted. And first as to the date of the event that has befallen the {i-143} agent. As we have seen, it is almost always first from the percipient’s side that we hear of this event; and to him the knowledge of it came as a piece of news, sometimes by word of mouth, sometimes in a letter or telegram, occasionally in some printed form. In very many cases the date would, of course, be part of the news. Now, if his own experience was impressive enough to have caused him real anxiety or curiosity, and if his recollection is clear that the news came almost immediately afterwards—say within a couple of days—and that the time of the two events was there and then compared, and found to coincide, the coincidence will then rest on something better, at any rate, than the mere memory of a date. It will depend on the memory that a certain unusual and probably painful state of mind received remarkable justification, and that this justification in turn produced another state of mind which was also of an unusual type. If there was really no such synchronism as is represented, then not only the abstract fact of correspondence, but a distinct and interesting piece of mental experience must have been fictitiously imagined.1 1 The Rev. W. G. Payne, of Toppesfield, Essex, sends us a case of a parishioner Mrs. Ellen Dowsett—“a quiet, sensible person,” of whose good faith he was certain—who narrated to him the fact of her having been startled by the appearance of her husband who was absent at Alexandria, and who died suddenly at that very time. “Feeling sure that this foreboded evil tidings, she became very anxious; so much so that the clergyman of the parish came several times to try to console her. All his efforts to dismiss the thought from her mind availed nothing, and a settled conviction laid hold of her that her husband was dead.” The case is not one that we should lay any stress on, as it comes to us second-hand (the percipient being dead), and we do not know who the clergyman was who was told of the apparition before the news arrived. But it illustrates the point in the text. Where an apparition causes such distress and apprehension as this its date has at least a good chance of getting fixed in the mind; and the greater, therefore is the likelihood for the coincidence to be noted correctly. Now, it may be said, I think, as a rule, that a fictitious imagination of this sort needs some little time to grow up; that it is decidedly improbable that any case which is definitely recorded very soon after the event will have suffered this degree of misrepresentation. But a few years will give the imagination time to play very strange tricks. We have had one very notable proof of this, in a case where a curiously detailed vision of a dead man, which (so far as we can ascertain) must have followed the actual death by at least three months, was represented to us, after an interval of ten years, by the person who had seen it—a witness of undoubted integrity—as having occurred on the very night of the death. We may be right in regarding so complete a lapse of memory on the part of an intelligent witness as exceptional; but we should certainly not be justified in assuming that it is exceptional; and no case of anything like that degree of remoteness can be relied on, without some {i-144} evidence beyond the percipient’s mere present recollection that the event which befell the agent took place at the time mentioned. The evidence may be of various sorts. If the exact date of the percipient’s experience can be proved, then it is often possible to fix the other date as the same, by letters, diaries, or obituaries, or by the verbal testimony of some independent witness. If no such evidence is accessible, or even if the exact date of the percipient’s experience is forgotten, it may still be possible to obtain corroboration of the coincidence from someone who was immediately cognisant of the percipient’s experience, and who had independent means of ascertaining the further fact and of noting the connection at the time. But the absence of a written record of either event is, of course, a decidedly weak point.

    § 13. But on the whole, the danger that the closeness of the coincidence may be exaggerated depends rather on mis-statement of the date of the percipient’s than of the agent’s share in the alleged occurrence. Clearly the fact that some one has died or has had a serious accident, or has been placed in circumstances of some unusual sort, is likely to be known to more persons, and to be more frequently recorded in some permanent form, than the fact that some one has had, or says he has had, an odd hallucination. And clearly also, if one of the points is fixed, and the other, by hasty assumption or defective memory, is moved up to it, the moveable date is likely to be that of the event which has no ascertainable place in the world of objective fact. As a rule, it is at any rate possible at the time to obtain certainty as to the date of what has befallen the agent; and therefore if the percipient has been struck by his experience and retains evidence of its date, either in writing or in the memory of others to whom he mentioned it, he will very likely be prompted, when he hears of the other event, to assure himself as to what the degree of coincidence really was. But the converse case is very different. If the percipient does not record his experience at the time of its occurrence, even a week’s interval may destroy the possibility of making sure what its exact date was; and therefore, however certain the date of the other event may be, assurance as to the degree of coincidence will here be unattainable. It is often expressly recognised as such by the percipient himself; and then one can only regret that the importance of the class of facts—if facts indeed they are—has been so little realised that the simple measures which would have ensured {i-145} accurate evidence have not been taken. But where the account given is one of accurate coincidence, we cannot be satisfied without good evidence that the point was critically examined into at the time. It may, of course, happen that the percipient has a clear recollection that the coincidence was adequately made out at the time, although he can produce no documentary evidence which would establish it; and if others confirm his memory in this respect, that is so far satisfactory. Such unwritten confirmation, however, will have little independent force, unless the person who gives it was made aware of the percipient’s experience within a very short time of its occurrence.

    But though the danger here must be explicitly recognised, it is important not to exaggerate its practical scope. The coincidence may have been reported as closer than it was; but it may still, in a majority of cases, be fairly concluded to have fallen within the 12 hours’ limit. As a rule, the news of what has befallen the agent arrives soon enough for not more than a space of two days to intervene between the percipient’s knowledge of this event and the time when, to make the coincidence complete, his own experience must have taken place. We are not, therefore, making a large demand on his memory; we are only requiring that he shall remember that an experience, which he represents as remarkable, befell him, or did not befall him, on the day before yesterday. No doubt, after a lapse of years, the evidential value of what a person reports ceases to have a close relation to the knowledge of the facts which it seems pretty certain he must have had at the time. But the demands made at the time on the intelligence either of the percipient, or of anyone else who had the opportunity of asking questions and forming conclusions, are so slight that we may fairly take contemporary written records of the matter, or even later verbal corroboration, as having a considerable claim to attention, even when the best evidence of all—evidence whose existence preceded the arrival of the news—is wanting. And it is important to notice that, while we have had several coincidences reported to us as having been close to the hour, which turned out, on further inquiry or examination of documents, to have been only close to the day, we have had very few cases where a similar correction has proved that the 12 hours’ limit was really overpassed.1 [☼]1 We have, however, a case where a death was reported to us as having taken place at 3 a.m., and where, on reference to the letter in which it was announced, it was found to have taken place at 6 p.m. The evidence on the percipient’s side seemed satisfactory, as we received confirmation of the fact that she mentioned her impression at the time as a unique and very distressing one, without any knowledge that her brother, who died in Jamaica, was even ill; and there can be no doubt that the impression did actually fall within the period of serious illness. But the impression was a dream; and a dream of death, however remarkable in its character, which is separated from the actual event by 18 hours, cannot be included in our evidence. In another very similar case, the percipient’s impression was stated, and apparently correctly, to have occurred in the Crimea on January 11th, 1878, and the death (of a sister) in England to have taken place on the same day. But on examining the letter in which the news was announced, we find that the death actually took place on a Wednesday; and Wednesday fell not on the 11th but on the 9th. The assumed coincidence, therefore, altogether breaks down. For some further instances see the “Additions and Corrections” which precede Chap. i. A good many coincidences, {i-146} no doubt, have been represented as extremely close, where no independent evidence on this point has been accessible, and closer inquiry has occasionally revealed that the assertion rested only on a guess. But wholly to neglect cases where the exactitude of the coincidence is not brought within the 12 hours’ limit would clearly be unreasonable, provided that—on the evidence—it is not likely that this limit was much exceeded,1 1 This question of likelihood must be carefully weighed, according to the circumstances. The following case, from the Rev. Canon Sherlock, of Sherlockstown, Naas, which was published in our first report on the subject as possibly telepathic, is a specimen of what we certainly should not now feel justified in regarding as evidence. “During the Indian Mutiny, my brother was serving (as ensign) in the 72nd Highlanders. At that time I was an undergraduate of Trinity College, Dublin, and living at Sandycove, near Kingstown. One night about 2 o’clock I was reading by the fire, when I heard myself distinctly called by my brother, the tone of his voice being somewhat raised and urgent; looking round I saw his head and the upper part of his body quite plainly. He appeared to be looking at me, and was about 7 or 8 feet distant. I looked steadily at him for about half a minute, when he seemed gradually to fade into a mist and disappear. The date of this occurrence I, unfortunately, lost note of, but upon my brother’s return from India and my casually mentioning that I had so seen him, we talked the matter over, and both came to the conclusion that the apparition coincided with a dangerous attack of illness, in which my brother suddenly awoke with the impression that he was suffocating, at which moment he thought of me. The attack was brought on by sleeping during a forced march through a country great part [sic] of which was under water. This is the only apparition that I have ever experienced, and there was no anxiety on my mind which could have given rise to it, as we had quite recently had a letter from my brother, written in good health and spirits. “W. SHERLOCK.” If one dismisses all à priori leanings to a telepathic explanation, there is nothing in this account which renders it unlikely that the two events were separated by (say) 10 days, or that the event in England preceded the one in India. and not certain that it was exceeded at all. Such cases must, of course, be excluded from any numerical estimate based on precise data; but they may fairly be allowed their own weight on the mind.

    § 14. We see, then, that cases where the alleged correspondence of facts and coincidence of dates are sufficiently close to afford a primâ facie presumption of telepathic action, may present very various degrees of strength and weakness; and it may be convenient to summarise the evidential conditions according to their value, in the following tabular form. (The words “the news” mean always the news of what has befallen the supposed agent.)

    A. Where the event which befell the agent, with its date, is recorded in printed notices, or contemporary documents which we {i-147} have examined; or is reported to us by the agent himself independently, or by some independent witness or witnesses; and where

    (1) The percipient (α) made a written record of his experience, with its date, at the time of its occurrence, which record we have either seen or otherwise ascertained to be still in existence; or (β) before the arrival of the news, mentioned his experience to one or more persons, by whom the fact that he so mentioned it is corroborated; or (γ) immediately adopted a special course of action on the strength of his experience, as is proved by external evidence, documentary or personal.

    (2) The documentary evidence mentioned in (1α) and (1γ) is alleged to have existed, but has not been accessible to our inspection; or the experience is alleged to have been mentioned as in (1β), or the action taken on the strength of it to have been remarked as in (1γ), but owing to death or other causes, the person or persons to whom the experience was mentioned, or by whom the action was remarked, can no longer corroborate the fact.

    This second class of cases is placed here for convenience, but should probably rank below the next class. At the same time the fact that the percipient’s experience was noted in writing by him, or was communicated to another person, or was acted on, before the arrival of the news, is not one which is at all specially likely to be unconsciously invented by him afterwards.

    (3) The percipient did not (α) make any written record, nor (β) make any verbal mention of his experience until after the arrival of the news, but then did one or both; of which fact we have confirmation.

    This class is of course, as a rule, decidedly inferior to the first class. At the same time, cases occur under it in which the news was so immediate that the fact of the coincidence could only be impugned by representing the whole story as an invention.1 1 See, for instance, case 17, pp. 188–9.

    (4) The immediate record or mention on the arrival of the news is alleged to have been made, but owing to loss of papers, death of friends, or other causes, cannot be confirmed.

    {i-148}

    (5) The percipient alleges that he remarked the coincidence when he heard the news; but no record or mention of the circumstance was made until some time afterwards.

    Such cases, of course, rapidly lose any value they may have as the time increases which separates the account from the incident. Still, sometimes we have been able to obtain the independent evidence of some one who heard an account previous to the present report to us; or we have ourselves obtained two reports separated by a considerable interval. And where a comparison of accounts given at different times shows that they do not vary, this is to some extent an indication of accuracy.

    B. Where the percipient is our sole authority for the nature and date of the event which he alleges to have befallen the agent.

    In many of these cases, the percipient is also our sole authority for his own experience; and the evidence under this head will then be weaker than in any of the above classes. But where we have independent testimony of the percipient’s mention of the two events, and of their coincidence, soon after their occurrence—he having been at the time in such circumstances that he would naturally know the nature and date of what had befallen the agent—the case may rank as higher in value than some of those of Class A (5).

    § 15. The evidence which I have so far analysed is first-hand evidence—in the sense that the main account comes to us direct from the percipient. The present collection, however, includes (in the Supplement) a certain number of second-hand narratives; and it will be well, therefore, to consider briefly what are the best sorts of second-hand evidence, and what kinds of inaccuracy are most to be apprehended in the transmission of telepathic history from mouth to mouth.

    There is one, and only one, sort of second-hand evidence which can on the whole be placed on a par with first-hand; namely, the evidence of a person who has been informed of the experience of the percipient while the latter was still unaware of the corresponding event; and who has had equal opportunities with the percipient for learning the truth of that event, and confirming the coincidence. The second-hand witness’s testimony in such a case is quite as likely to be accurate as the percipient’s; for though his impression of the actual details will no doubt be less vivid, {i-149} yet on the other hand he will not be under the same temptation to exaggerate the force or strangeness of the impression in subsequent retrospection. Specimens of this class have therefore been admitted to the body of the work, as well as to the Supplement. Putting this exceptional class aside, the value of second-hand evidence chiefly depends on the relation of the first narrator to the second. A second-hand account from a person only slightly acquainted with the original narrator is of very little value; not only because it is probably the report of a story which has been only once heard, and that, perhaps, in a hurried or casual way; but also because the less the reporter’s sense of responsibility to his informant, the less also will be his sense of responsibility to the facts, and the greater the temptation to improve on the original.1 [☼]1 A lady has described to us a hallucination which presented to her the form of her father-in-law, who had been dead 14 years. An acquaintance, to whom she once mentioned this experience, had reported it to us as the apparition of her brother, with the addition that “a short time afterwards she received news of her brother’s death, which had taken place at the very time of the apparition.” There is a touch of nature in the fact that the author of this amended version considers the original witness “not at all an imaginative person.” But we cannot so lightly dismiss the testimony of near relatives and close friends to a matter which they have heard the first-hand witness narrate more than once, or narrate in such a manner as convinced them that the alleged facts were to him realities, and had made a lasting impression on his mind. Here we at any rate have a chance of forming a judgment as to the character of the original authority; we can make tolerably certain that what we hear was never the mere anecdote of a raconteur; and we have grounds for assuming in our own informants a certain instinct of fidelity which may at any rate preserve their report from the errors of wilful carelessness and exaggeration. It not infrequently happens, too, that we can obtain several independent versions from several second-hand witnesses, which may mutually confirm one another; and contemporary documentary evidence may give further support to the case.

    The risks of error in transmitted evidence are, of course, in many respects the same, in an intensified form, as those of original evidence. To a person who is told something which sounds surprising by some one else who has experienced it, the central marvel is apt to stand out in memory with undue relief; and the various details and considerations which might modify the marvellous element will drop out of sight. One is, of course, familiar with the same process in the case of almost any anecdote or witticism that gets at all répandu:spread the {i-150} point is retained, the details and surroundings vary. For purposes of amusement such variations may be wholly unimportant; for purposes of evidence they may be all-important. Facts, moreover, are very much easier to improve than bon mots and the like, and with the second-hand narrator the tendency to make things picturesque and complete, by the addition, omission, or transformation of details, is naturally stronger in that there is no deeply-graven sense of the reality to act as a check on it. A gentleman, who signs himself “Rector,” writes to the Daily Telegraph, and describes a number of clergymen sitting round a table, on the evening when the late Bishop of Winchester met with his fatal accident. “One of them said, ‘There is the Bishop looking in at that window.’ Another immediately said, ‘No, he is at this window.’” What really happened—as we learn from Mr. G. W. Paxon, who was present at the scene referred to—was that a strange figure passed the three windows of the dining-room at Wotton, but that “it was not possible for the gentlemen present” (who, by the way, were three only, and all laymen) to identify it. Mr. Evelyn went out to see who it could be, but it had disappeared with mysterious rapidity. And that is the whole story. Again, a young man, we are told, was dying in London, his friends being unaware of his whereabouts. A sister of his in Edinburgh, who was also dying, “said that she was present at the death-bed of her brother; she gave an outline of his room, and told the name and number of the street.” A friend of our informant’s, Mr.

    David Lewis, of 21, St. Andrew Square, Edinburgh, was then asked to inquire, went to the address, and found (as he informs us) that the young man had just died there. But on more careful inquiry from the lady’s husband, we learn that though his wife described the room, she did not see the name of the street; and that he himself knew his brother-in-law’s address at the time, and had actually received a letter saying that he was very ill and not expected to live. The description of the room—even if proved to be correct—could have no evidential force unless extremely minute. All that remains to be accounted for, therefore, is the lady’s impression as to her brother’s condition; and though her husband is sure that she could not have known it in any ordinary way, it is impossible for outsiders—remembering that the knowledge did exist in the house at the time—to share his confidence. Again, a gentleman tells us how his grandfather, when taking a walk at Honfleur, on November 24th, 1859, saw the apparition of his (our {i-151} informant’s) sister, who expired at that time in England. He followed the figure, and it disappeared on reaching his garden. “In conversation afterwards the very wrapper worn by the deceased was described.” We obtain a copy of the original letter in which the grandfather described the occurrence, and find that he was walking “in the dark and a drizzling rain” when he observed something very white. “It appeared to be a lady in white, without a bonnet, but a large white veil over her head. It disappeared at the door of a house. This took place as near the time of dear Sarah’s departure as possible.” Here, therefore, the second-hand account introduced the recognition, omitted the uncertain light, and altered the place of disappearance. Once more, a lady has had a strong impression of her husband’s being in danger, at a time when he actually had a narrow escape in a railway accident. In this accident a number of cattle were killed, and the line was red with their blood. The story comes round to us that the wife had not only an impression of danger, but a vivid picture of blood. It is amusing sometimes to find that evidence breaks down on the exact point which has been held to be its most convincing feature. The following narrative, though a third-hand one, seemed to have some claim to attention, as it reached us from two independent quarters; and the two accounts so completely agree that we may assume that we have the correct version of the second-hand witness. Mr. W. C. Morland, of Lamberhurst Court Lodge, Kent, (who vouches for no more than that he repeats exactly what he was told,) writes to us as follows:—

    “August 11th, 1883.

    “My wife’s great-uncle was private secretary to Warren Hastings in India, and one day, when sitting in Council, they all saw a figure pass through the Council-room into an inner room, from which there was no other exit. One of the Council exclaimed, ‘Good God! that is my father.’ Search was made in the inner room, but nothing could be found, and Warren Hastings, turning to his secretary, said, ‘Cator, make a note of this, and put it with the minutes of to-day’s Council.’ As a small incident in the story, it was noticed that the figure had one of our modern pot hats. Some months after, a ship arrived bringing the news of the old gentleman’s death and the first pot hats that had been seen in India.

    “I simply tell it you as I heard it from a Mr. Sparkes, who is now dead, and who, as well as my wife, was a great-nephew to—and probably heard it from—the old Mr. Cator who was present at the Council. I never heard him say whether he heard it direct from Mr. Cator, but I think it likely, as he was rather nearly related, and from his age must have known him.”

    {i-152}

    Precisely similar details were given by Mr. Sparkes to the Rev. B. Wrey Savile, who has published the case in his book on Apparitions; in this account the Member of Council who recognised his father figures as Mr. Shakespeare. Now the official minutes of the Supreme Council have been searched for us; but it does not appear either that Mr. Shakespeare was a Member of Council at the time, or that Mr. Cator was Hastings‘ private secretary, though he was certainly in the Company’s service. We learn, however, from the Superintendent of Records at the India Office that “it is believed that the registers of the Company’s servants in India at that early date were not always quite accurate”; so that these discoveries would not alone have thrown serious suspicion on the report. And the chimney-pot hat seemed, at any rate, something respectable to stand by. The phantom, in fact, owed his character to his hat; for it is hard to imagine how Mr. Cator or Mr. Sparkes could have gratuitously introduced such a feature into the story. But the curious perfection of the detail as to the simultaneous arrival of the news and of the real hats at once suggests scrutiny of the dates. All the accounts of chimney-pot hats that we have been able to find agree that they came into use between 1790 and 1795, though they seem to have been worn in France as early as 1787. They cannot, therefore, have reached India before the termination of Hastings’ governorship in 1785. Thus the case at once assumes a mythical air; and the most we can assume is that probably some odd coincidence occurred.1 1 Very comparable is an account which we have received, written by the late Lieut.-Colonel Balneavis—describing how, when a child, he was woke by his mother, who had had a terrifying vision of her husband “putting a corpse in full uniform on a sofa, and afterwards covering it over with a white sheet”; and how his father was “at the very time” performing these offices for Sir T. Maitland, Governor of Malta, with whom he had been dining, and who “dropped down dead at table.” We find from the Annual Register that Sir T. Maitland was taken ill in the middle of the day, at the house of a friend, and died there in the evening, in bed, after being speechless for 8 hours.

    I will add where the instinct that we have noticed, to make evidence picturesque, has so far overleapt itself as to supply the very means of confutation. The late Mrs. Howitt Watts gave us the narrative as from her mother, who had “many times heard it related” by her mother, the percipient, and so far it is third-hand. But Mrs. Watts had also heard it from her grandmother’s own lips. The occurrence took place at Heanor, in Derbyshire.

    “My mother’s family name, Tantum, is an uncommon one, which I do not recollect to have met with, except in a story of Miss Leslie’s. My mother had two brothers, Francis and Richard. The younger, Richard, I {i-153} knew well, for he lived to an old age. The elder, Francis, was at the time of the occurrence I am about to report, a gay young man, about twenty, unmarried, handsome, frank, affectionate, and extremely beloved by all classes throughout that part of the country. He is described, in that age of powder and pigtails, as wearing his auburn hair flowing in ringlets on his shoulders, like another Absalom, and was much admired, as well for his personal grace as for the life and gaiety of his manners.

    “One fine calm afternoon, my mother, shortly after a confinement, but perfectly convalescent, was lying in bed, enjoying, from her window, the sense of summer beauty and repose: a bright sky above, and the quiet village before her. In this state she was gladdened by hearing footsteps which she took to be those of her brother Frank, as he was familiarly called, approaching the chamber-door. The visitor knocked and entered. The foot of the bed was towards the door, and the curtains at the foot, notwithstanding the season, were drawn, to prevent any draught. Her brother parted them, and looked in upon her. His gaze was earnest, and destitute of its usual cheerfulness, and he spoke not a word. ‘My dear Frank,’ said my mother, ‘how glad I am to see you. Come round to the bedside; I wish to have some talk with you.’

    “He closed the curtains, as complying; but instead of doing so, my mother, to her astonishment, heard him leave the room, close the door behind him, and begin to descend the stairs. Greatly amazed, she hastily rang, and when her maid appeared she bade her call her brother back. The girl replied that she had not seen him enter the house. But my mother insisted, saying, ‘He was here but this instant. Run! quick! call him back! I must see him.’

    “The girl hurried away, but, after a time, returned, saying that she could learn nothing of him anywhere; nor had anyone in or about the house seen him either enter or depart.

    “Now, my father’s house stood at the bottom of the village, and close to the high-road, which was quite straight; so that anyone passing along it must have been seen for a much longer period than had elapsed. The girl said she had looked up and down the road, then searched the garden—a large, old-fashioned one, with shady walks. But neither in the garden nor on the road was he to be seen. She had inquired at the nearest cottages in the village; but no one had noticed him pass.

    “My mother, though a very pious woman, was far from superstitious; yet the strangeness of this circumstance struck her forcibly. While she lay pondering upon it, there was heard a sudden running and excited talking in the village street.”

    Briefly, the cause of the disturbance was that Mr. Francis Tantum had just been killed. He had been dining at Shipley Hall, about a mile off, and was riding home after the early country dinner of that day—somewhat elated, it may be, with wine. He stopped at the door of an ale-house at Heanor, where he offended the young man who served him, by striking him with his whip. The youth ran into the house, seized a carving-knife, darted back, and stabbed him.

    This story obtained a certain currency, having been published by Mr. Dale Owen in his Footfalls. Yet the simple precaution of {i-154} getting independent evidence as to the time of the death goes far to ruin its character. A certificate sent to us by the rector of the parish shows that Mr. F. Tantum was buried on the 4th of February, and that his age was 36. And this does more than merely disturb our picture of the quiet summer scene, and of the Absalom of twenty. The time of year shows that the percipient’s vision probably took place after dark; so that “any one passing along the high-road” might very well not have been seen a minute after his departure; and the inquiries at the cottages would have been worth little or nothing. But these researches, as they are described, must have taken time; and as the news of the murder would be likely to spread fast, we should conclude that that event took place decidedly after the vision. Thus there appears no adequate reason why the apparition should not have been the real man—his conduct, though undoubtedly odd, being explicable by the state of slight intoxication which the narrative suggests.

    But apart from sensational additions, details are apt to creep in which seem sober and innocent enough, but which make the whole difference from an evidential point of view. A very striking narrative reaches us from a second-hand source, as to how an officer in India one day saw his father, long deceased, issue from a wood leading his mother by the hand; how the latter addressed some words to her son, and the pair then vanished; and how he afterwards learnt that his mother had died in England on that very day. We happened already to have a first-hand account of the incident, in which the visitation that coincided with the death was described not as a waking percept, but as a dream. The enormous difference, for the purpose of our argument, which this point involves will abundantly appear in the sequel. Again, in transmitted cases it is quite remarkable how often the percipient “made a note” of his experience at the time of its occurrence—an act of foresight in which percipients, to judge from their own first-hand accounts, seem only too apt to fail.[☼]

    In transmitted evidence, which is more remote than second-hand, another frequent point is that the chain of transmission is shortened—that a narrative which has really passed through two or through three mouths will be represented as having passed only through one or through two. For instance, a gentleman tells us of a striking telepathic phantasm which appeared to a friend of his, a sea-captain, on board ship. Nautical phantasms are not a favourite class of ours; the evidence is too apt to “suffer a sea-change”; and even the {i-155} guarantee offered to us in respect of another specimen, that “the crew had no difficulty in believing it,” is not completely reassuring. But the present example, at any rate, proved quite too superlatively nautical; for it turned out that the sea-captain was not the original witness, but had heard the story from another sea-captain; and that this sea-captain had heard it from the “man at the wheel”; whom we have not troubled for it. Again, a story which has been more than once printed by Spiritualistic writers begins as follows:—“Mrs. Crawford, in the Metropolitan Magazine in 1836, tells us that the then Lord Chedworth was a man who suffered deeply from doubts”—and then describes how the apparition of a sceptical friend of Lord Chedworth’s presented itself one night, told him that there was a judgment to come, and disappeared—the news of the friend’s death arriving “in due course” next morning. On referring to Mrs. Crawford’s own account, we find the hero of the story described as “Lord Chedworth, the father of the late lord”: and even this description is incorrect, as the fourth baron—with whose death in 1804 the title became extinct—succeeded, not his father, but his uncle.1 1 The story which “drags at each remove a lengthening chain,” even though the removes be in the direction of its source, is a type that has become very familiar to us. The following is a sample of many a correspondence which is more amusing in retrospect than in reality, Miss A. described to me a remarkable incident, as related to her by the Rev. B., who had heard of it from the lady to whom it occurred. The Rev. B., on being applied to, said that he had heard of it, not from the lady to whom it occurred, but from the Rev. C. The Rev. C. was applied to, but had only heard the story from the Rev. D.; with whose appearance on the scene hope revived. The Rev. D. reported that he had not heard the story from the heroine of it, but from a friend of hers, Mrs. E., who would procure it from the heroine. Mrs. E., in turn, reported that her authority, Miss F., was not herself the heroine, but had been informed by Miss G., who was. Miss F., on being applied to, had only heard Miss G.’s story third-hand, but referred me to Miss H., a nearer friend of Miss G.’s. Miss H. kindly applied to Miss G., but reported, as the result, that Miss G.’s own information was only third or fourth hand. Such is the last state (as far as I am concerned at any rate) of a story which began by being third-hand, and has been traced back through seven mouths. This possible shortening of the chain of evidence is a point that must never be lost sight of when the account was given orally to the last witness, and was not made the subject of minute inquiry.2 [☼]2 For instance, a friend of the present writer reports as follows:— “About ten years ago Admiral Johnson, of Little Baddow, Essex, told me as follows: One day he was walking with companions in a wood, when he suddenly saw his brother Arthur, in uniform, and said, ‘There’s my brother!’ It was discovered afterwards that the brother died at that time.” We have failed to trace this occurrence; and it may be surmised as possible that the hero of the story, which was told in casual conversation, was not Admiral Johnson himself, but some one else. That is, the story may be third-hand, and is of no evidential value. The following narrative from Mrs. Lonsdale, of Lichfield, is another instance in point:— “I was sitting next my dear old friend, Dr. (since Sir Thomas) Watson, at a London dinner-party. I think some one on the opposite side of the table said to him, ‘A physician in your extensive practice must hear and see strange things sometimes.’ He said, ‘Indeed we do.’ He then turned to me and said, ‘You know that I am a matter-of-fact person, and I will now tell you the strangest of all the strange things that ever happened to me.

    “‘I was called in, some years ago, to see a man, a stranger to me, who had been taken dangerously ill at his chambers in the Temple. Directly I saw him I knew that he had not more than 24 hours to live, and I told him that he must lose no time in settling any worldly affairs, and in sending for any relations whom he might wish to see. He told me he had only one near relation, a brother, who was in one of the Midland counties. By my patient’s desire, I sat down and wrote to the brother, telling him that if he would find the sick man still alive he must come off at once, on receipt of my letter. The next morning, while I was visiting my patient, who was then sinking fast, the brother arrived. As he came in at the door, the dying man fixed his eyes on his face and said, “Ah! brother, how d’ye do—I saw you last night, you know.” To my infinite surprise, the brother, instead of appearing to take these words as I did, for the dreamy wanderings of extreme weakness, replied quietly, “Ah! yes—so you did—so you did.” All was over in a very short time, and when we left the bedroom together, I could not help asking the brother what those strange words meant. He said, “You may well ask, but as sure as I see you now, I saw my brother in the middle of last night; he came out of a cupboard at the foot of my bed, and after gazing at me for a minute or two, without speaking, he disappeared.”’” An account of what appears to be the same incident is given, as authentic, but without names, by Dr. Elliotson, in the Zoist, Vol. viii., p. 70. But on the other hand, Sir T. Watson’s family, to whom we applied, seem never to have heard of the story; which we may therefore not unreasonably suppose to have been narrated as a friend’s experience. I give one more instance—worth nothing of course as it stands—in the hope of inducing some readers to take down at the time the names and addresses of casual acquaintances who seem to have bonâ fide evidence to produce. The account was sent to us by Mrs. Pritchard, of The Cottage, Bangor, North Wales, on February 7th, 1884. “I much regret that I am not able to give you the name and address of the lady [i.e., Mrs. Pritchard’s informant], for I do not know it myself. I met her at the Barmouth Hotel last summer. She told me that upon one occasion, when her husband had left home for a couple of days, she had a most painful impression that he was being crushed. When he returned she ran up to him, saying, ‘Oh, I’m so glad you have come back safely, for I‘ve had a dreadful feeling that you were crushed.’ Her husband then told her that he had seen a woman crushed to death by the train close by where he stood, and it affected him greatly—he couldn’t get it out of his mind, and it prevented him sleeping. “I have written to Barmouth to try and find out the name of these people, but as no visitors’ book is kept at the hotel, they were unable to give me any information. I think the name was Dickenson, and I know that the husband is a solicitor in one of the English towns—a young man.” Here, if we could have discovered the address, the account might possibly have been made first-hand; at present we should not be safe in giving it even as second-hand. But perhaps no feature of the transmitted narratives is on the whole so suggestive as the wonderful exactness of the all-important time-coincidence; which in these cases we must be doubly careful of {i-156} assuming to have been founded on a genuine coincidence of a less exact kind (p. 139). Thus, a gentleman strikingly describes to us how a friend of his, while walking in Barnsley, and when no one was within 30 yards of her, felt herself seized by two hands round the waist; her only “enlightenment on the matter” being that “on the very same afternoon her brother went down with the ill-fated training ship, the ‘Eurydice.’” On applying direct to the lady, we find that the hallucination took place “two days before the dreadful accident.” The more remote the incident, and the less the authority for the story, the more clinching the correspondence becomes, till its perfection is really quite wearisome. “On the day of his vision, and at that very moment, {i-157} his friend was passing away,” is quite the accepted sort of formula. We may hunt far in such accounts before we find any guarding clauses, as that “the hour of death was never exactly ascertained,” or “the vision was in the morning, but the death did not take place till the afternoon”—clauses which are common enough, be it observed, in first-hand records.

    It would, however, not be fair to leave this list of causes which diminish the amount of presentable second-hand evidence, without adding that of the more reliable sort of second-hand (no less than of first-hand) cases, a considerable number are withheld from publication from motives with which it is hard altogether to sympathise. Persons who have a really accurate knowledge of some incident in which a deceased relative has been concerned, and who—seeing that the incident did no dishonour to any one’s head or heart—have no scruple in publishing it at casual dinner-parties, become sometimes almost morbidly scrupulous when there is a question of making it available, even in an anonymous form, for a scientific purpose.

    Here I may close this preliminary survey of the possibilities of error which must be constantly kept in view in the investigation of alleged telepathic cases, and which must be either excluded by evidence or carefully allowed for. Both the dangers and the safeguards will, of course, be better realised when we come to the details of particular cases. It does not seem necessary to give a similar synopsis of the evidential flaws and weaknesses which are not in any sense errors. Some of these may be apparent on the very face of the evidence; as when the percipient expressly states that his impression was of an undefined sort, or was of a sort which he had experienced on other occasions without the correspondence of any real event, or that the coincidence of dates, though close, was not exactly ascertained. Others may appear when we take all the circumstances into consideration, although the percipient may fail to admit them; for instance, a person who is in decided anxiety about an absent relative or friend may be regarded as to some extent predisposed to subjective impressions which suggest his presence, so that the accidental coincidence of such an impression with some actual crisis that is apprehended may be regarded as not violently improbable. All such topics, however, will find a more convenient place in the sequel.

    § 16. And now with regard to the cases that have been included in the evidential part of the present work. A certain separation has {i-158} been attempted. In the main body of the book, no cases are given which are not first-hand,[☼] or of the particular second-hand sort which (as explained on p. 148) is on a par with first-hand; or in which the primâ facie probability that the facts stated are substantially correct is not tolerably strong. But the Supplement includes a good many second-hand accounts;1 1 We have seen that there is one sort of second-hand evidence which must rank as on a par with first-hand. On the same principle there is one sort of third-hand evidence which must rank as on a par with second-hand. A few third-hand accounts of this type have been admitted to the Supplement; and one or two others by special exception. as well as first-hand accounts where the evidence, from lack of corroboration or other causes, falls short of the standard previously attained.2 2 There are, however, a few first-hand cases in the Supplement which would have found a place in the main body of the work (in substitution probably for some which now appear there), had they been received earlier. Our principle in selecting cases for the Supplement has been to take only those which—supposing telepathy to be established as a fact in Nature—would reasonably be regarded as examples of it. Their existence adds force to the proof of telepathy; but we should not have put them forward as an adequate proof by themselves. This separation, however, does not apportion the evidential weight of the two divisions with rigid precision. For, given a certain amount of assurance that the facts are correctly reported, the value of the facts in the argument for telepathy will vary according to the class to which they belong. There are strong classes and weak classes. Now the body of the work includes specimens of purely emotional impressions, and of dreams—classes which we shall find by their very nature to be weak; and more weight might reasonably be attached to some case in the Supplement, even though less completely attested, if it belonged to the strongest class, which we shall find to be the class of waking visual

    phantasms. And even within the limits of a single class, it is impossible to evaluate the cases with exactness. A phantasm of sight or sound which does not at the moment suggest the appearance or voice of an absent friend, may still—if unique in the percipient’s experience, and if the coincidence of time with the friend’s death is exact—have about an equal claim to be considered telepathic with a distinctly recognised phantasm, the coincidence of which with the death (though it may have been exact) cannot with certainty be brought closer than three or four days.

    Then as regards the mere accuracy of the records—though it has been possible to draw up a sort of table of degrees, such a table, of course, affords no final criterion. It is a guide in the dissection of {i-159} testimony; it directs attention to important structural points; but it takes no account of the living qualities, the character, training, and habits of thought of witnesses. We have included no cases where the witnesses were not, to the best of our belief, honest in intention, and possessed of sufficient intelligence to be competent reporters of definite facts with which they had been closely connected. But the report, say, of a sceptical1 1 It occasionally happens, however, that scepticism, no less than superstition, may mar the evidence. We have received a case where two sisters in England, sleeping apparently in different rooms, saw the form of another sister who was just dying in Germany; but, “having a horror of encouraging superstitious fancies,” they purposely abstained from making an exact note of the day and hour, and neither of them mentioned what she had seen to the other. And thus the triumph of robust common-sense has been to prevent the verification of a date! lawyer or a man of science, who had totally disbelieved in the whole class of phenomena until convinced by his own experience, is naturally stronger evidence than the report of a lady who, whether owing to natural proclivities or to want of scientific training, has no sense of any à priori objections to the telepathic hypothesis. The report of a person who has seen the phantasm of a friend at the time of his death, but considers that the coincidence may have been accidental, is stronger evidence than the report of a person who would regard such a supposition as irreverent. Each case must be judged on its merits, by reference to a considerable number of points;2 2 Among the variety of considerations involved, it is impossible to hope for more than a general approval of our principles of admission. The cases on the line often present a very puzzling array of pros and cons. Take, for instance, the following first-hand instance. On February 10th, 1884, Mrs. Longley, of 4, Liverpool Lawn, Ramsgate, a respectable married woman, who has never had any other hallucination of the senses, heard a voice call “Mother” three times. She knew that she had been awake, as she had been restless, and was amusing herself by seeing how long the moon would take to cross a certain pane of glass. She thought that her son, who was sleeping in a room above her own, must be ill; but on going up, she found him fast asleep. She tells us that she looked at the clock on the stairs, and noticed that it was 3.15 a.m. Nine days afterwards she received the news that her eldest and much-loved son, who was at sea, had been drowned, at about that hour, on a moonlight night, and that his first cry was, “Mother, mother, mother! Save me for my mother’s sake.” Her husband, she says, went to Grimsby, and learnt these details from the captain of the vessel, and also made out that the night was the same as that of her own experience. Now the incidents here are recent; and we need feel no doubt as to the fact either of the unusual auditory impression (which Mrs. Longley mentioned to several people besides her own family before the news arrived), or of the death. These are the pros. The cons. are as follows. (1) The voice was unrecognised. This, however, would not alone be fatal to the evidence; and in one way it even tells in favour of the telepathic explanation, as, had the voice suggested the son at sea, it would have been easier to ascribe the impression to latent anxiety on his account. (2) The narrator is quite uneducated; and times and intervals are matters in which the memory of uneducated persons is specially apt to get hazy. (3) She is certain that her husband, and the son who was at home, would not corroborate her statement in writing—her husband in particular having an aversion to signing documents. (4) No note having been taken, nothing that the husband could say now would convince us that he was justified in his conclusion as to the coincidence of the day; and though the date of the death might still be ascertained by independent inquiry, this would not help us, as the exact date of the voice is irrecoverable. The inclusion of such a case would perhaps not have injured our argument; but we have felt it safer to reject it. and as far as {i-160} written testimony goes, the reader will have the same opportunities as we have had for forming an opinion. We have done our best to obtain corroborative evidence of all sorts, whether from private sources, from public notices, or from official records. We have often failed; and these failures, and other evidential flaws, have been brought into (I fear) wearisome prominence. In quotations, care has, of course, been taken to give the exact words of witnesses. The only exceptions are that (1) we have occasionally omitted reflections and other matter which formed no part of the evidence; and (2) we have corrected a few obvious slips of writing, and introduced an occasional word for the sake of grammatical coherence, where the narrative has come to us piecemeal, or where the above-named omissions have been made. But in no case have we made the slightest alteration of meaning, or omitted anything that could by any possibility be held to modify the account given. A few cases have been summarised, in whole or in part; but here the form of the sentences will show that they are not quotations. Any word or phrase interpolated for other than grammatical reasons is clearly distinguished by being placed within square brackets.

    One advantage, however, which we ourselves have had, cannot be communicated to our readers—namely, the increased power of judgment which a personal interview with the narrator gives. The effect of these interviews on our own minds has been on the whole distinctly favourable. They have greatly added to our confidence that what we are here presenting is the testimony of trustworthy and intelligent witnesses. And if the collection be taken as a whole, this seems to be a sufficient guarantee. It follows from the very nature of telepathic cases (as distinguished, say, from the alleged phenomena of “ghost-seeing” or of “Spiritualism”) that the evidence often in great measure, so to speak, makes itself—the agent’s side in the matter being beyond dispute. Thus a valid case, as has been shown above, might perfectly well rest on the testimony of a person whose own interpretation of it was totally erroneous, and whose intelligence and memory were only adequate to reporting truthfully that he thought he saw so-and-so in his room yesterday or the day before. But we have naturally preferred to be on the safe side. We have, therefore, excluded all narratives where, on personal acquaintance with the witnesses, we felt that we should be uneasy in confronting them with a critical cross-examiner; and we have frequently thought it right to exclude {i-161} cases, otherwise satisfactory, that depended on the reports of uneducated persons.1 1 First-hand evidence, where the witness cannot be cross-questioned, is at once invalidated by any doubt as to the case that may have been felt by persons who were more immediately cognisant of it. The well-known Norway story is an instance. In Early Years and Late Reflections, by Clement Carlyon, M.D., there is a signed account by Mr. Edmund Norway of a vision of his brother’s murder that he had while in command of the Orient, on a voyage from Manilla to Cadiz. Mr. Arthur S. Norway, son of the murdered man and nephew of Mr. Edmund Norway, tells us that the account was taken down by Dr. Carlyon from his uncle, at the latter’s house; he himself also has heard it from his uncle’s own lips. It describes with some detail how in a vision, on the night of February 8th, 1840, Mr. Edmund Norway saw his brother set upon and killed by two assailants at a particular spot on the road between St. Columb and Wadebridge: and how he immediately mentioned the vision to the second officer, Mr. Henry Wren. The brother was actually murdered by two men at that spot, on that night, and the details—as given in the confession of one of the murderers, William Lightfoot—agree with those of the vision. But Mr. Arthur Norway further tells us that another of his uncles and the late Sir William Molesworth “investigated the dream at the time. Both were clever men, and they were at that time

    searching deeply and experimenting in mesmerism—so that they were well fitted to form an opinion. They arrived at the conclusion that the dream was imagined.” Mr. Arthur Norway has also heard Mr. Wren speak of the voyage, but without any allusion to the dream. This is just a case, therefore, where we may justly suspect that detail and precision have been retrospectively introduced into the percipient’s experience. It almost goes without saying, in a case like this, that sooner or later we shall be told that the vision was inscribed in the ship’s log; and Mr. Dale Owen duly tells us so. Mr. Arthur Norway expressly contradicts the fact. Nor, I think, will the reader find much to suggest perversion of facts through superstitious à priori fancies. The greater part of our witnesses, as already stated, have had no special belief in the phenomena, except so far as they have themselves come in contact with them; and even where their interest has been awakened, it has seldom been of a more intense kind than might naturally be excited by a remarkable passage of personal or family experience. They have not, for instance, been at all in the attitude towards the subject which is now ours, and which it is hoped that the reader may come to share. Thus even on this score, their common-sense, in the ordinary straightforward meaning of the term, could hardly be impugned. Perhaps even so general a testimony to character as this is somewhat of an impertinence; to give it precision in particular cases would, as a rule, be out of the question. But however little weight such an expression of opinion may have, the mere statement that we are, in the large majority of cases, personally acquainted with our witnesses, has a distinct bearing on the evidence; for it practically implies that they gave us their account in such a way that their good faith is pledged to it.

    § 17. But there is quantity as well as quality to consider: the basis of our demonstration needs to be broad as well as strong. We might have a few correspondences perfect in every detail, a few {i-162} coincidences precise to the moment, established by evidence which was irresistible; and pure accident might still be the true explanation of them. Later, however, it will be proved, as I think, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that that line cannot be taken in respect of the several hundreds of coincidences included in these volumes. And the majority of persons who regard the book from an evidential point of view, and who start with the legitimate à priori prejudice against the whole class of phenomena, will certainly take other ground. They will take exception to the evidence as it stands. They will not be concerned to deny that there would be an enormously strong case for the reality of telepathy, supposing the correspondences and coincidences to have occurred exactly as stated; but they will take the ground that they did not so occur; and will frame various hypotheses, according to which it should be possible that the evidence should be thus, and the facts otherwise.

    Now not only is the endeavour to frame such hypotheses legitimate: it has been throughout an indispensable part of our own work. Even improbable hypotheses ought to be carefully considered; for we have no desire to underrate the à priori improbability of our own hypotheses of telepathy. It is extremely difficult to compare the improbability of any particular combination of known conditions with the improbability of the existence of a hitherto unknown condition. But the point on which we desire to lay stress is the number of improbable hypotheses that will have to be propounded if the telepathic explanation is rejected. Of course, this point may be evaded by including all the hypotheses needed in a single sweeping assumption, as to the general untrustworthiness of human testimony. This mode of argument would be perfectly legitimate if we were presenting a collection of unsifted second and third-hand stories; but it will scarcely seem equally so in application to what we do present. The evidence (or at any rate a very large amount of it) is of a sort which merits attention, even from those who most fully share the views that I have endeavoured to express as to the chances of error in the records of unusual occurrences. It cannot be summarily dismissed; if it is to be got rid of, it must be explained away in detail. And it is the continued process of attempts to explain away which may, we think, produce on others the same cumulative effect as it has produced on ourselves. The attempts have been made on the lines already sketched; and so far as any reader agrees that the risks {i-163} and vulnerable points have been carefully considered in the abstract, he may be willing provisionally to accept an assurance that a similar careful and rationally sceptical mode of examination has been applied to the concrete instances. The work is, no doubt, wearisome; but there is no avoiding it, for anyone who wishes to form a fair independent opinion as to what the strength of the case for telepathy really is. The narratives are very various, and their force is derived from very various characteristics; the endeavour to account for them without resorting to telepathy must, therefore, be carried through a considerable number of groups, before it produces its legitimate effect on the mind. That effect arises from the number and variety of the improbable suppositions, now violent, now vague—contradictory of our experience of all sorts of human acts and human relations—that have to be made at every turn. Not only have we to assume such an extent of forgetfulness and inaccuracy, about simple and striking facts of the immediate past, as is totally unexampled in any other range of experience. Not only have we to assume that distressing or exciting news about another person produces a havoc in the memory which has never been noted in connection with distress or excitement in any other form. We must leave this merely general ground, and make suppositions as detailed as the evidence itself. We must suppose that some people have a way of dating their letters in indifference to the calendar, or making entries in their diaries on the wrong page and never discovering the error; and that whole families have been struck by the collective hallucination that one of their members had made a particular remark, the substance of which had never even entered that member’s head; and that it is a recognised custom to write mournful letters about bereavements which have never occurred; and that when A describes to a friend how he has distinctly heard the voice of B, it is not infrequently by a slip of the tongue for C; and that when D says he is not subject to hallucinations of vision, it is through momentary forgetfulness of the fact that he has a spectral illusion once a week; and that when a wife interrupts her husband’s slumbers with words of distress or alarm, it is only her fun, or a sudden morbid craving for undeserved sympathy; and that when people assert that they were in sound health, in good spirits, and wide awake, at a particular time which they had occasion to note, it is a safe conclusion rhat [sic] they were having a nightmare, or were the prostrate victims of nervous hypochondria. Every one of these improbabilities is, perhaps, in itself a possibility; but as the {i-164} narratives drive us from one desperate expedient to another, when time after time we are compelled to own that deliberate falsification is less unlikely than the assumptions we are making, and then again when we submit the theory of deliberate falsification to the cumulative test, and see what is involved in the supposition that hundreds of persons of established character, known to us for the most part and unknown to one another, have simultaneously formed a plot to deceive us—there comes a point where the reason rebels. Common-sense persists in recognising that when phenomena, which are united by a fundamental characteristic and have every appearance of forming a single natural group, are presented to be explained, an explanation which multiplies causes is improbable, and an explanation which multiplies improbable causes becomes, at a certain point, incredible.

    § 18. I am aware that in its abstract form, and apart from actual study of the cases, this reasoning must be wholly unconvincing. But meanwhile the argument for the general trustworthiness of our evidence may be put in another, and, perhaps, clearer light. Amid all their differences, the cases present one general characteristic—an unusual affection of one person, having no apparent relation to anything outside him except the unusual condition, otherwise unknown to him, of another person. It is this characteristic that gives them the appearance, as I have just said, of a true natural group. Now the full significance of these words may easily escape notice. They have an evidential as well as a theoretic bearing. They involve, of course, the hypothesis that the facts, if truly stated, are probably due to a single cause; but they involve, further, a very strong argument that the facts are truly stated. Let us suppose, for the moment, that any amount of laxity of memory and of statement may be expected even from first-hand witnesses, belonging to the educated class. And let us ignore all the heterogeneous improbabilities which we were just now considering; and assume that the mistakes mentioned, and others like them, may occur at any moment. What, then, is the likelihood that all these

    various causes—all these errors of inference, lapses of memory, and exaggerations and perversions of narration—will issue in a consistent body of evidence, presenting one well-defined type of phenomenon, free in every case from excrescences or inconsistent features and explicable, and completely explicable, by one equally well-defined hypothesis? What is the likelihood that a number of narratives, which are assumed {i-165} to have diverged in various ways from the actual facts, should thus converge to a single result? Several hundreds of independent and first-hand reporters have, wittingly or unwittingly, got loose from the truth, and are well started down the inclined plane of the marvellous. Yet all of them stop short at or within a given line—the line being the exact one up to which a particular explanation, not of theirs but of ours, can be extended, and beyond which it could not be extended. Tempting marvels lie further on—marvels which in the popular view are quite as likely to be true as the facts actually reported, and which the general traditions of the subject would connect with those facts. But our reporters one and all eschew them. To take, for instance, the group of cases which the reader will probably find to be the most interesting, as it is also the largest, in our collection—apparitions at the time of death. Why should not such apparitions hold prolonged converse with the waking friend? Why should they not produce physical effects—shed tears on the pillow and make it wet, open the door and leave it open, or leave some tangible token of their presence? It is surely noteworthy that we have not had to reject, on grounds like these, a single narrative which on other grounds would have been admitted. Have all our informants drawn an arbitrary line, and all drawn precisely the same arbitrary line, between the mistakes and exaggerations of which they will be guilty, and the mistakes and exaggerations of which they will not? We might imagine them as travellers, ignorant of zoology, each of whom reports that he has landed on a strange shore, and has encountered a strange animal. Some of the travellers have been nearer the animal, and have had a better view of him than others, and their accounts vary in clearness; but these accounts, though independently drawn up, all point to the same source; they all present a consistent picture of the self-same animal, and what is more, the picture is one which zoology can find no positive cause to distrust. We find in it none of the familiar features of myth or of untrained fancy; the reports have not given wings to a quadruped, or horns and hoofs to a carnivor; [sic] they contradict nothing that is known. Can we fairly suppose that this complete agreement, alike in what they contain and in what they do not contain, is the accidental result of a hundred disconnected mistakes?

    It is most instructive, in this connection, to compare first-hand (and the better sort of second-hand) narratives with others. I have already spoken of the greater general sobriety of the first-hand {i-166} evidence. I may now add that the suspiciously startling details which often characterise the more remote narratives are precisely of the sort which the telepathic hypothesis could by no possibility be made to cover. To wet the pillow or leave the door open would be quite an ordinary breach of manners in the popular “ghost,” or the second-hand apparition of doubtful authority. I have mentioned the real dripping letter conveyed by the phantasmal midshipman. I may further recall the scar reported to have been left on the lady’s wrist by the touch of the well-known “Beresford” apparition; and the wounds alleged to have been produced on the bodies of absent witches, by blows and sword thrusts directed to their “astral” appearances. No marvels in the least resembling these find any place in our firsthand records; yet why should they not, if those records are fundamentally untrustworthy? The existence of such features in other narratives sufficiently shows how wide is the possible range of incidents, in stories where the ordinary limitations of communication between human beings are alleged to have been transcended. Of this wide field, the hypothesis of the action of mind on mind, which we are endeavouring to develop, covers only a single well-defined portion. By what fatality, if error is widely at work in the case of our firsthand evidence, do its results always fall inside and not outside this very limited area? If our witnesses are assumed to sit loose to the facts which they have known, why should they bring their accounts into rigid (though purely accidental) conformity with a theory which they have not known?

    § 19. What I have here indicated is the general impression produced by the evidence in our own minds. In our view, the reality of telepathy (even apart from a consideration of the experimental evidence) may be not unreasonably taken as proved. Having formed this view, we are bound to state it; but we expressly refrain from putting it forward dogmatically, and from saying that to reject it would argue want of candour or intelligence. We hold that, in such a matter, it is idle to attempt to define the line of complete proof; and the proof given—if it be one—is far from being of an éclatant or overwhelming sort. To those who do not realise the strength of the à priori presumption against it, it may easily look more overwhelming than it is. To others, again, it may appear that, on the hypothesis that the faculty has acted as widely as we have supposed, the highest evidential standard ought to have been reached in a larger number of {i-167} cases. To us it rather seems that the evidence that we find is just about what might have been expected. We see nothing in the mere existence of telepathy that would tend to make reserved people mention strange experiences, or to make careless or busy people keep conscientious diaries—or generally that would lead the persons immediately connected with a telepathic case, in which their emotions may be deeply involved, to act with a single eye to producing a clinching piece of evidence for the future benefit of critical psychological inquirers. It would, of course, be useless for us to urge that evidence which falls short of the best is still as good as can be expected, unless we were able to present a certain nucleus of fairly conclusive cases, and this we think we can do. But if the proof is held to demand more cases of the highest evidential quality, we must trust to time for them. The ideal collection would, of course, be one where every independent instance should be so evidentially complete that it must be either (1) telepathic, or (2) a purely accidental coincidence of a most striking kind, or (3) the result of a fraudulent conspiracy to deceive, in which several persons of good character and reputation have taken part. In our view, this point has been reached in a sufficient number of the examples here given to exclude the second and third of these alternatives; but these examples constitute only a very small minority compared with the mass of cases which are merely confirmatory—strongly confirmatory, as we think, but still confirmatory only and not crucial. And the collection so far falls short of the ideal.

    In saying, then, that telepathy may not unreasonably be taken as proved, I do not wish for a moment to imply that the proof which we give is the one which we should eventually desire to see given. To no reader, we think, will the various imperfections and weak spots of our case be more patent than they have been to ourselves. Some of these are beyond remedy—as the absence of contemporary documents. Others may possibly be remedied at a later stage—for instance, the suppression of names.1 [☼]1 The suppressed names have in all cases been given to us in confidence; and in some instances with permission to mention them to any persons who have any bonâ fide interest in the subject. Purely anonymous cases can of course have no weight at all. I subjoin a couple of cases which are of a normal type, and have quite the air of being bonâ fide, as samples of a numerous class which have to be treated as waste paper. The following account appeared in the Times for December 26th, 1868, in a review of Scott’s Demonology and Witchcraft. The writer, who is here perforce anonymous, says that it “has quite recently fallen under our own observation.” “A young English lady had been betrothed to an officer before his departure to the East. During her lover’s absence she was taken abroad by her mother, and on their arrival late one evening at a French inn, they found it necessary to occupy rooms on different floors. As Miss C. was in the act of getting into bed late at night, she suddenly beheld the form of her lover standing in a remote corner of her chamber. His countenance was extremely sad, and she observed that round his right arm he wore a band of crape. Indignant at the conduct of her betrothed in entering her sleeping apartment, she called on him loudly to depart; the form of her lover remained speechless, but as she lifted up her voice, his brow grew yet sadder, and as he glided silently out of the room he seemed a prey to the gloomiest feelings. After a time Miss

    C. summoned up sufficient courage to descend to her mother and recite her adventure. They caused diligent search to be made for the returned officer, but without success. Nor could the smallest trace of him be afterwards discovered. Several weeks later the young lady received the news of her lover’s death in a general action in India.” If such an account as this appeared in a leading newspaper now, we should hope of course to obtain the means of sifting it. But cases like the following could not be pursued without great expense in local advertising. ”Birmingham, December 15th, 1882. “Dear Sir,—I have much pleasure in forwarding the following perfectly authentic account. It has never before been made known beyond our own immediate circle, and I relate it to you in the hope that it may be instrumental, with others of greater importance, in establishing the fact that there is indeed, and in truth, a future existence. “A long time ago when my mother—who is now dead—was a girl, she was staying with her cousin, who was in delicate health; they were reading or chatting when, suddenly, the latter’s attention was drawn to the door, and she exclaimed, with delight, ‘Why, there’s grandma! Why did you not say she was here?’ The two—especially the latter—were great favourites of the old lady. Mother, hearing this, at once turned round, but saw nothing, but at once left the room, fully expecting to find her among the other members of the family. But being told that the old lady was not there she returned with the information to her cousin, who loudly protested that they were deceiving her, as she had been again, during mother’s absence, and she had a ribbon in her cap which she had sent her a short time before, on her birthday anniversary. Mother again went to the other members of the family with this news. They, of course, thought it strange, and told the girl that it was only imagination. On the following day, however, news arrived that at that very time the old lady had passed away. “This is perfectly true, and can, if neccessary, be corroborated by my brother, who is a clergyman. “You may make any use you like of this communication, but I do not wish my name and address to be published, and so subscribe myself, yours, &c., “WELL-WISHER.” The signature probably expresses the truth; but for all that it effectually prevents the narrative from being “instrumental in establishing” any fact whatever. But even more tantalising than anonymity is an insufficient or undecipherable address. The following is a case which this cause has rendered abortive. Inquiries for the locality have been made all over the British Isles without success. “Gurnet Bay. “January 1st, 1884. “I do not believe in supernatural visitations, and the following experiences of my mother may be outside the range of your inquiries. “My mother, while an infant, lost her father by an accident, and was brought up by a maternal uncle, who was greatly attached to her, and for whom she had the most unbounded affection. Learning that he was about to be married, and not being able to endure a divided affection, she left him, came up to Hampshire, married, and settled there, occasionally hearing from him. The night on which her uncle died, she was sleeping with a middle-aged lady named Day. At the moment of her uncle’s death, as it afterwards appeared, she awoke in great agitation, exclaiming, ‘My God! my uncle’s dead,’ and frightened her companion, who awoke at the same time. So vivid was the impression that she made immediate preparation to go to Box, near Bath, where her uncle’s residence was. On her arrival she found that he had died at the time and under exactly the circumstances she had seen in her dream, having strongly desired to see her at the last. “E. J. A’COURT SMITH.” It has been impossible to bring home to all {i-168} our informants that where a person refuses to a phenomenon, belonging to a certain class, the direct testimony which he would give, if needful, to any other sort of personal experience, the world is sure to take the view that he lacks that complete assurance of the reality of the experience which alone can make his evidence worthy of serious {i-169} attention. This is not always just; since the reason why he suppresses his name may be, not that he doubts the truth of his evidence, but that he regards the truth in this particular department of Nature as something disgraceful or uncanny; or it may be mere fear of ridicule, or a shrinking from any form of publicity. But meanwhile the defect must not be extenuated. Even minor points may detract from the businesslike look of the work. Informants whose evidence is otherwise satisfactory sometimes feel it a sort of mysterious duty to throw a veil over something—if it is only to put C—— for Clapham. A dash is the last refuge of the occult. We must not be held to be blind to these blots because we have printed the evidence in which they occur. But the case, as it stands, seemed worth presenting, and the time for presenting it seemed to have arrived. Even if it be weaker than we think it, there is the future as well as the past to think of. By far the greater part of the telepathic evidence, even of the last twenty years, has undoubtedly perished, for all scientific purposes; we want the account for the next twenty years to be different. But it is only by a decided change in the attitude of the public mind towards the subject that the passing phenomena can be caught and fixed; and it is only by a wider knowledge of what there already is to know that this change can come about. Thus our best chance of a more satisfactory harvest hereafter is to exhibit our sheaf of gleanings now. If telepathy is a reality, examples of it may be trusted to go on occurring; and with the increase of intelligent interest in psychical research we may hope that the collection and verification of good first-hand evidence will gradually become easier, and that the necessity of careful contemporary records, and of complete attestation, will be more widely perceived.

    § 20. Meanwhile it may be just worth while to forestall an objection—which, as it has been made before, may be made again—to the argument from numbers. It has been urged that no accumulation of instances can make up a solid case, if no individual instance can be absolutely certified as free from flaw. But the different items of inductive proof are, of course, not like the links of a deductive chain. The true metaphor is the sticks and the faggot; and our right to treat any particular case as a stick depends, not on its being so flawlessly strong, as evidence for our hypothesis, that no other hypothesis can possibly be entertained with regard to it, but on the much humbler {i-170} fact that any other hypothesis involves the assumption of something in itself improbable. Third-hand ghost-stories, and the ordinary examples of popular superstitions, have no claim to be regarded as sticks at all, since the rejection of the popular explanation of them involves no improbable assumptions of any kind; at best they are dry reeds, and no multiplication of their number could ever make a respectable faggot. But in every one of the examples on which we rest the telepathic hypothesis, the rejection of that hypothesis does, as I have pointed out, involve the assumption of something in itself improbable; and every such example adds to the cumulative force of the argument for telepathy. The multiplication of such examples, therefore, makes a faggot of ever-increasing solidity.

    When made explicit, this seems too plain to be denied; but an extreme case may perhaps make the point even clearer. If, since the world began, nobody had ever died without a phantasm of him appearing to one or more of his friends, the joint occurrence of the two events would have been a piece of universally recognised knowledge; of the cause of which we should to this day possibly not know more, and could not possibly know less, than we know of the cause of gravitation. Nor, if the attestation had been forthcoming in the case of only half the deaths, would its significance have been much more likely to be disputed; nor if it had been forthcoming in the case of a quarter, or a tenth, or even a hundredth of the number. But those who admit this, practically admit that there is a conceivable number of well attested cases which they would regard as conclusive evidence of telepathy. We may ask them, then, to name their number; and if they do so, we may not unreasonably proceed to inquire the grounds of their selection. A writer on the subject lately named 5000 as the mark; but can he make his reasons explicit for considering 5000 as conclusive, and 4000, or even 1000, as inconclusive? In course of time we hope that his minimum may be reached; but any limit must be to a great extent arbitrary. We shall be content if impartial readers, who do not feel convinced that an adequate inductive proof has been attained, are yet brought to see that our object and method are scientifically defensible; while we, on our side, fully admit that the adequacy of the

    present collection does not admit of demonstration, and are perfectly willing that it should be regarded as only a first imperfect instalment of what is needed.

    {i-171}

    § 21. Perhaps, after all, the difference of instinct as to what really is needed may be considerably less than at first sight appears. For we have not been able to regard the alleged phenomena in the completely detached fashion which most of those who consider them naturally adopt. We are unable to determine how far the impression on our own minds of the evidence for spontaneous telepathy has been dependent on our conviction of the genuineness of cognate experimental cases. These latter being for the most part trivial, recent, and little known, it is not surprising that comparatively few persons should have considered them, and that still fewer should have grasped their bearing on the spontaneous cases. But to anyone who accepts the experimental results, the à priori presumption against other forms of supersensuous communication can hardly retain its former aspect. The presumption is diminished—the hospitality of the mind to such phenomena is increased—in a degree which is none the less important that it does not admit of calculation. A further step of about equal importance is made when we advance to the better-evidenced of the transitional cases; though here again the effect on our own minds, due to our knowledge of the persons concerned, cannot be imparted to others. Attention has been duly drawn to the difficulty of embracing these several classes in a common physical conception; but on psychological ground we cannot doubt that we are justified (provisionally at any rate) in regarding them as continuous. Remembering the existence of the transitional class, we may regard the extremes as not more remote from one another than the electrical phenomena of the cat’s coat from those of the firmament. Electricity, indeed, affords in this way a singularly close parallel to telepathy. “The spontaneous apparitions of the dying” (I quote Mr. Myers’ words) “may stand for the lightning; while the ancient observations on the attraction of amber for straw may fairly be paralleled by our modest experiments with cards and diagrams. The spontaneous phenomena, on the one hand, have been observed in every age, but observed with mere terror and bewilderment. And, on the other hand, candid friends have expressed surprise at our taking a serious interest in getting a rude picture from one person’s mind into another, or proving that ginger may be hot in the mouth by the effect of unconscious sympathy alone. Yet we hold that these trivial cases of community of sensation are the germinal indications of a far-reaching force, whose higher manifestations {i-172} may outshine these as the lightning outshines the sparks on Puss’s back. We hold that the lowest telepathic manifestations may be used to explain and corroborate the highest.” Their conditions differ widely; so widely, indeed, as to supply indirectly an argument for the genuineness of the facts, since totally distinct and independent hypotheses—that of collusion in the one case, and of forgetfulness or exaggeration in the other—would be needed to refute them. Yet, with all this difference of conditions, when we compare the facts of either class with any facts which the accepted psychology includes, we cannot help recognising the great common characteristic—a supersensuous influence of mind on mind—as a true generic bond. Where that characteristic is found, there we have a natural group of phenomena which differ far more fundamentally from all other known phenomena than they can possibly differ among themselves. Their unity is found in contrast. Till more is known of their causes, it may be impossible for science to establish their inner relationships, just as it is impossible to establish the degrees of affinity between casually selected members of a single human community. But they draw together, so to speak, on the field of science, even as men of one race draw together when cast among an alien population.


    NOTE ON WITCHCRAFT.

    In saying that there is a total absence of respectable evidence, and an almost total absence of any first-hand evidence at all, for those alleged phenomena of magic and witchcraft which cannot be accounted for as the results of diseased imagination, hysteria, hypnotism, and occasionally, perhaps, of telepathy, I have made a sweeping statement which it may perhaps seem that nothing short of a knowledge of the whole witch-literature of the world could justify. I have, of course, no claim to this complete knowledge. My statement depends on a careful search through about 260 books on the subject (including, I think, most of the principal ones of the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries), and a large number of contemporary records of trials.1 1 The greater part of this irksome task has been carried out for me with rare zeal and intelligence by my friend, Miss Porter, to whom I must here once again express my obligations. Such a list is certainly very far from exhaustive. But as, on the one hand, the 450 works which Le {i-173} Loyer professed to have studied, before writing his Livre des Spectres, did not fortify him with the trustworthy record of a single case, so, on the other hand, a much smaller assortment may suffice to support very wide negative conclusions. To those who have travelled over the same ground, the reason will be obvious. Every student of records of abnormal or “supernatural” events must have been struck by the way in which the same cases keep on reappearing in one work after another. Even the most credulous partisans exercise a sort of economy of the marvellous, in so far as they find that copying out old marvels is a great saving of time and responsibility. And this is very specially the case with the literature now in question. Bodin’s Démonomanie and the Malleus Maleficarum supplied generations of theorists with their pittance of facts; and not even the Beresford ghost has done such hard and continuous duty in the cause of superstition as some few of the witch-cases.

    Considering the enormous place that lycanthropy, for instance, plays in the interminable discussions as to what the devil could do, and how he did it, it is strange to realise what the evidence (outside confessions1) 1 When we remember the ways in which confessions were obtained, the regard in which they were held appears the most amazing fact in the whole history of witchcraft. The common view is quaintly illustrated in an account of Peter Stubbe (translated from the Dutch, London, 1590); where it is said that Peter “after being put to the rack, and fearing the torture, volluntarilye confessed his whole life.” Even where no violent means were used, the mind of the accused would be unhinged by starvation, enforced sleeplessness, or mere despair. And as if this was not enough, we have the dismal record of cheats and quibbles—e.g., the promising his life to the accused if he would confess, meaning eternal life. We have also, no doubt, to allow for the morbid vanity and shame-lessness which is a symptom of advanced hysteria. (See Richet, Op. cit., p. 364.) actually was. Putting Nebuchadnezzar and Lot’s wife out of the question, the main burden of the proof seems really to rest on about four cases. Either it is the 11th century legend, quoted from William of Malmesbury, of the two old women who kept an inn, and transformed their guests into asses: or it is the equally mythical tale of the woodcutter who wounded three cats, and declared that three women afterwards accused him of having wounded them; or it is Peter Stubbe, against whom the evidence was that the villagers lit on him unexpectedly, while they were hunting a wolf; or it is the man who, having cut off a wolf’s paw, drew from his pocket the hand of his host’s wife, whom he found sitting composedly without it—a story told to Boguet (as a joke for aught we can tell) by a person who professed to have picked it up in travelling through the locality. Even the credulous De l’Ancre2 2 Tableau de l’Inconstance des Mauvais Anges et Démons (Paris, 1612), p. 312. admits that, with wide opportunities, he has not come on the track of any transformations—a fact which seems to have a good deal impressed him. But in the eyes of other writers, perpetual citation seems to have imparted to the classical legends just mentioned the virtue of good first-hand testimony. Glanvil gives {i-174} another case where a panting old woman was suddenly seen in the place of a hunted hare, on the authority of a huntsman;1

    1 Sadducismus Triumphatus (London, 1689), p. 387. Glanvil’s own theory is that the hare was a demon, and that the witch was invisibly hurried along with it, to put her out of breath. but there are features in the account which strongly suggest, as Glanvil admits, that the huntsman was a wag. I find another less known English example of the kind; and the manner of its appearance is significant. The record of the trial of the Essex witches in 16452 2 A Collection of Curious Tracts relating to Witchcraft, &c. (London, 1838). contains, first, all manner of first-hand evidence to witches’ “familiars”—evidence which must have been easy enough to get, considering that a man who had looked through a cottage window, and seen a woman holding a lock of wool that cast a shadow, was believed when he described these objects as her white and black imps;3 3 Hutchinson, Historical Essay Concerning Witchcraft (London, 1720), p. 60. It is an interesting instance of the intimate relation between persecution and the vitality of the persecuted doctrines, that imps are little mentioned except in this country, where, as Hutchinson says, “the law makes the feeding, suckling, or rewarding of them to be felony.” and then at last we have a case of transformation into an animal, at which point, sure enough, the evidence becomes second-hand, and the witness has heard the tale from a man who he knew “would not speak an untruth.” A transformation case which Webster mentions as given on first-hand testimony was afterwards confessed to have been an imposture.4 4 The Displaying of Supposed Witchcraft (London, 1677), p. 278. I have found but a single item of independent evidence to the phenomenon which is first-hand, in the sense of having been given direct to the writer who records it. This is in Spina’s Quæstio de Strigibus (Rome, 1576, p. 53), and is to this effect:—a cobbler, being annoyed by a cat, dealt blows at it, after which an old woman turned out to have some hurts which she was not known to have received.5 5 This story also appears as a treasure in the Compendium Maleficarum (Milan, 1620). In the only other case given by Spina (who, be it observed, is one of the very chief authorities) the evidence was that a witch told two people that certain deceased cats had been witches. In the treatment of the old dateless legends, the taste of the narrator counted for something. Thus, Olaus Magnus (Historia de Gentibus Septentrionalibus, Rome, 1555, p. 644) reports that once upon a time an accused person was closely confined and watched, till he duly transformed himself. Majolus, telling the story half a century later, says that the watchers watched in vain. To be quite fair, I should add that Bodin says that one Pierre Mamor wrote a little treatise, in which he professed to have actually seen a transformation—this being the only case that I have come across where a man of sufficient education to write something that was printed is even cited as bearing personal testimony to such marvels.

    It is the same with the witches’ compacts, and with the nocturnal rides and orgies. Putting aside confessions, the evidence is of the flimsiest sort, and is copied and re-copied with untiring pertinacity; while many of the miraculous tales are mere country gossip, which do not even pretend to {i-175} rest on any authority. Holland says, “I cannot hear that any wise man or honest man tell us any thing, which hath been himself either a party or a witness of such horrible bargains.”1 1 A Treatise against Witchcraft (Cambridge, 1590), p. 31. “What credible witness is there brought at any time,” says Reginald Scot, “of this their corporal, visible, and incredible bargain; saving the confession of some person diseased both in body and mind, wilfully made or injuriously constrained?”2 2 The Discovery of Witchcraft (London, 1584), p. 48. See also his criticism on Bodin, p. 23; and cf. Christian Thomas, Kurtze Lehrsätze von dem Laster der Zauberey (1706), p. 31. As regards transportations, the most superstitious writers have never themselves come into anything like close contact with the marvels that they record. Habbakuk, and the Sabine peasant who inadvertently dispersed an assembly by a pious ejaculation, figure in the records with almost unbroken regularity. I am aware of only two cases in which it is even rumoured that a person has been actually observed travelling through the air;3 3 Malleus, Vol. i., p. 175; Scot, Op. cit., p. 67. On the general omission of any sort of investigation of stories, see Dell’ Osa, Die Nichtigkeit der Hexerey (Frankfort, 1766), p. 508. and whenever a “Sabbath” has been seen, or persons have been found far from their homes in the morning—presumably because the devil, who was carrying them back from the revels, dropped them at the sound of the Angelus—the witnesses are shepherds or peasants (in one case a butler), who have not been cross-examined or even interviewed. Grillandus4 4 Tractatus de Sortilegiis (Lyons, 1536), cap. 7. says that he had been at first inclined to disbelieve in bodily transportations, but that longer experience had changed his view. He then gives a couple of hearsay stories about people found in the fields, and a few confessions. Binsfeld5 5 Tractatus de Confessionibus Maleficarum et Sagarum (Trèves, 1591), pp. 223–30 and 343–5. considers transportation certain, on the strength of some village gossip (copied in part from Grillandus). A story quoted by Horst from the De Hirco Nocturno of Scherertz, of a young man found on the roof towards morning, is apparently a typical case of natural somnambulism. The Malleus (Vol. I., p. 171) tells how some young men saw a comrade carried off by invisible means; but the prominent fact in the story is that they were having a drinking bout.6 6 See also Spina, Op. cit., p. 108; Remy, Dæmonolatria (Lyons, 1595), pp. 112,115; Glanvil, Op. cit., p. 143. The testimony to the effect that the persons reputed to have been at the nocturnal orgies had never really left their beds, must have been well known—see, e.g., J. Baptista Porta, Magia Naturalis (Naples, 1558), p. 102; Wier, De Præstigiis Dæmonum, &c. (Basle, 1568), p. 275; Godelmann, Tractatus de Magis, Veneficis, et Lamiis (Frankfort 1591), Lib. ii., p. 39; Remy, Op. cit., p. 110; Compendium Maleficarum, p. 81; Menghi, Compendio dell’ Arte Essorcista (Bologna, 1590), p. 439; Elich, Dæmonomagia (Frankfort, 1607), p. 131; Hutchinson, Op. cit., pp. 100, 125; but the figure that remained at home might, of course, be accounted for as an optical delusion caused by the devil, or as due to his direct personation (see Gayot de Pitaval, Causes Célèbres, Amsterdam, 1775, p. 153). But if the superstition could thus defy direct counter-evidence, we get a fresh idea of the feebleness of its own evidential support from the fact that both sceptics and believers seem sometimes to have forgotten that the question was one of evidence at all. Thus G. Tartarotti (Del Congresso Notturno delle Lamie, Venice, 1749) bases his elaborate argument entirely on collateral difficulties—as that, if the witches really feasted at their meetings, they ought to come back surfeited and happy, instead of hungry and tired; and that if they could escape from their bedrooms they ought to be able to escape from prison. And, similarly, the author of the Critiche on this book, (Venice, 1751) refutes Tartarotti by a long chain of theoretic reasoning supported by many orthodox authorities, but not by a single fact.

    {i-176}

    In all these matters we may be sure that, had there been better evidence to record, it would have been recorded.

    Similarly in the trials of witches, where (if we exclude the confessions) nearly all the alleged facts can now be accepted and explained on physiological and psychological principles, the sameness is so great that, after our research has been carried to a certain point, we feel sure that no new types will be forthcoming.1 1 Compare, for instance, the cases in Pitcairn’s Criminal Trials of Scotland (Edinburgh, 1833); Cannaert’s Olim Procès des Sorcières en Belgique (Ghent, 1845); Rueling’s Auszüge einiger merkwürdigen Hexenprozessen (Göttingen, 1786); Müller, Op. cit. See also Reuss, La Sorcellerie au 16me et au 17me Siècle, particulièrement en Alsace (Paris, 1871), p. 107; Haas, Die Hexenprozesse (Tubingen, 1865), p. 80; and Soldan, Geschichte der Hexenprozessen (Stuttgart, 1880), pp. 385–9. A similar repetition of stock stories, and a similar monotony of detail, are observable in the New England records. Even the questions and suggestions used for entrapping the accused seem to have become stereotyped forms, and the very indictments came to be hurried over, as almost taken for granted.2 2 See Haas, Op. cit., p. 79; Lilienthal, Op. cit., p. 93; Rapp, Die Hexenprozesse (Innsbruck, 1874), pp. 21–27. Rapp (p. 143) specially remarks on the sameness of the confessions as due to the sameness of the judge’s questions. Spee says that it never even entered into his head to doubt the existence of witches, till he studied the judicial evidence.3 3 Cautio Criminalis (Frankfort, 1632), p. 398.

    On the whole, then, the sweeping statement considered at the beginning of the foregoing chapter—that in modern societies a more or less imposing array of so-called evidence can be obtained for the support of any belief or crotchet that is less than an outrage on the popular common-sense of the time—is very far from receiving support from the history of witchcraft. The stock example which was to prove the view goes, in fact, somewhat surprisingly far to disprove it. For at no period would the conditions seem to be more favourable for a really impressive record of marvellous phenomena than during the 15th and 16th centuries. The art and literature of the epoch show high imaginative development, and a keen appetite for variety and detail; while, at the same time, the majority of able and educated minds were not fore-armed, in at all the same way as now, by a sense of à priori impossibilities and of a uniform Nature, and the belief in the incalculable power and malignity of the devil was nearly universal.4 4 This belief was held alike by the credulous majority and the sensible minority; and it is interesting to see how the latter contrived to make controversial use of it. For instance, G. Gifford, an author who is almost modern in his view of the influence of the mind on the body, in his Dialogue concerning Witches (London, 1603), p. L, argues for the worthlessness of confessions on the ground that “the testimonie of a witch in many things at her death is not any other than the testimonie of the divell, because the divell hath deceived her, and made her beleeve things which were nothing so.” And Hutchinson, Op. cit., p. 99, ridicules the test of torture on similar grounds, “since the devil will pretend torture when he feels none, and fall down when he needs not.” Cf. D’Autun, L’Incrédulité Scavante et la Crédulité Ignorante (Lyons, 1671), p. 791. One would have {i-177} expected, then, that every village would swell the direct testimony to transformations and witches’ “Sabbaths”; and that even philosophers who regarded the Evil One as an abiding source of sensory delusion might occasionally have had their own senses deluded. But we can only take the record that we find, and it is as monotonous as it is meagre. Not only do the philosophers and their friends seem to have enjoyed complete immunity from Satanic visitations, but even in the lower social strata the magical incidents (other than those which modern science can accept and explain) are extremely few and far between; and the evidence for them—if the word be used with any degree of strictness—is practically non-existent.1 1 Writers of the most opposite views confirm what the records of trials would sufficiently prove—that the natural stronghold of witchcraft was among the most ignorant and backward sections of the population. Bodin (Op. cit., p. 168) says that witches were commonest in villages. Bernard (Guide to Grand Jurymen in Cases of Witchcraft, London, 1627, p. 22) says that “fear and imagination make many witches among country-people,” and asserts that only those who think much about witches are ever troubled with them. Glanvil (Op. cit., p. 498) thinks it an important fact that “all people in the country about were fully persuaded” of the reality of one of his cases. D’Autun (Op. cit., p. 507) traces the rumour of witchcraft to the imagination of villagers. Tartarotti (Op. cit., p. 105) describes the supposed attendants at the “Sabbath” as poor, weak, ill-fed creatures. Hutchinson (Op. cit., p. 153) remarks that “country-people are wonderfully bent to make the most of all stories of witchcraft.” Sir G. Mackenzie (The Laws and Customs of Scotland in Matters Criminal, Edinburgh, 1699) says: “Those poor people who are ordinarily accused of the crime, are poor ignorant creatures, and ofttimes women who understand not the nature of what they are accused of”; and Pitcairn speaks of convictions “on the slenderest evidence, afforded by the testimony of ignorant and superstitious country-people.” These extracts might be multiplied to any extent.

    I must specially insist on this point; as my view seems completely opposed to that given in the account from which most English readers have probably formed their idea of the subject—the brilliant first chapter of Mr. Lecky’s History of Rationalism. Mr. Lecky’s treatment appears to me to suffer from the want of two important distinctions. In the first place, he does not separate the fact of the wide belief in the magical phenomena, and the array of authorities that could be cited on the side of that belief, from the evidence for particular events—the statements of bonâ fide witnesses. For every grain of testimony there is no difficulty in finding a ton of authority.2 2 Thus Bodin’s chapter on lycanthropy contains, as Mr. Lecky truly observes, “immense numbers of authorities.” But it is surely important to notice that among the chief of them are Homer, Ovid, and Apuleius; that Virgil is quoted as a frequent eye-witness of the phenomenon on the strength of the 8th Eclogue; and that the only instances for which a shadow of evidence is adduced are the following:—Three confessions unsupported by any external evidence, one of which (to be just) is said not to have been extorted; one confession with the additional piece of evidence reported at third-hand, that the accused man had a wound which the witness recognised as one that he had inflicted on a wolf; a report of a prosecution which was abandoned, against some men who had wounded some cats; the eternal story above mentioned of the wood-cutter and the three cats; and Pierre Mamor’s testimony, also mentioned above. The list is surely not an imposing one; and becomes even less so when we find Bodin quite equally impressed with the fact that the author of another book, dedicated to an emperor, had seen a man, not committing the crime, but condemned for it; or that someone who had been in Livonia reported that the people there were all believers. And in the second place, he does not explicitly discriminate between the wholly bizarre {i-178}

    and incredible side of the subject, and its scientific or pathological side. Of course “belief in witchcraft” may be taken to mean simply a group or system of wrong inferences, drawn under a strong instinct of demonic agency; and in that light the belief can doubtless be treated as a whole—as a single though complex superstition. But “witchcraft” may also be used, and is frequently used in Mr. Lecky’s own pages, to denote the facts alleged—for instance, that old women were carried through the air—and not the inference drawn, that it was the devil who carried them. And this is the meaning that naturally becomes prominent when the question is of the evidence for witchcraft—the actual testimony that men’s senses bore to it. For instance, Mr. Lecky says (pp. 14–16) that “the historical evidence establishing the reality of witchcraft is so vast and varied that it is impossible to disbelieve it without what, on other subjects, we should deem the most extraordinary rashness. … In our own day, it may be said with confidence that it would be altogether impossible for such an amount of evidence to accumulate round a conception which had no substantial basis in fact. … If it were a natural but a very improbable fact, our reluctance to believe it would have been completely stifled by the multiplicity of the proofs.” Here the “evidence” and “proofs” clearly refer rather to facts than to inferences; and it is implied in the whole tone of the passage that the facts referred to belong to the miraculous class which is now universally discredited. I can, therefore, only express my entire dissent from the statements made, at any rate until they receive better support than Mr. Lecky supplies. He tells us, for instance, that Boguet “is said to have burnt 600 persons, chiefly for lycanthropy.” If this be true, it still gives us no hint as to what the evidence was; judging by analogy, we should suppose that it consisted in confessions, probably made under torture.1 1 See Kanoldt, Supplementum iii curieuser und nutzbarer Anmerkungen, &c. (Bautzen, 1728), p. 63. For a proof that even a writer who was rather inclined to ridicule the subject could still regard confession under torture as conclusive of this crime see Peucer, Commentarius de præcipuis Divinationum Generibus (Hanover, 1607) p. 280. Did 600 persons, or 100, or even 10 persons ever bear testimony before Boguet that they had seen a man or woman converted into a wolf? If so, it is surely remarkable that his own book (Discours des Sorciers, Lyons, 1608) contains (besides a few confessions and a few of the stock fables) only two lycanthropy cases—the evidence for one being that a child who had been injured by a wolf declared, in the fever which followed, that the animal’s paws were like hands; and for the other that a peasant woman who had been desperately frightened by a wolf, said afterwards that its hind feet had had human toes. So again, Mr. Lecky (p. 127) seems completely to sympathise with Glanvil’s statement that the evidence for “the belief of things done by persons of despicable power and knowledge, beyond the reach of art and {i-179} ordinary nature,” was overwhelming.1 1 Sadducismus Triumphatus, p. 3. And truly Glanvil does speak of “the attestation of thousands of eye and ear witnesses, and those not of the easily deceivable vulgar only, but of wise and grave discerners.” But this is a typical example of the very confusion which I am trying to clear up. If thousands of wise and grave discerners saw the incredible marvels with their own eyes, how is it that in not a single case has the record been preserved? If on the other hand they saw only the credible marvels—fits and the like—and believed the incredible ones, on extraordinarily feeble testimony but under an extraordinarily strong prepossession, in what sense can it be asserted that there was then “overwhelming evidence” for what would now be denied?

    In brief, when it is a question of evidence, we should naturally expect to find a strongly-marked division between that part of the superstition where the wrong inference was drawn from spurious facts, such as lycanthropy and the nocturnal orgies, and that part where the wrong inference was drawn from genuine facts, such as the phenomena of somnambulism or epilepsy. And my contention is that this strongly marked division actually exists, and that for the former class of marvels there was practically no evidence—no professedly first-hand observation. For the latter class, on the other hand, the evidence was naturally abundant, however wrongly interpreted.

    To pass now to this latter class—that is to say, to the physiological and psychological aspects of the subject. I have said that many phenomena, which in their way were sufficiently genuine, were misinterpreted, because the sciences which should have explained them were still unborn. But though anything like a complete and critical explanation of these phenomena was impossible, it is to be remarked that the witch-literature presents a constant succession of sensible writers (chiefly English and German), who wholly rejected the common view of them. As early as the 15th century, and often during the 16th, works appeared in which the objective nature of the more bizarre incidents is denied, and they are treated as hallucinations; almost invariably, however, as hallucinations of a supernatural kind, caused directly by the devil.2 2 Molitor, De Lamiis (Cologne, 1489), cap. vi.; Wier, Op. cit., pp. 216, 236, 352, 371; Daneau, Les Sorciers (Geneva, 1574), p. 104; Remy, Op. cit., Lib. ii. cap. v.; Saur, Ein kurtze Warnung, &c. (Frankfort, 1582); Del Rio, Disquisitiones Magicæ (Louvain, 1599), Vol. i., pp. 207–8; Gifford, Op. cit., p. K 3, (but cf. his Discourse of Subtill Practices, London, 1587, p. E, where he attributes to certain of the devil’s “counterfeite shewes of a bodie” a kind of objectivity); Flagellum Hereticorum Fascinariorum (Frankfort, 1581), p. 5; Holland, Op. cit., p. 31. Neuwaldt (Exegesis Purgationis, Helmstedt, 1585, p. D 6) gives an elaborate description of the process. The view could claim the authority of St. Augustine (De Civitate Dei, Lib. xviii.). Godelmann (Tractatus de Magis, Veneficis, et Lamiis, Frankfort 1591) is perhaps the only one of the German 16th century writers—and in this respect may be bracketed with Scot and Montaigne—who gets distinctly beyond this notion; but see also Valrick Von den Zaüberern, Hexen, &c. (translated from the Dutch, Cologne, 1576); Erastus, Deux Dialogues (translated from the Latin, 1579), p. 776; and Scribonius, De Sagarun Naturâ (Marburg, 1588), p. 76. It was naturally in connection with the human organism that the idea of Satanic control survived longest. The devil’s power over the external world—shown, e.g., in raising tempests—was as completely believed in as his power over men, by the ablest writer of the Middle Ages; but on this question Professor Huxley does not stand further from St. Thomas Aquinas than did Wier (Op. cit., p. 264). This comparatively rational view of the transportations, transformations, {i-180} &c., was gradually adopted in the course of the 17th century even by the credulous writers;1 1 E.g., King James I., Dæmonologie (London, 1603), p. 40; Nynauld, Dela Lycanthropie (Paris, 1615), p. 20; Glanvil, Op. cit., p. 507. As to transportations, it remained a very favourite compromise that they were occasionally genuine, but as a rule illusory; see, for instance, the Corollaria to the Disputatio de Fascinatione, held at Coburg in 1764. For a proof that the possibility of a purely subjective hallucination had as little dawned on Glanvil in the 17th century as on Michael Psellus in the 11th, see Sadd. Triumph., p. 405; where the only alternative to supposing an apparition to have been “Edward Avon’s ghost” is to suppose it a “ludicrous dæmon.” D’Autun (L’Incrédulité Scavante, &c.), an author whose desire to be just to both sides gives him a sort of half-way position, still believes, in 1671, that the witch or the devil, and not the brain of the percipient, is responsible for hallucinations (pp. 65, 876). It is more remarkable that Hutchinson, an eminently sensible writer, who belonged to a later date, still seems to believe (Op. cit., p. 106) that the devil assumed the form of the delusive image. while the rational writers come to recognise more distinctly the influence of terror and excitement on weak minds, and hallucination begins to be regarded as a natural phenomenon.

    2 2 Bekker, De Betoverde Wereld (Leewarden, 1691), p. 247, in the German translation of 1781. Ady even recognises a case (Candle in the Dark, p. 65) where mere entraînement, impulsion apart from terror, was sufficient to produce a hallucination in an excitable “subject”—a boy who was employed to assist in calling up imps, by imitating the quacking of ducks, having so imposed on a minister that, even when shown the cheat, “he would not be persuaded but that he saw real ducks squirming about the room.” And throughout we meet with cases of sensory delusion which may with great probability be referred to hypnotic suggestion; being very similar to the effects which are produced in our day on the platform of professional “mesmerists.” I have mentioned De l’Ancre’s instance of the children supposed to have been taken to a “Sabbath.” Bodin (Op. cit., p. 138) describes how Trois-Eschelles made a circle of spectators mistake a breviary for a pack of cards; Boguet (Op. cit., p. 360) mentions the celebrated Escot de Parme as having been able to make persons see cards differently to what they really were, and mentions another case (Six Advis, p. 89) where a witch made a woman see rubbish as money; Remy and Del Rio describe similar feats performed by one Jean de Vaux. It is of course impossible to be sure that these were not mere conjuring feats; but Del Rio seems to have been awake to that hypothesis, and to have thought it quite untenable.

    As specimens of other effects which may fairly be accounted for as hypnotic, I may mention the following. Occasionally witches are said to have shown insensibility to torture; of which a self-induced trance {i-181} affords the readiest explanation.1 1 Wier, Op. cit., 482; Scot, Op. cit., p. 22, quoting Grillandus; Del Rio, Op. cit., Vol. ii., p. 66; Le Loyer, Livre des Spectres, chap. 12; Hexen-processe aus dem, 17en Jahrhundert (Hanover, 1862), p. 78. The phenomenon was much discussed as the “maleficium taciturnitatis.” The same has, of course, been recorded of religious martyrs, and has been ascribed to ecstasy; but we have no reason to suppose the mental and spiritual condition of the supposed witches to have been such as would make that term applicable; and it is difficult to see why merely hysterical anæsthesia should supervene at the critical moment. It is, however, probably to hysteria that we should attribute whatever of truth there may have been in the idea of the devil’s mark—the alleged insensibility of restricted areas of the body. (See Richet, Op. cit., p. 364.) There are occasional cases of inhibition, of a sort to which we have abundant modern parallels in connection with hypnotism, but none, as far as I am aware, except in that connection.2 2 A case in the Pathologia Dæmoniaca of J. Caspar Westphal (Leipzig, 1707), p. 48, which the author seems to have personally observed, closely resembles some of the cases given above in Chap. iii. The mere inhibition of utterance, either produced in the victim by the supposed persecutor’s presence (A Philosophical Endeavour in the Defence of the Being of Witches and Apparitions, London, 1668, p. 129), or by the idea of it (G. More, A True Discourse, &c., London, 1600, p. 20; Witchcraft further Displayed, London, 1712, p. 7); or in the witch herself when attempting to repeat the Lord’s Prayer (Glanvil, Op. cit., p. 377), may, of course, be sufficiently accounted for by hysteria or imagination. Remy (Op. cit., p. 221) gives an apparent example of the inability of the “subject” to drop an object which his controller insists on his holding. In Dr. Lamb Revived, or Witchcraft Condemned, (London, 1653), p. 20, a case of the production of hypnotic sleep is described by an eye-witness. The description in Glanvil (Op. cit., p. 342) of a “subject” who showed the well-known symptoms of muscular rigidity, and of rapport with a single person, is again strongly suggestive of hypnotic trance. The rapport, shown in exclusive sensitiveness to the witch’s touch or approach, reappears in Saint André’s Lettres au Sujet de la Magie (Paris, 1725), p. 213; and in The Tryal of Bridget Bishop at Salem in 1692;3 3 Mather, Wonders of the Invisible World (Boston, 1693), p. 106. where also the “subjects” are described as having displayed the phenomenon of imitation of the witch’s postures and gestures. The “subject’s” craving to get to the witch is another significant feature. (See above, p. 87, note.) We should probably have had a much larger amount of definite hypnotic evidence had such a thing as hypnotism been recognised at the time—observations made under the influence of wrong theories being naturally one-sided and defective.

    With respect to demoniacal possession, we find a progress of opinion to some extent parallel with that observed in the treatment of hallucinations; but the belief in the Satanic agency was here naturally more tenacious; and where the actual possession was doubted, the investigators often fell into the opposite error of concluding that the victims could have nothing the matter with them, and must be consciously shamming.4 4 See, for instance, Dr. Harsnet’s Discovery of the Fraudulent Practices of John Darrell, B.A. (London, 1599), and the controversy to which it gave rise. But of course, a certain number of cases were undoubtedly fraudulent; see The Disclosing of a Late Counterfeyted Possession, &c. (London, 1574.) It seems to have depended very much on accidental circumstances whether hysterical girls were pitied as victims or denounced as cheats. {i-182} Webster (Op. cit., p. 248) is, perhaps, the earliest English writer who insists on purely natural causes as sufficient to explain possession. As regards the whole question of the influence of the reputed witches on health, it is here probably that we should have had the most distinct indications of hypnotic agency had the idea of hypnotism been there to colligate the facts.1 1 On the beneficial effects of the supposed witch’s touch and strokings, see, for instance, the sensible Cotta, The Infallible, True and Assured Witch, (London, 1625), p. 138; Deodat Lawson, Further Account of the Trials of the New England Witches (London, 1693), p. 8; Lamberg, Criminal Verfahren (Nuremberg, 1835), p. 27; Miscellany of the Spalding Club (Aberdeen, 1841), Vol. i., pp. 92, 119. Even in the present century mesmeric cures have been attributed to the devil. (See Lecky, Op. cit., p. 109.) And much must, no doubt, be set down to the morbid craving for notoriety which is now one of the best known symptoms of hysteria. But as regards the larger number of the alleged phenomena, the rational inference—that the effects were due to imagination or fright—might, as we now see, have been drawn from the evidence of even the most credulous writers. Bodin, for instance, insists on the necessity of faith on the part of the sufferer,2 2 Cf. A Pleasant Treatise of Witches (London, 1673), p. 109; Remy, Op. cit., p. 348. and reports not a single case of curing where the witch was not actually present.3 3 Bodin has a firm belief that a witch could cause death by a word; but characteristically adduces no evidence. He is also persuaded that the disease which is removed from one person must be transferred to another—a view which he supports by a single supposed instance. His records, and those of many others, are precisely parallel to what our newspapers describe of the “mind-cures” in Boston and Bethshan, and might be accepted to-day without difficulty by orthodox medical opinion.4 4 See, for example, Prof. G. Buchanan’s paper on “Healing by Faith” in the Lancet, for 1885, Vol. i., p. 1117. Cf. Dell’ Osa, Op. cit., pp. 29, 30. Cases where there was rapid improvement in the victim’s health on the condemnation of the supposed witch come into the same category.

    5 5 See, for instance, Mackenzie, Op. cit., p. 50; and the account of Dorothy Durant’s restoration when the verdict was given against Amy Duny, in the Tryal of Witches at the Assizes held at Bury St. Edmunds, before Sir Matthew Male (London, 1682). Similarly in cases of injurious effects—we constantly hear that the sufferer had been touched, or at the very least fixedly looked at, by the supposed witch.6 6 Remy, Op. cit., p. 312; Del Rio, Op. cit., Vol. i., p. 34; De l’Ancre, L’Incrédulité et Méscréance du Sortilège (Paris, 1622), p. 108; Goldschmidt, Verworffener Hexen- und Zauber-Advocat (Hamburg, 1705), p. 454; Pitcairn, Op. cit., passim. Great stress was laid on the confession of the celebrated Gaufridi that he had breathed on his numerous victims.7 7 Michaelis, Histoire Admirable (Paris, 1613), Part II., p. 118; Calmet, Traité sur les Apparitions (Senones, 1759), Vol. i., pp.37, 138. See also Westphal, Op. cit., p. 48; and the history of Hartley, the kissing witch, in G. More’s True Discourse. And if we bear in mind the prevalent belief that the witch commanded the full powers of the devil, we need not refuse to connect the threats and angry words of unpopular old women with a certain proportion, at any rate, of the {i-183} illnesses which are so freely testified to as having soon after supervened.1 1 Mackenzie, Op. cit., p. 48; D’Autun, Op. cit., p. 480; Miscellany of the Spalding Club, Vol. i., pp. 84, 131, 144; Piteairn, Op. cit., passim. Wagstaffe (The Question of Witchcraft Debated, London, 1671) seems to be the first author who expressly recognises that, in questions of coincidence, allowance must be made for the operation of chance. It must also be borne in mind that the reputed witches possibly included in their ranks a fair sprinkling of the amateur medical practitioners of the time.2 2See P. Christian, Histoire de la Magie (Paris, 1870), p. 400; he gives quite an elaborate witches’ pharmacopæia. Cf. Sir A. C. Lyall, Asiatic Studies, p. 85. This is a feature of the witch-history which is more prominent in foreign than in English records. In Cannaert (Op. cit.) and Reuss (Op. cit.) constant mention is made of bewitched powders; and in the foreign trials generally, more stress is laid on poisoning than on anything else. Reuss is of opinion that the hallucinations were in many cases the result of drugs. At the same time we find that, among the credulous writers of the witch-epoch, a witch and a poisoner were often regarded as synonymous; and the stories of the powders may have rested on much the same evidence as those of the imps. As far as I know, no one ever deposed to having seen the drug administered.3 3 See Saint André, Op. cit., p. 285.

    The above slight sketch may serve to suggest that learned opinion on the question of witchcraft has a history of its own of a rather complex kind; and some recognition of this seems necessary to supplement the view of the decline of the belief so forcibly set forth by Mr. Lecky. As regards the place of witchcraft in the popular regard, the effect of the advancing spirit of rationalism was no doubt more unconscious and indiscriminate—undermining the superstition without exactly attacking it in detail; putting the whole subject, so to speak, out of court, not through a reasonable refutation of its claims, but through a general change of instinct and mood in respect of miraculous events. But professed students still felt it their business to analyse the phenomena, and exercised their minds on the various points in turn. And the consequence is that the works of the abler writers present us with a curious and gradually-shifting medley of à priori convictions and scientific reasonings and of beliefs and disbeliefs, often oddly inconsistent and oddly harmonised in the same mind. Binsfield, who firmly believes in the “Sabbaths,” draws the line at the dancing with Diana and Herodias; because as for Diana, there is no such person, and Herodias, though existing in hell, is a soul only and not a woman.4 4 Op. cit., p. 349. Boguet thinks that witches pursue and eat children, but that they are not really wolves. Majolus and Nynauld believe in transportations, but not in transformations. Wier pours scorn alike on lycanthropy and on the night-rides; but he has not the slightest doubt that the devil can transport people, and that he {i-184} does prevent his votaries from feeling torture.1 1 Op. cit., pp. 236, 238, 242. Cf. Cooper, Mystery of Witchcraft (London, 1617), p. 258. Neither he nor Cotta has grasped the idea that hysterical girls can play tricks, and produce from their mouths objects which they have previously placed there.2 2 A case where the fraud was exposed is given by Hutchinson, Op. cit., p. 283. Perkins considers that such effects as transformation, and injury by the mere power of the eye, quite transcend the devil’s range;3 3 A Discourse of the Damned Art of Witchcraft (Cambridge, 1608), pp. 33, 140. but this view in no way shakes his faith in the reality of magical powers. Méric Casaubon, though so far emancipated as to surmise that “supernatural” things may in time be explained, yet writes expressly to confute “the Sadducism of these times,” disapproves of Scot, and can say nothing harsher of Bodin and Remy than that they were “in some things perchance more credulous than I should be.”4 4 Of Credulity and Incredulity (title of the first edition, London, 1668), pp. 28, 147, 169. His impartiality is quite tantalising. Thus, as regards certain alleged cures, he presents us with four alternatives, quoted from Franciscus à Victoria, from which we may suit ourselves:—either the healers cheat; or they heal by the power of the devil; or by the grace of God; or by some specific natural gift. D’Autun, a writer who wholly repudiates the extremer marvels, and who is remarkable for his humanity, yet cannot resist the evidence of confession, which a modern writer regards with mingled scorn and indignation.5 5 Op. cit., p. 164. Even in the 18th century, Acxtelmeir, who does not lack sense, and who attributes the midnight revels to dream, yet cannot shake off the effect on his mind of the feeble stories about the persons found in the fields in the morning;6 6 Misanthropus Audax (Augsburg, 1710), pp. 32, 36. and a little earlier Wagstaffe, one of the most open-minded of all the writers on the subject—who expressly attributes much of the deception to “want of knowledge in the art of physic”—is yet convinced that there were genuine cases of wounding the witch at a distance by striking at her apparition.7 7 Op. cit., pp. 118, 114. Of the more bizarre ideas, this was perhaps the one that lingered longest among rational writers. The author of A Philosophical Endeavour, &c., p. 128, Clanvil (Op. cit., p. 34), and Mather (Op. cit., p. 106), have, of course, no doubt on the subject. A case in which fraud was afterwards discovered is given by Thacker, Essay on Demonology (Boston, 1831), p. 107. Bayle and La Bruyère, as Mr. Lecky has observed, held a similar uncertain position.

    For any wide historical analysis of the grounds of opinion and of certainty in the human mind, no literature could better repay detailed study than that which these brief citations illustrate. But enough has perhaps been said for my present purpose—which is merely to show that, if the gradual tendency of the great body of public opinion on the subject of witchcraft was to put aside evidential questions, and simply to {i-185} turn away from the phenomena as incredible and absurd, there was in the reflective and literary world a strong tendency to cling, wherever possible, to tradition and à priori conceptions, and for that purpose to press to the very utmost such items of evidence as were to be found. Had evidence and inference, necessarily and throughout, gone hand in hand, and had the abnormal occurrences all been of a piece—all of that bizarre and incredible kind which Mr. Lecky’s treatment too much implies—then critical as well as uncritical minds might have drifted away from them in the silent and indifferent way which he depicts. But many of the abnormalities were far too real and tangible to be thus drifted away from; and it often happened that these, through the wrong inferences to which they gave rise, lent a sort of unsound support to the more incredible and the worse-attested incidents. Thus, one author after another, in the gradual recession to the rational standpoint, draws and defends what, to us now, looks like an arbitrary line between fact and fable; but the effect of this more critical treatment was, on the whole, to keep in view the large mass of phenomena which science can still accept as fact, and some of which, indeed—notably those of hysteria, hystero-epilepsy, and hypnotism—are only now beginning to make their full importance felt. And thus the position taken up in the foregoing chapter is maintained. The part of the case for witchcraft which is now an exploded superstition had never, even in its own day, any real evidential foundation; while the part which had a real evidential foundation is now more firmly established than ever. It is with the former part that we would directly contrast, and with the latter that we might in some respects compare, our own evidential case for telepathy.

    {i-186}

    CHAPTER V.

    SPECIMENS OF THE VARIOUS TYPES OF SPONTANEOUS TELEPATHY.

    § 1. WE now come to the actual evidence for spontaneous telepathy. As has been explained, the proof is cumulative, and its strength can only be truly estimated by a patient study of a very large mass of testimony. But to wade through a number of the cases is far from an attractive task. They are very unexciting—monotonous amid all their variety—as different from the Mysteries of Udolpho as from the dignified reports of a learned society, and far more likely to provoke slumber in the course of perusal than to banish it afterwards. And for the convenience of those who desire neither to toil nor to sleep, it will be well to disregard logical arrangement, and to present at once a few preliminary samples. This chapter, therefore, will include a small batch of narratives which may serve as types of the different classes of telepathic phenomena, while further illustrating various important evidential points. At the present stage it will, no doubt, be open to anyone who accepts the facts in these cases as essentially correct to regard every one of the coincidences as accidental. The reasoning that will prevent this conclusion must still be taken on trust; it could not be given now without delaying the concrete illustrations till the reader would be weary of waiting for them. Nor would it be profitable at this place to enter fully into the principles of the classification, which can only be made clear in connection with the evidence. I will therefore sketch here the main headings, without comment, trusting to the further development of the work to justify the arrangement adopted.

    We find our most distinct line of classification in the nature of the percipient’s impression. This at once divides the cases into two great families—those (A) where the impression is sensory and externalised, and those (B) where it is not sensory or externalised. In the first division the experience is a percept or quasi-percept—something {i-187} which the person seems to see, hear, or feel, and which he instinctively refers to the outer world. In the second division, the impression is of an inward or ideal kind—either a mental image, or an emotion, or a mere blind impulse towards some sort of action. There is also a small group of cases (C) which it is not easy to assign to either division—those, namely, where the experience of the percipient is sensory, without being an external-seeming affection of sight, hearing, or touch—for instance, a physical feeling of illness or malaise. This small group will be most conveniently treated with the emotional division into which it shades. Further, each of these divisions is represented in sleeping as well as in waking life, so that dreams form a comprehensive class (D) of their own; and the externalised division is also strongly represented in a region of experience which is on the borderland (E) between complete sleep and complete normal wakefulness. Lastly, there are two peculiarities, attaching to certain cases in all or nearly all the above divisions, which are of sufficient importance to form the basis of two separate classes. The first of these is the reciprocal class (F), where each of the persons concerned seems to exercise a telepathic influence on the other; and the second is the collective class (G), where more percipients than one take part in a single telepathic incident.

    § 2. Now the logical starting-point for the following inquiry will naturally be found in the cases which present most analogy to the results of experimental thought-transference. All those results, it will be remembered, were of the non-externalised type. I shall therefore start with inward impressions, ideal and emotional, and shall advance, through dreams—where each of us has, so to speak, an outer as well as an inner world of his own—to the “borderland” and waking impressions which seem to fall on the senses in an objective way from the outer world that is common to us all.

    But though the impressions received by the percipient in the experimental cases had no external quality, a good many of them were distinctly sensory—one important branch being transference of pains. And if the parallel between experimental and spontaneous effects be a just one, we might fairly expect to find cases where a localised pain has been similarly transferred from one person to another at a distance. I will open this preliminary batch of narratives with just such a case, the simplest possible specimen of group C, and as pure an instance of transference of sensation, unattended by any idea {i-188} or image, as can well be conceived. The parties concerned are Mr. Arthur Severn, the distinguished landscape-painter, and his wife; and the narrative was obtained through the kindness of Mr. Ruskin.

    Mrs. Severn says:—

    “Brantwood, Coniston.

    “October 27th, 1883.

    (17) “I woke up with a start, feeling I had had a hard blow on my mouth, and with a distinct sense that I had been cut, and was bleeding under my upper lip, and seized my pocket-handkerchief, and held it (in a little pushed lump) to the part, as I sat up in bed, and after a few seconds, when I removed it, I was astonished not to see any blood, and only then realised it was impossible anything could have struck me there, as I lay fast asleep in bed, and so I thought it was only a dream!—but I looked at my watch, and saw it was seven, and finding Arthur (my husband) was not in the room, I concluded (rightly) that he must have gone out on the lake for an early sail, as it was so fine.

    “I then fell asleep. At breakfast (half-past nine), Arthur came in rather late, and I noticed he rather purposely sat farther away from me than usual, and every now and then put his pocket-handkerchief furtively up to his lip, in the very way I had done. I said, ‘Arthur, why are you doing that?’ and added a little anxiously, ‘I know you have hurt yourself! but I’ll tell you why afterwards.’ He said, ‘Well, when I was sailing, a sudden squall came, throwing the tiller suddenly round, and it struck me a bad blow in the mouth, under the upper lip, and it has been bleeding a good deal and won’t stop.’ I then said, ‘Have you any idea what o’clock it was when it happened?’ and he answered, ‘It must have been about seven.’

    “I then told what had happened to me, much to his surprise, and all who were with us at breakfast.

    “It happened here about three years ago at Brantwood, to me.

    “JOAN R. SEVERN.”

    In reply to inquiries Mrs. Severn writes:—

    “There was no doubt about my starting up in bed wide awake, as I stuffed my pocket-handkerchief into my mouth, and held it pressed under my upper lip for some time before removing it to ‘see the blood,’—and was much surprised that there was none. Some little time afterwards I fell asleep again. I believe that when I got up, an hour afterwards, the impression was still vividly in my mind, and that as I was dressing I did look under my lip to see if there was any mark.”

    Mr. Severn’s account, dated Nov. 15, 1883, is as follows:—

    “Early one summer morning, I got up intending to go and sail on the lake; whether my wife heard me going out of the room I don’t know; she probably did, and in a half-dreamy state knew where I was going.

    “When I got down to the water I found it calm, like a mirror, and remember thinking it quite a shame to disturb the wonderful reflections of the opposite shore. However, I soon got afloat, and as there was no wind, contented myself with pulling up my sails to dry, and putting my boat in order. Soon some slight air came, and I was able to sail about a mile below Brantwood, then the wind dropped, and I was left becalmed for {i-189} half-an-hour or so, when, on looking up to the head of the lake, I saw a dark blue line on the water. At first I couldn’t make it out, but soon saw that it must be small waves caused by a strong wind coming. I got my boat as ready as I could, in the short time, to receive this gust, but some how or other she was taken aback, and seemed to spin round when the wind struck her, and in getting out of the way of the boom I got my head in the way of the tiller, which also swung round and gave me a nasty blow in the mouth, cutting my lip rather badly, and having become loose in the rudder it came out and went overboard. With my mouth bleeding, the mainsheet more or less round my neck, and the tiller gone, and the boat in confusion, I could not help smiling to think how suddenly I had been humbled almost to a wreck, just when I thought I was going to be so clever! However, I soon managed to get my tiller, and, with plenty of wind, tacked back to Brantwood, and, making my boat snug in the harbour, walked up to the house, anxious of course to hide as much as possible what had happened to my mouth, and getting another handkerchief walked into the breakfast-room, and managed to say something about having been out early. In an instant my wife said, ‘You don’t mean to say you have hurt your mouth?’ or words to that effect. I then explained what had happened, and was surprised to see some extra interest on her face, and still more surprised when she told me she had started out of her sleep thinking she had received a blow in the mouth! and that it was a few minutes past seven o’clock, and wondered if my accident had happened at the same time; but as I had no watch with me I couldn’t tell, though, on comparing notes, it certainly looked as if it had been about the same time.

    “ARTHUR SEVERN.”

    Considering what a vivid thing pain often is, it might seem likely that this form of telepathy, if it exists, would be comparatively common, in comparison with the more ideal or intellectual forms which are connected with the higher senses. This, however, is not so. It is conceivable, of course, that instances occur which go unnoticed. For, apart from injury, even a sharp pain is soon forgotten; and unless the copy reproduced the original with excruciating fidelity, a sudden pang might be referred to some ordinary cause, and the coincidence would never be noted. We, however, can only go by what is noted. I mentioned that even in experimental trials the phenomenon has been little observed except with hypnotised “subjects”; and on the evidence we must allow its spontaneous appearance to be even rarer. The stock instance is that of the brothers, Louis and Charles Blanc, the latter of whom professed to have experienced a strong physical shock at the time that his brother was felled in the streets of Paris by (as was supposed) some Bonapartist bully.11I received this version of the incident from Mrs. Crawford, of 60, Boulevard de Courcelles, Paris, to whom Louis Blanc narrated it in 1871, in a long and intimate tête-à-tête. Charles made his appearance in Paris, unexpectedly, some days after the event alleging as the reason of his visit the anxiety which the shock had caused him; and his brother at any rate, who knew him thoroughly, accepted this as the true reason. The case affords an interesting instance of the transformations which a story that becomes at all celebrated is almost sure to undergo. See, e.g., A Memoir of G. Mayne Young (1871), pp. 341–2, where the injury is localised as a stab in the arm, and the parts of the brothers are inverted. The lady who gave the account to the subject of the memoir professed to have heard it from Louis Blanc, at Dr. Ashburner’s dinner-table; and also to have been shown the scar on Charles Blane’s arm after dinner! A parallel case—where the absent husband was struck by a ball in the forehead, and the wife felt the wound—is recorded by Borel, Historiarum et Observationum Medicophysicarum Centuriœ [sic] iv. (Paris, 1656), Cent. ii., obs. 47; but only on the authority of “persons worthy of credit.” This is the earliest record that I can recall of a non-externalised telepathic impression of at all a definite sort. But this is a third-hand story at best; and the above is our {i-190} only first-hand instance where the pain was of an unusual kind, and was very exactly localised. It is specially for cases of this sort—most interesting to science, but with neither pathos nor dignity to keep them alive—that the chance of preservation will, we trust, be improved by the existence of a classified collection, where they may at once find their proper place.

    What has been said of pains applies, mutatis mutandis, with due alteration of details to all affections of the lower senses. In the first place, it is the exception and not the rule for the spontaneous transferences to reproduce in the percipient the exact sensation of the agent (p. 111); and, in the second place, such reproduction (or at any rate the evidence for it) seems almost wholly confined to the higher senses of sight and hearing. Thus, though we found that transference of tastes had been a very successful branch of the experimental work, we have no precisely analogous record in the spontaneous class. The nearest approach is a case which concerned the sense of smell, but where there was no direct transference of sensation as such. The case is, however, worth quoting here on another ground, as illustrating one of the evidential points of the last chapter—namely, that the strength of any evidence, in the sense of the assurance which it produces that the facts are correctly reported, is a very different thing from its strength as a contribution to the proof of telepathy. Thus, no one probably will care to dispute the facts in the following narrative; but the coincidence recorded is little, if at all, more striking than most of us occasionally encounter; and recourse to the telepathic explanation can only be justified by our knowledge that the two persons concerned have, on other occasions, given very much more conclusive signs of their power of super-sensuous communication.11 See pp. 63–9. Mr. Newnham has further told us that coincidences of thought of a more or less striking kind occur to himself and his wife as matters of daily experience. But to differentiate these from the numerous domestic cases which pure accident will account for (Chap. vi, § 1), a written record would have to be accurately kept from day to day. The Rev. P. H. Newnham, of Maker Vicarage, Devonport, writes to us:—

    {i-191}

    “January 26th, 1885.

    (18) “In March, 1861, I was living at Houghton, Hants. My wife was at the time confined to the house, by delicacy of the lungs. One day, walking through a lane, I found the first wild violets of the spring, and took them home to her.

    “Early in April I was attacked with a dangerous illness; and in June left the place. I never told my wife exactly where I found the violets, nor, for the reasons explained, did I ever walk with her past the place where they grew, for many years.

    “In November, 1873, we were staying with friends at Houghton; and myself and wife took a walk up the lane in question. As we passed by the place, the recollection of those early violets of 12½ years ago flashed upon my mind. At the usual interval of some 20 or 30 seconds my wife remarked, ‘It’s very curious, but if it were not impossible, I should declare that I could smell violets in the hedge.’

    “I had not spoken, or made any gesture or movement of any kind, to imdicate [sic] what I was thinking of. Neither had my memory called up the perfume. All that I thought of was the exact locality on the hedge bank; my memory being exceedingly minute for locality.”

    Mr. Newnham’s residence at Houghton lasted only a few months, and with the help of a diary he can account for nearly every day’s walking and work. “My impression is,” he says, “that this was the first and only time that I explored this particular ‘drive’; and I feel certain that Mrs. Newnham never saw the spot at all until November, 1873. The hedges had then been grubbed, and no violets grew there.”

    The following is Mrs. Newnham’s account:—

    “May 28th, 1885.

    “I perfectly remember our walking one day in November, 1873, at Houghton, and suddenly finding so strong a scent of violets in the air that I remarked to my husband, ‘If it were not so utterly impossible, I should declare I smelt violets!’ Mr. Newnham then reminded me of his bringing me the first violets in the spring of 1861, and told me that this was just about the spot where he had found them. I had quite forgotten the circumstance till thus reminded.”

    § 3. We may now pass to illustrations of Class B—the class of ideal and emotional impressions. The following is a well-attested case of the transference of an idea. It was sent to us, in 1884, by our friend, the Rev. J. A. Macdonald, who wrote:—

    “19, Heywood Street, Cheetham, Manchester.

    (19) “When I was in Liverpool, in 1872, I heard from my friend, the late Rev. W. W. Stamp, D.D., a remarkable story of the faculty of second sight possessed by the Rev. John Drake, of Arbroath, in Scotland. I visited Arbroath in 1874, and recounted to Mr. Drake the story of Dr. Stamp, which Mr. Drake assented to as correct, and he called his faculty ‘clairvoyance.’ Subsequently, in 1881, I had the facts particularly verified by Mrs. Hutcheon, who was herself the subject of this clairvoyance of Mr. Drake.

    {i-192}

    “When the Rev. John Drake was minister of the Wesleyan Church at Aberdeen, Miss Jessie Wilson, the daughter of one of the principal lay office bearers in that church, sailed for India, to join the Rev. John Hutcheon, M.A., then stationed as a missionary at Bangalore, to whom she was under engagement to be married. Mr. Drake, one morning, came down to Mr. Wilson’s place of business and said, ‘Mr. Wilson, I am happy to be able to inform you that Jessie has had a pleasant voyage, and is now safely arrived in India.’ Mr. Wilson said, ‘How do you know that, Mr. Drake?’ to which Mr. Drake replied, ‘I saw it.’ ‘But,’ said Mr. Wilson, ‘it cannot be, for it is a fortnight too soon. The vessel has never made the voyage within a fortnight of the time it is now since Jessie sailed.’ To this Mr. Drake replied: ‘Now you jot it down in your book that John Drake called this morning, and told you that Jessie has arrived in India this morning after a pleasant voyage.’ Mr. Wilson accordingly made the entry, which Mrs. Hutcheon assures me she saw, when she returned home, and that it ran thus: ‘Mr. Drake. Jessie arrived India morning of June 5th, 1860.’ This turned out to have been literally the case. The ship had fair winds all the way, and made a quicker passage by a fortnight than ever she had made before.”

    The above account was sent by Mr. Macdonald to Mr. Drake for verification, and the following reply was received from the Rev. Crawshaw Hargreaves, of the Wesleyan Manse, Arbroath:—

    “April 29th, 1885.

    “MY DEAR SIR,—Mr. Drake is sorry your communication of the 2nd inst. has been so long unanswered; but two days after receiving it he had a paralytic seizure, which has not only confined him to bed, but taken from him the use of one side.

    “He now desires me to answer your inquiries, and to say that the account, which you enclosed and which he now returns to you, is correct, except that he has no recollection of ever calling it ‘clairvoyance.’ It was neither a ‘dream,’ nor a ‘vision,’ but an impression that he received between the hours of 8 and 10 in the morning, when his mind was as clear as ever it was, an impression which he believes was given him by God for the comfort of the family. Moreover this impression was so clear and satisfactory to himself that when Mr. Wilson said, ‘It cannot be,’ Mr. Drake replied, ‘You jot it down,’ as warmly as if his statement of any ordinary circumstances had been doubted by a friend.

    “Mr. Drake hopes these particulars will be enough for your purpose.—Believe me, dear sir, yours very truly,

    “C. HARGREAVES

    The following is Mrs. Hutcheon’s account of the incident, given quite independently:—

    “Weston-super-Mare.

    “February 20th, 1885.

    “The facts are simply these. I sailed for India on March 3rd, 1860, in the ‘Earl of Hardwicke,’ a good, but slow, sailing-vessel. About 16 weeks were usually allowed for the voyage, so that we were not due in Madras till about the middle of June. Our voyage, however, being an uncommonly rapid one, we cast anchor in the roads of Madras on the morning of June 5th, taking our friends there quite by surprise.

    {i-193}

    “On this same morning, my former pastor, an able and much esteemed Wesleyan minister, called on my father at an unusually early hour, when the following conversation passed:—

    “‘Why, Mr. D., what takes you abroad at this early hour?’

    “‘I have come to bring you good news, Mr. W. Your daughter Jessie has reached India this morning, safe and well.‘

    “‘That would indeed be good news, if we could believe it; but you forget that the ship is not due at Madras before the middle of June. Besides, how could you get to know that?’

    “‘Such, however, is the fact,’ replied Mr. D., and seeing my father’s incredulous look, he added: ‘You do not believe what I say, Mr. W., but just take a note of this date.’

    “To satisfy him, my father wrote in his memo book: ‘Rev. J. D. and Jessie. Tuesday, 5th June, 1860.’

    “In due time, tidings confirming Mr. D.’s statement arrived, greatly to the astonishment of my friends. He, however, manifested no surprise, but simply remarked, ‘Had I not known it for a fact, I certainly should not have told you of it.’

    “These particulars I received by letter at the time, and on our return home 7 years later, we heard it from my father’s own lips. He is no longer with us, but the above are the plain facts as he gave them, and the little memo, in his handwriting, which he gave me as a curiosity, lies before me now.

    “JESSIE HUTCHEON.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Hutcheon adds:—

    “March 23rd.

    “I felt inclined to smile at the idea that I could possibly be mistaken as to a date so memorable in my life’s history, and immediately preceding my marriage. However, to render assurance doubly sure, I have referred to both my husband’s diary and my own, in each of which my landing in India on the 5th of June has an important place.

    “The entry made by my husband is as follows: ‘N.B.—5th June, 1860; a memorable day! The ‘Hardwicke’ has arrived. What a quick voyage! Miss Wilson and mission party well.’”

    [Mr. Macdonald tells us that he believes Mr. Drake had many such experiences, but that he found him so reticent that he despaired of getting an account of them from him. And Mr. Drake’s death has now made the attempt impossible.]

    As regards the facts here, the narrative will probably be accepted as trustworthy. As regards the inference that may be drawn, the case is eminently of a sort where the character of the professing percipient (in other points than the mere desire to be truthful) ought to be taken into account. From a person “given to little surprises,” or who posed as a diviner if one out of a hundred guesses hit the mark, the evidence would deserve no attention; from a person of grave and reticent character, it is at any rate worthy of careful record.

    In the last example, the idea apparently transferred was of a somewhat abstract kind—the impression of a mere event, without any {i-194} concrete imagery. But the ideal class includes many instances of a distinctly pictorial kind, where a scene is as clearly presented to the inward eye as the image of a card or diagram in some of our experimental cases. The following account of a vivid mental picture of this sort was received from Mrs. Bettany, of 2, Eckington Villas, Ashbourne Grove, Dulwich.

    “November, 1884.

    (20) “When I was a child I had many remarkable experiences of a psychical nature, which I remember to have looked upon as ordinary and natural at the time.

    “On one occasion (I am unable to fix the date, but I must have been about 10 years old) I was walking in a country lane at A., the place where my parents then resided. I was reading geometry as I walked along, a subject little likely to produce fancies or morbid phenomena of any kind, when, in a moment, I saw a bedroom known as the White Room in my home, and upon the floor lay my mother, to all appearance dead. The vision must have remained some minutes, during which time my real surroundings appeared to pale and die out; but as the vision faded, actual surroundings came back, at first dimly, and then clearly.

    “I could not doubt that what I had seen was real, so, instead of going home, I went at once to the house of our medical man and found him at home. He at once set out with me for my home, on the way putting questions I could not answer, as my mother was to all appearance well when I left home.

    “I led the doctor straight to the White Room, where we found my mother actually lying as in my vision. This was true even to minute details. She had been seized suddenly by an attack at the heart, and would soon have breathed her last but for the doctor’s timely advent. I shall get my father and mother to read this and sign it.

    “JEANIE GWYNNE-BETTANY.”

    Mrs. Bettany’s parents write:—

    “We certify that the above is correct.

    “S. G. GWYNNE.

    “J. W. GWYNNE.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Bettany says:—

    (1) “I was in no anxiety about my mother at the time I saw the vision I described. She was in her usual health when I left her.

    (2) “Something a little similar had once occurred to my mother. She had been out riding alone, and the horse brought her to our door hanging half off his back, in a faint. This was a long time before, and she never rode again. Heart-disease had set in. She was not in the habit of fainting unless an attack of the heart was upon her. Between the attacks she looked and acted as if in health.

    (3) “The occasion I described was, I believe, the only one on which I saw a scene transported apparently into the actual field of vision, to the exclusion of objects and surroundings actually present.

    “I have had other visions in which I have seen events happening as they really were, in another place, but I have been also conscious of real surroundings.

    {i-195}

    In answer to further inquiries, she adds:—

    (1) “No one could tell whether my vision preceded the fact or not. My mother was supposed to be out. No one knew anything of my mother’s being ill, till I took the doctor and my father, whom I had encountered at the door, to the room where we found my mother as I had seen her in my vision.

    (2) “The doctor is dead. He has no living relation. No one in A. knew anything of these circumstances.

    (3) “The White Room in which I saw my mother, and afterwards actually found her, was out of use. It was unlikely she should be there.

    “She was found lying in the attitude in which I had seen her. I found a handkerchief with a lace border beside her on the floor. This I had distinctly noticed in my vision. There were other particulars of coincidence which I cannot put here.”

    Mrs. Bettany’s father has given the following fuller account:—

    “I distinctly remember being surprised by seeing my daughter, in company with the family doctor, outside the door of my residence; and I asked ‘Who is ill?’ She replied, ‘Mamma.’ She led the way at once to the ‘White Room,’ where we found my wife lying in a swoon on the floor. It was when I asked when she had been taken ill, that I found it must have been after my daughter had left the house. None of the servants in the house knew anything of the sudden illness, which our doctor assured me would have been fatal had he not arrived when he did.

    “My wife was quite well when I left her in the morning.

    “S. G. GWYNNE.”

    If this vision suggests clairvoyance, owing to the amount of detail presented, we must still notice that it includes nothing which was not, or had not recently been, within the consciousness of the supposed agent. This point will claim further notice at a later stage. But the case is chiefly useful as illustrating an evidential point, which it will be very important to bear in mind in studying the mass of narratives in the sequel—namely, that possible inaccuracy as to details may leave the substantial fact which makes for telepathy quite untouched. It might, no doubt be fairly urged that the vision described may have assumed its distinctness of detail in the percipient’s mind only after the details of the actual scene had met her eyes. A child’s mind might easily be undiscriminating in this respect; and moreover Mrs. Bettany is by nature a good visualiser; which may perhaps be supposed to involve a slight tendency to retrospective hallucination—to mistaking vividly-conceived images for memories of actual experiences. But even if this hypothesis be pressed to the uttermost, the fact that she unexpectedly fetched the doctor remains; and if her whole impression of her mother’s critical condition was only a subsequent fancy, this very exceptional {i-196} step must have been taken without a reason. That is to say, we can only reject what is the substantial part of the evidence by supposing a distinctly improbable thing to have happened. And that being so, the evidence is a true stick in the telepathic faggot (p. 169).

    I will supplement these two last cases by a third, in which their respective points, the abstract idea of an event and the concrete picture of a scene, were both presented. This case will also illustrate an evidential point. It occasionally happens that a number of occurrences, perhaps trivial in character, and each of them likely enough to be dismissed as merely a very odd coincidence, fall to the experience of one person; and if he is observant of his impressions, he may gradually become conscious of a certain similarity between them, which leads him to regard them as telepathic, or at any rate as something more than accidental. Before it can be worth while to consider such evidence, we must have reason to believe that the witness is a good observer, and alive to the very general mistake of noting hits and not misses in these matters. Such an observer we believe that we have found in Mr. Keulemans, of 34, Matilda Street, Barnsbury, N., a well-known scientific draughtsman, of whose care and accuracy we have had several examples. He has experienced so many of these coincidences that, even before our inquiries quickened his interest in the matter, he had been accustomed to keep a record of his impressions—which, according to his own account, were invariably justified by fact. Some more of his cases will be given in the sequel. The one here quoted is trivial enough (except perhaps to the baby who fell out of bed), and of little force if it were a single experience. Yet it will be seen that the impression was precise in character, was at once written down, and proved to be completely correct. We may perhaps assume Mrs. Keulemans to have been the agent.

    “October 16th, 1883.

    (21) “My wife went to reside at the seaside on September 30th last, taking with her our youngest child, a little boy 13 months old.

    “On Wednesday, October 3rd, I felt a strong impression that the little fellow was worse (he was in weak health on his departure). The idea then prevailed on my mind that he had met with a slight accident; and immediately the picture of the bedroom in which he sleeps appeared in my mind’s eye. It was not the strong sensation of awe or sorrow, as I had often experienced before on such occasions; but, anyhow, I fancied he had fallen out of the bed, upon chairs, and then rolled down upon the floor. This was about 11 a.m., and I at once wrote to my wife, asking her to let me know how the little fellow was getting on. I thought it rather bold to tell my wife that the baby had, to my conviction, really met with an {i-197} accident, without being able to produce any confirmatory evidence. Also I considered that she would take it as an insinuation of carelessness on her part; therefore I purposely wrote it as a post scriptum.

    “I heard no more about it, and even fancied that this time my impression was merely the consequence of anxiety. But on Saturday last I went to see my wife and child, and asked whether she had taken notice of my advice to protect the baby against such an accident. She smiled at first, and then informed me that he had tumbled out of bed upon the chairs placed at the side, and then found his way upon the floor, without being hurt. She further remarked, ‘You must have been thinking of that when it was just too late, because it happened the same day your letter came, some hours previously.’ I asked her what time of the day it happened. Answer: ‘About 11 a.m.’ She told me that she heard the baby fall, and at once ran upstairs to pick him up.

    “I am certain, without the shadow of a doubt, that I wrote immediately after the impression; and that this was between 11 and 11.30 in the morning.”

    I have seen the letter which Mr. Keulemans wrote to his wife. The envelope bears the post-mark of Worthing, October 3rd; and the postcript contained the following words:—

    “Mind little Gaston does not fall out of bed. Put chairs in front of it. You know accidents soon happen. The fact is, I am almost certain he has met with such a mishap this very morning.”

    Mrs. Keulemans’ aunt supplied the following testimony a day or two after Mr. Keulemans’ letter of October 16th.

    “36, Teville Street, Worthing.

    “Mrs. Keulemans (my niece) and her baby are staying at my house. The baby had fallen out of bed the morning of the day the letter [i.e., Mr. Keulemans’ letter] was received.

    “C. GRAY

    The next account illustrates an emotional impression, with a certain amount of physical discomfort. The experience appears to have been of a very unusual sort, and the coincidence of time to have been exact; the case is therefore a strong example of a weak class. The narrator is Miss Martyn, of Long Melford Rectory, Suffolk.

    “September 4th, 1884.

    (22) “On March 16th, 1884, I was sitting alone in the drawing-room, reading an interesting book, and feeling perfectly well, when suddenly I experienced an undefined feeling of dread and horror; I looked at the clock and saw it was just 7 p.m. I was utterly unable to read, so I got up and walked about the room trying to throw off the feeling, but I could not: I became quite cold, and had a firm presentiment that I was dying.11 Cf. cases 70 and 76. The feeling lasted about half-an-hour, and then passed off, leaving me a good deal shaken all the evening; I went to bed feeling very weak, as if I had been seriously ill.

    “The next morning I received a telegram telling me of the death of a near and very dear cousin, Mrs. K., in Shropshire, with whom I had been {i-198} most intimately associated all my life, but for the last two years had seen very little of her. I did not associate this feeling of death with her or with anyone else, but I had a most distinct impression that something terrible was happening. This feeling came over me, I afterwards found. [sic] just at the time when my cousin died (7 p.m.). The connection with her death may have been simply an accident. I have never experienced anything of the sort before. I was not aware that Mrs. K. was ill, and her death was peculiarly sad and sudden.

    “K. M.”

    Mr. White Cooper, through whose kindness we obtained this account, writes as follows:—

    “19, Berkeley Square, W.

    “April 7th, 1885.

    “I have asked Miss Martyn whether she had told anyone about her feeling of horror on March 16th, before she heard of the death of her cousin. She told me she had. She was quite convinced, and perfectly remembered telling Miss Mason the same evening, after Miss Mason had come from church, that she had had a peculiar feeling of horror and dread for which she could give no account. I then questioned Miss Mason, and enclose what she dictated.”

    Miss Mason says:—

    “The Rectory, Long Melford, Suffolk.

    “April 5th, 1885.

    “I well remember Miss Martyn telling me that a feeling of horror and an indescribable dread came over her on Sunday evening, March 16th, 1884, while we were in church, and she was alone in the drawing-room; that she was unable to shake it off, and felt very restless, and got up and walked about the room. She did not refer to anyone, and could give no cause for this peculiar feeling. I am under the impression that she told me the same evening (Sunday), and before she heard of the death of her cousin, bnt I am not certain whether it was Sunday or Monday that she told me about it.

    “ANNA M. MASON.”

    We have verified the date of the death in two local newspapers. The day was a Sunday, which is in accordance with the evidence.

    § 4. The next case illustrates the class of dreams (D). I am aware that the very mention of this class is apt to raise a prejudice against our whole inquiry. I shall explain later why it is extremely difficult to draw conclusive evidence of telepathy from dreams, and why we mark off the whole class of dreams, which are simply remembered as such, from the cases on which we rest our argument; but I shall also hope to show that dreams, though needing to be treated with the greatest caution, have a necessary and instructive place in the conspectus of telepathic phenomena. As to the evidential force of the present case, it will be enough to point out that the percipient states the experience to have been unique in his life; and that the violence of the effect produced, leading to the very unusual entry in the diary, puts the vision outside the common run of dreams which {i-199} may justly be held to afford almost limitless scope for accidental coincidences. The narrative is from Mr. Frederick Wingfield, of Belle Isle en Terre, Côtes du Nord, France.

    “20th December, 1883.

    (23) “I give you my most solemn assurance that what I am about to relate is the exact account of what occurred. I may remark that I am so little liable to the imputation of being easily impressed with a sense of the supernatural11 This expression cannot be excluded, when the words of our informants are quoted. We, ourselves, of course, regard all these occurrences as strictly natural. that I have been accused, and with reason, of being unduly sceptical upon matters which lay beyond my powers of explanation.

    “On the night of Thursday, the 25th of March, 1880, I retired to bed after reading till late, as is my habit. I dreamed that I was lying on my sofa reading, when, on looking up, I saw distinctly the figure of my brother, Richard Wingfield-Baker, sitting on the chair before me. I dreamed that I spoke to him, but that he simply bent his head in reply, rose and left the room. When I awoke, I found myself standing with one foot on the ground by my bedside, and the other on the bed, trying to speak and to pronounce my brother’s name. So strong was the impression as to the reality of his presence and so vivid the whole scene as dreamt, that I left my bedroom to search for my brother in the sitting-room. I examined the chair where I had seen him seated, I returned to bed, tried to fall asleep in the hope of a repetition of the appearance, but my mind was too excited, too painfully disturbed, as I recalled what I had dreamed. I must have, however, fallen asleep towards the morning, but when I awoke, the impression of my dream was as vivid as ever—and I may add is to this very hour equally strong and clear. My sense of impending evil was so strong that I at once made a note in my memorandum book of this ‘appearance,’ and added the words, ‘God forbid.’

    “Three days afterwards I received the news that my brother, Richard Wingfield-Baker, had died on Thursday evening, the 25th of March, 1880, at 8.30 p.m., from the effects of the terrible injuries received in a fall while hunting with the Blackmore Vale hounds.

    “I will only add that I had been living in this town some 12 months; that I had not had any recent communication with my brother; that I knew him to be in good health, and that he was a perfect horseman. I did not at once communicate this dream to any intimate friend—there was unluckily none here at that very moment—but I did relate the story after the receipt of the news of my brother’s death, and showed the entry in my memorandum book. As evidence, of course, this is worthless; but I give you my word of honour that the circumstances I have related are the positive truth.

    “FRED. WINGFIELD.”

    “February 4th, 1884.

    “I must explain my silence by the excuse that I could not procure till to-day a letter from my friend the Prince de Lucinge-Faucigny, in which he mentions the fact of my having related to him the particulars of my dream on the 25th of March, 1880. He came from Paris to stay a few {i-200} days with me early in April, and saw the entry in my note-book, which I now enclose for your inspection. You will observe the initials R. B. W. B., and a curious story is attached to these letters. During that sleepless night I naturally dwelt upon the incident, and recalled the circumstances connected with the apparition. Though I distinctly recognised my brother’s features, the idea flashed upon me that the figure bore some slight resemblance to my most intimate and valued friend, Colonel Bigge, and in my dread of impending evil to one to whom I am so much attached, I wrote the four initials, R. B. for Richard Baker, and W. B. for William Bigge. When the tidings of my brother’s death reached me I again looked at the entry, and saw with astonishment that the four letters stood for my brother’s full name, Richard Baker

    Wingfield-Baker, though I had always spoken of him as Richard Baker in common with the rest of my family. The figure I saw was that of my brother; and in my anxious state of mind I worried myself into the belief that possibly it might be that of my old friend, as a resemblance did exist in the fashion of their beards. I can give you no further explanations, nor can I produce further testimony in support of my assertions.

    “FRED. WINGFIELD.”

    With this letter, Mr. Wingfield sent me the note-book, in which, among a number of business memoranda, notes of books, &c., I find the entry—‘Appearance—Thursday night, 25th of March, 1880. R. B. W. B. God forbid!”

    The following letter was enclosed:—

    “Coat-an-nos, 2 février, 1884.

    “Mon cher ami,—Je n’ai aucun effort de mémoire à faire pour me rappeler le fait dont vous me parlez, car j’en ai conservé un souvenir très net et tres précis. [Translation]"My dear friend, It costs me no effort to recall to memory the event you mention, for I still have a very clear and precise remembrance of it.

    “Je me souviens parfaitement que le dimanche, 4 avril, 1880, étant arrivé de Paris le matin même pour passer ici quelques jours, j’ai été déjeûner avec vous. Je me souviens aussi parfaitement que je vous ai trouvé fort ému de la douloureuse nouvelle qui vous était parvenue quelques jours11 The words “quelques jours auparavant,” coupled with the fact that the number of the day is right, suggest that février is a mere slip of the pen for mars. [This and the following superscript refer to the same footnote. —Ed.] auparavant, de la mort de I’un des messieurs vos frères. Je me rappelle aussi comme si le fait s’était passé hier, tant j’en ai été frappé, que quelques jours avant d’apprendre la triste nouvelle, vous aviez un soir, étant déjà couché, vu, ou cru voir, mais en tous cas très distinctement, votre frère, celui dont vous veniez d’apprendre la mort subite, tout près de votre lit, et que, dans la conviction où vous ètiez que céetait bien lui que vous perceviez, vous vous étiez levé et lui aviez addressé la parole, et qu’à ce moment vous aviez cessé de le voir comme s’il s’était évanoui ainsi qu’un spectre. Je me souviens encore que, sous l’impression de l’émotion bien naturelle qui avait été la suite de cet évènement, vous l’aviez inscrit dans un petit carnet où vous avez l’habitude d’écrire les faits saillants de votre très paisible existence, et que vous m’avez fait voir ce carnet. Cette apparition, cette vision, ou ce songe, comme vous voudrez l’appeler, est inscrit, si j’ai bon souvenir, à la date du 24 ou du 25 février,11 The words “quelques jours auparavant,” coupled with the fact that the number of the day is right, suggest that février is a mere slip of the pen for mars. [This and the preceding superscript refer to the same footnote. —Ed.] et ce n’est que deux ou trois {i-201} jours après que vous avez reçu la nouvelle officielle de la mort de votre frère. [Translation]I remember perfectly that on Sunday, April 4, 1880, having arrived from Paris that same morning in order to spend a few days here, I went to lunch with you. I also remember perfectly that I found you deeply affected by the painful news you had received some days earlier of the death of one of your brothers. Because I was so struck by it, I also remember, as though it were yesterday, that after having gone to bed one evening several days before hearing that sad news, you saw distinctly, or thought you saw, the brother whose sudden death you had learned of, right by your bed. You were convinced it was indeed he you were seeing, and so you got up and spoke to him. At that moment you could no longer see him; it was as though he had vanished like a ghost. I also remember that, while under the quite natural emotional effects of this incident, you wrote it down in a small notebook in which you had the habit of writing down the major facts of your very quiet existence, and I remember your showing it to me. If memory serves, this apparition, or vision, or dream, however you wish to call it, was registered under February 24 or 25, and it was only two or three days later that you received formal notice of the death of your brother.

    “J’ai été d’autant moins surpris de ce que vous me disiez alors, et j’en ai aussi conservé un souvenir d’autant plus net et précis, comme je vous le disais en commençant, que j’ai dans ma famille des faits similaires auxquels je crois absolument. [Translation]My surprise at what you told me then was all the less, and my memory all the clearer and more precise, as I told you at the outset, for my having in my own family similar phenomena, in which I believe absolutely.

    “Des faits semblables arrivent, croyez-le bien, bien plus souvent qu’on ne le croit généralement; seulement on ne veut pas toujours les dire, parceque l’on se méfie de soi ou des autres. [Translation]Believe, me, this sort of thing happens much more often than is generally thought, but people don't always want to let on, out of mistrust, either of oneself, or of others.

    “Au revoir, cher ami, à bientôt, je l’espère, et croyez bien à l’expression des plus sincères sentiments de votre tout devoué [Translation]Farewell, dear friend; I hope to see you soon, and I remain yours sincerely . . .

    “FAUCIGNY, PRINCE LUCINGE.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Wingfield adds:—

    “I have never had any other startling dream of the same nature, nor any dream from which I woke with the same sense of reality and distress, and of which the effect continued long after I was well awake. Nor have I upon any other occasion had a hallucination of the senses.”

    The Times obituary for March 30th, 1880, records the death of Mr. R. B. Wingfield-Baker, of Orsett Hall, Essex, as having taken place on the 25th. The Essex Independent gives the same date, adding that Mr. Baker breathed his last about 9 o’clock.

    It will be seen here that the impression followed the death by a few hours—a feature which will frequently recur. The fact, of course, slightly detracts from the evidential force of a case, as compared with the completely simultaneous coincidences; inasmuch as the odds against the accidental occurrence of a unique impression of someone’s presence within a few hours of his death, enormous as they are, are less enormous than the odds against a similar accidental occurrence within five minutes of the death. But the deferment of the impression, though to this slight extent affecting a case as an item of telepathic evidence, is not in itself any obstacle to the telepathic explanation. We may recall that in some of the experimental cases the impression was never a piece of conscious experience at all; while in others the latency and gradual emergence of the idea was a very noticeable feature (pp. 56, 63–71, 84). This justifies us in presuming that an impression which ultimately takes a sensory form may fail in the first instance to reach the threshold of attention. It may be unable to compete, at the moment, with the vivid sensory impressions, and the crowd of ideas and images, that belong to normal seasons of waking life; and it may thus remain latent till darkness and quiet give a chance for its development. This view seems at any rate supported by the fact that it is usually at night that the delayed impression—if such it be—emerges into the percipient’s consciousness. It is {i-202} supported also by analogies which recognised psychology supplies. I may refer to the extraordinary exaltation of memory sometimes observed in hypnotic and hystero-epileptic “subjects”; or even to the vivid revival, in ordinary dreaming, of impressions which have hardly affected the waking consciousness.

    Mr. Wingfield’s vision had another unusual feature besides the violence of its effect on him. It represented a single figure, without detail or incident. It was, so to speak, the dream of an apparition; and in this respect bears a closer affinity to “borderland” and waking cases than to dreams in general. It will be worth while to quote here one dream-case of a more ordinary type so far as its content is concerned, but resembling the last in its unusual and distressing vividness. The supposed agent in this instance experienced nothing more than a brief sense of danger and excitement, which, however, may have been sufficiently intense during the moments that it lasted. The account is from Mrs. West, of Hildegarde, Furness Road, Eastbourne.

    “1883.

    (24) “My father and brother were on a journey during the winter. I was expecting them home, without knowing the exact day of their return. The date, to the best of my recollection, was the winter of 1871–2. I had gone to bed at my usual time, about 11 p.m. Some time in the night I had a vivid dream, which made a great impression on me. I dreamt I was looking out of a window, when I saw father driving in a Spids sledge, followed in another by my brother. They had to pass a cross-road, on which another traveller was driving very fast, also in a sledge with one horse. Father seemed to drive on without observing the other fellow, who would without fail have driven over father if he had not made his horse rear, so that I saw my father drive under the hoofs of the horse. Every moment I expected the horse would fall down and crush him. I called out ‘Father! father!’ and woke in a great fright. The next morning my father and brother returned. I said to him, ‘I am so glad to see you arrive quite safely, as I had such a dreadful dream about you last night.’ My brother said, ‘You could not have been in greater fright about him than I was,’ and then he related to me what had happened, which tallied exactly with my dream. My brother in his fright, when he saw the feet of the horse over father’s head, called out, ‘Oh! father, father!’

    “I have never had any other dream of this kind, nor do I remember ever to have had another dream of an accident happening to anyone in whom I was interested. I often dream of people, and when this happens I generally expect to receive a letter from them, or to hear of them in the course of the next day. I dreamt of Mrs. G. Bidder the night before I received her letter asking me for an account of this dream; and I told Mr. West, before we went down to breakfast, that I should have a letter that day from her. I had no other reason to expect a letter from her, nor had I received one for some time, I should think some years, previously.

    “HILDA WEST.”

    {i-203}

    Mrs. West’s father, Sir John Crowe, late Consul-General for Norway, is since dead; but her brother, Mr. Septimus Crowe, of Librola, Mary’s Hill Road, Shortlands, sends us the following confirmation:—

    “I remember vividly, on my return once with my father from a trip to the north of Norway in the winter time, my sister meeting us at the hall-door as we entered, and exclaiming how pleased she was to see us, and that we were safe, as she said at once to me that she had had such an unpleasant dream the evening before. I said, ‘What was it?’ She then minutely explained to me the dream, as she related it to you, and which is in accordance with the facts. It naturally astonished my father and myself a good deal, that she so vividly in her sleep saw exactly what happened, and I should say, too, she dreamt it at the very time it happened, about 11.30 p.m.

    “Septimus Crowe.”11 Our friend Mrs. Bidder, the wife of Mr. G. Bidder, Q.C., sends us the following recollection of the narrative as told at her table by Mr. S. Crowe, who is her husband’s brother-in-law. “Ravensbury Park, Mitcham, Surrey. “10th January, 1883. “The following was related at our table by my husband’s brother-in-law, Mr. Septimus Crowe. His father, since dead, was Sir John Crowe, Consul-General for Norway. “‘My father and I were travelling one winter in Norway. We had our carrioles as sledges, and my father drove first, I following. One day we were driving very quickly down a steep hill, at the bottom of which ran a road, at right angles with the one we were on. As we neared the bottom of the hill we saw a carriole, going as quickly as ourselves, just ready to cross our path. My father reined in suddenly, his horse reared and fell over, and I could not, at first, see whether he was hurt or not. He, luckily, had sustained no injury, and in due time we reached home. My sister, on our approach, rushed out, exclaiming: “Then you are not hurt? I saw the horse rear, but I could not see whether you were hurt or not.”’” It will be seen that if Mrs. Bidder’s report is strictly accurate, there is a discrepancy as to which of the two horses it was that reared. But even eye-witnesses of a sudden and confusing accident might afterwards differ in such a point as this.

    This, again, is a good example of a weak class. But in the present instance we at any rate possess Mrs. West’s testimony that her experience was unique; and we have, further, Mr. Crowe’s testimony that the dream was accurately described before the facts were known. It was described, no doubt, in a conversation with him—a person whose mind was full of the facts, and he probably did not keep silence during the whole course of his sister’s narration: I have already noted that the unprepared actors in these cases are not likely to conduct themselves at the moment with a deliberate eye to the flawlessness of their evidence for our purposes some years afterwards. But it would be straining a sceptical hypothesis too far to assume that his interposed comments formed the real basis of the scene in Mrs. West’s memory, while he himself remained completely unconscious that he was supplying the information which he appeared to be receiving.

    § 5. We now come to an example of the “borderland” class (E)—the class where the percipient, though not asleep, was not, or cannot be {i-204} proved to have been, in a state of complete normal wakefulness. The case was first published in the Spiritual Magazine for 1861, by Dr. Collyer, who wrote from Beta House, 8, Alpha Road, St. John’s Wood, N.W.

    “April 15th, 1861.

    (25) “On January 3rd, 1856, my brother Joseph being in command of the steamer ‘Alice,’ on the Mississippi, just above New Orleans, she came in collision with another steamer. The concussion caused the flagstaff or pole to fall with great violence, which, coming in contact with my brother’s head, actually divided the skull, causing, of necessity, instant death. In October, 1857, I visited the United States. When, at my father’s residence, Camden, New Jersey, the melancholy death of my brother became the subject of conversation, my mother narrated to me that at the very time of the accident, the apparition of my brother Joseph was presented to her. This fact was corroborated by my father and four sisters. Camden, New Jersey, is distant from the scene of the accident, in a direct line, over 1,000 miles, and nearly double that distance by the mail route. My mother mentioned the fact of the apparition on the morning of the 4th of January to my father and sisters; nor was it until the 16th, or 13 days after, that a letter was received confirming in every particular the extraordinary visitation. It will be important to mention that my brother William and his wife lived near the locality of the dreadful accident, now being in Philadelphia; they have also corroborated to me the details of the impression produced on my mother.”

    Dr. Collyer then quotes a letter from his mother, which contains the following sentences:—

    “Camden, New Jersey, United States.

    “March 27th, 1861.

    “My beloved Son,—On the 3rd of January, 1856, I did not feel well, and retired to bed early. Some time after, I felt uneasy and sat up in bed; I looked round the room, and to my utter amazement, saw Joseph standing at the door, looking at me with great earnestness, his head bandaged up, a dirty night-cap on, and a dirty white garment on, something like a surplice. He was much disfigured about the eyes and face. It made me quite uncomfortable the rest of the night. The next morning, Mary came into my room early. I told her that I was sure I was going to have bad news from Joseph. I told all the family at the breakfast table; they replied, ‘It was only a dream, and all nonsense,’ but that did not change my opinion. It preyed on my mind, and on the 16th of January I received the news of his death; and singular to say, both William and his wife, who were there, say that he was exactly attired as I saw him.

    “Your ever affectionate Mother,

    “ANNE E. COLLYER.”

    Dr. Collyer continues:—

    “It will no doubt be said that my mother’s imagination was in a morbid state, but this will not account for the fact of the apparition of my brother presenting himself at the exact moment of his death. My mother had never seen him attired as described, and the bandaging of the head did not take place until hours after the accident. My brother William told me that his head was nearly cut in two by the blow, and that his face was dreadfully disfigured, and the night-dress much soiled.

    {i-205}

    “I cannot wonder that others should be sceptical, as the evidences I have had could not have been received on the testimony of others; we must, therefore, be charitable towards the incredulous.

    “Robert H. Collyer, M.D., F.C.S., &c.”

    On our applying to Dr. Collyer, he replied as follows:—

    “25, Newington Causeway, Borough, S.E.

    “March 15th, 1884.

    “In replying to your communication, I must state that, strange as the circumstances narrated in the Spiritual Magazine of 1861 are, I can assure you that there is not a particle of exaggeration. As there stated, my mother received the mental impression of my brother on January 3rd, 1856. My father, who was a scientific man, calculated the difference of longitude between Camden, New Jersey, and New Orleans, and found that the mental impression was at the exact time of my brother’s death. I may mention that I never was a believer in any spiritual intercourse, or that any of the phenomena present during exalted conditions of the brain are spiritual. I am, and have been for the last 40 years, a materialist, and think that all the so-called spiritual manifestations admit of a philosophical explanation, on physical laws and conditions. I do not desire to theorise, but to my mind the sympathetic chord of relationship existed between my mother and my brother (who was her favourite son), when that chord was broken by his sudden death, she being at the time favourably situated to receive the shock.

    “In the account published in the Spiritual Magazine, I omitted to state that my brother Joseph, prior to his death, had retired for the night in his berth; his vessel was moored alongside the levee, at the time of the collision by another steamer coming down the Mississippi. Of course, my brother was in his nightgown. He ran on deck on being called and informed that a steamer was in close proximity to his own. These circumstances were communicated to me by my brother William, who was on the spot at the time of the accident. I do not attempt to account for the apparition having a bandage, as that could not have been put for some time after death. The difference of time between Camden, New Jersey, and New Orleans is nearly 15°, or one hour.

    “My mother retired for the night on 3rd January, 1856, at 8 p.m., which would mark the time at New Orleans 7 p.m. as the time of my brother’s death.”

    Mr. Podmore says:—

    “I called upon Dr. Collyer on 25th March, 1884. He told me that he received a full account of the story verbally from his father, mother, and brother in 1857. All are now dead; but two sisters—to one of whom I have written—are still living. Dr. Collyer was quite certain of the precise coincidence of time.”

    The following is from one of the surviving sisters:—

    “Mobile, Alabama, 12th May, 1884.

    “I resided in Camden, New Jersey, at the time of my brother’s death. He lived in Louisiana. His death was caused by the collision of two steamers on the Mississippi. Some part of the mast fell on him, splitting his head open, causing instantaneous death. The apparition appeared to my mother at the foot of her bed. It stood there for some time gazing at her {i-206} and disappeared. The apparition was clothed in a long white garment, with its head bound in a white cloth. My mother was not a superstitious person, nor did she believe in Spiritualism. She was wide awake at the time. It was not a dream. She remarked to me when I saw her in the morning, ‘I shall hear bad news from Joseph,’ and related to me what she had seen. Two or three days1 [☼]1 This is probably incorrect, as it differs from Dr. Collyer’s and the mother’s statement; but the point does not seem important. For a piece of independent testimony respecting Captain Collyer’s death, see the “Additions and Corrections” which precede Chap. I.[☼] The hour there mentioned is 10 p.m.; but this can hardly weigh against Dr. Collyer’s evidence. After 30 years’ interval, a mistake of 3 hours might easily be made as to the time of an event which occurred after dark on a winter’s night. from that time we heard of the sad accident. I had another brother who was there at the time, and when he returned home I inquired of him all particulars, and how he was laid out. His description answered to what my mother saw, much to our astonishment.

    “A. E. COLLYER.”

    Here we have no direct proof of the exactness of the coincidence; but Dr. Collyer is clear on the fact that the matter was carefully inquired into at the time. As to the alleged resemblances between the phantasm and the real figure, we shall find reason further on to think that the impression of the white garment may have been really transferred. But the criticism made above in respect of Mrs. Bettany’s narrative again applies: we cannot account it certain that points were not read back into the vision, after Mrs. Collyer had learnt the actual aspect which the dead man presented. It will be observed, too, that the more striking details—especially that of the bandage—could not in any case help the telepathic argument. For if the son who was killed was the “agent” of his mother’s impression, any correspondence of the phantasmal appearance with features of reality which did not come into existence till after death must plainly have been accidental. We shall afterwards encounter plenty of instances where the percipient supplements the impression that he receives with elements from his own mind, and especially, in death-cases, with elements symbolic of death; and it is not impossible that in the present instance the white garment and bandaged head were a dim representation of grave-clothes.

    Mrs. Collyer would probably have affirmed that at the time of her vision she was completely awake. That the percipient in the next example was completely awake is, I think, nearly certain; but as he was in bed, the account may serve as a transition to the cases where the matter admits of no doubt. Mr. Marchant, of Linkfield Street, Redhill, formerly a large farmer, wrote to us in the summer of 1883:—

    {i-207}

    (26) “About 2 o’clock on the morning of October 21st, 1881, while I was perfectly wide awake, and looking at a lamp burning on my washhand-stand, a person, as I thought, came into my room by mistake, and stopped, looking into the looking-glass on the table. It soon occurred to me it represented Robinson Kelsey, by his dress and wearing his hair long behind. When I raised myself up in bed and called out, it instantly disappeared.11 As to the disappearance on sudden speech or movement, see Vol. ii., p. 91, first note. The next day22 This means the day following the night of the experience; but, two lines lower, that day should no doubt be the next day, as Oct. 21, 1881, was a Friday. I mentioned to some of my friends how strange it was. So thoroughly convinced was I, that I searched the local papers that day (Saturday) and the following Tuesday, believing his death would be in one of them. On the following Wednesday, a man, who formerly was my drover, came and told me Robinson Kelsey was dead. Anxious to know at what time he died, I wrote to Mr. Wood, the family undertaker at Lingfield; he learnt from the brother-in-law of the deceased that he died at 2 a.m. He was my first cousin, and was apprenticed formerly to me as a miller; afterwards he lived with me as journeyman; altogether, 8 years. I never saw anything approaching that before. I am 72 years old, and never feel nervous; I am not afraid of the dead or their spirits. I hand you a rough plan of the bedroom, &c.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Marchant replied:—

    “Robinson Kelsey had met with an accident. His horse fell with him, and from that time he seemed at times unfit for business. He had a farm at Penshurst, in Kent. His friends persuaded hin to leave it. He did, and went to live on his own property, called Batnors Hall, in the parish of Lingfield, Surrey. I had not been thinking about him, neither had I spoken to him for 20 years. About 3 or 4 years before his death I saw him, but not to speak to him. I was on the up-side platform of Redhill Station, and I saw him on the opposite down-side. In the morning after seeing the apparition, I spoke about it to a person in the house. In the evening, I again spoke about it to two persons, how strange it was. It was several days after our conversation about what I had seen that I heard of the death. These people will confirm my statement, for after I heard of his death I spoke of it to the same people, that my relation died the same night as I saw the apparition. When I spoke to these three persons I did not know of his death, but had my suspicions from what I had seen. As the apparition passed between my bed and the lamp I had a full view of it; it was unmistakeable. When it stopped looking in the glass I spoke to it, then it gently sank away downwards.

    “Probably it was 10 days before I found out, through Mr. Wood, the hour he died, so that these persons I spoke to knew nothing of his death at the time.

    “GEORGE MARCHANT.”

    We have received the following confirmation of this incident:—

    “July 18th, 1883.

    “We are positive of hearing Mr. Marchant one day say that he saw the apparition of Robinson Kelsey during the previous night.

    “ANN LANGERIDGE, Linkfield Street, Redhill.

    “MATILDA FULLER, Station Road, Redhill.

    “WILLIAM MILES, Station Road, Redhill.”

    {i-208}

    Mr. Anthony Kelsey, of Lingfield, Surrey, brother-in-law and cousin of Robinson Kelsey, has confirmed October 21st, 1881, as the date of the death (which we have also verified in the Register of Deaths), but he has forgotten the hour; and Mr. Robinson Kelsey’s widow having since died, Mr. Marchant’s recollection on this point cannot now be independently confirmed. As to the hour of the apparition, again, Mr. Marchant’s statement is only a conclusion, drawn from his regular habit of waking once in the middle of the night at about 2. But there can be no reasonable doubt that the day of the death and of the vision was the same.

    On February 12th, 1884, I had an interview with Mr. Marchant, who is a very vigorous and sensible old man, with a precise mind. He went through all the details of his narrative in a methodical manner, and his description corresponded in every particular with the written account, which was sent to me many months before. Mr. Marchant was positive that he never had any other hallucination of the senses, and laughed at the very idea of such things. He quite realised the ordinary criticisms which might be made about a nocturnal vision, e.g., that he had had a glass too much, and also realised their absurdity as applied to his own case. I cannot doubt his statement that he has been a most temperate man. He showed me in his bedroom the precise line that the figure took; appearing at his right hand, then passing along in front of a lamp which was on the washhand-stand, and finally standing between the foot of his bed and the dressing-table. He described Kelsey’s long and bushy black hair as a very distinct peculiarity. In answer to inquiries on this point he says: “I have not any doubt whatever that Robinson Kelsey did have that peculiarity of the hair at the day of his death. My recollection of him is as clear as if I had his photo before me.” The figure was visible, he thinks, for nearly a minute; but the length of time in such cases is of course likely to be over-estimated.

    I likewise saw Mrs. Langeridge, a sensible person, without any belief in “ghosts,” who at once volunteered the remark that Mr. Marchant described his vision to her next morning.

    This case is remarkable from the fact that there was no immediate interest between the two parties—though it is of course possible that the dying man’s thoughts reverted to his kinsman and old employer. But comments on this point must be reserved.

    § 6. We now come to examples of the most important class of all, Class A—externalised impressions, occurring to persons who are up, and manifestly in the full possession of their waking senses. Of this class the most important examples are visual impressions, or apparitions. But I will first give a case which is on the line between Classes A and B, a vision not absolutely externalised in space, but where the mental image took on a sort of vividness and objectivity which the percipient believes to have been unexampled in his experience. The coincidence with the death of the agent was {i-209} apparently quite exact; and we have the testimony of a third person to the fact that the percipient mentioned his impression immediately on its occurrence. The narrator is Mr. Rawlinson, of Lansdown Court West, Cheltenham.

    “September 18th, 1883.

    (27) “I was dressing one morning in December, 1881, when a certain conviction came upon me that someone was in my dressing-room. On looking round, I saw no one, but then, instantaneously (in my mind’s eye, I suppose), every feature of the face and form of my old friend, X., arose. This, as you may imagine, made a great impression on me, and I went at once into my wife’s room and told her what had occurred, at the same time stating that I feared Mr. X. must be dead. The subject was mentioned between us several times that day. Next morning, I received a letter from X.’s brother, then Consul-General at Odessa, but who I did not know was in England, saying that his brother had died at a quarter before 9 o’clock that morning. This was the very time the occurrence happened in my dressing-room. It is right to add that we had heard some two months previously that X. was suffering from cancer, but still we were in no immediate apprehension of his death. I never on any other occasion had any hallucination of the senses, and sincerely trust I never again shall.

    “ROB. RAWLINSON.”

    The following is Mrs. Rawlinson’s account:—

    “June 18th, 1883.

    “My husband was dressing, a few months ago, one morning about a quarter to 9 o’clock, when he came into my room, and said: ‘I feel sure X.’ (an old friend of his) ‘is dead.’ He said all at once he felt as if there was someone in the room with him, and X.’s face came vividly before his mind’s eye; and then he had this extraordinary conviction of X.’s death. He could not get the idea out of his mind all day. Strange to say, the next morning he had a letter saying X. had died the morning before, at a quarter to 9, just the very time my husband came into my room. About two months before, we had heard that X. had an incurable complaint, but we had heard nothing more, and his name had not been mentioned by anyone for weeks. I ought to tell you that my husband is the last person in the world to imagine anything, and he had always been particularly unbelieving as to anything supernatural.”11 See p. 199, note. ‘X.’ in the above accounts is our own substitution for the real name.

    A reference to the Consul’s letter, and to the Times obituary, has fixed the date of the death as December 17th; but the date of the vision was not written down at the time: we therefore have to trust to Mr. and Mrs. Rawlinson’s memory for the fact that it took place on the day before the letter was received. Not, however—be it observed—to their memory now, but to their memory at the time when the letter was received; and considering the effect that the {i-210} occurrence had on their minds, we can scarcely suppose them to have agreed in referring it to the preceding day, if several days had really intervened.

    In the next case the coincidence was certainly close to within a very few minutes, and may have been exact. The impression was again completely unique in the percipient’s experience, and was at once communicated to a third person, whose testimony to that point we have obtained. “N. J. S.,” who, though he uses the third person, is himself the narrator, is personally known to us. Occupying a position of considerable responsibility, he does not wish his name to be published; but it can be given to inquirers, and he “will answer any questions personally to anyone having a wish to arrive at the truth.” The account was received within a few weeks of the occurrence.

    (28) “N. J. S. and F. L. were employed together in an office, were brought into intimate relations with one another, which lasted for about eight years, and held one another in very great regard and esteem. On Monday, March 19th, 1883, F. L., in coming to the office, complained of having suffered from indigestion; he went to a chemist, who told him that his liver was a little out of order, and gave him some medicine. He did not seem much better on Thursday. On Saturday he was absent, and N. J. S. has since heard he was examined by a medical man, who thought he wanted a day or two of rest, but expressed no opinion that anything was serious.

    “On Saturday evening, March 24th, N. J. S., who had a headache, was sitting at home. He said to his wife that he was what he had not been for months, rather too warm; after making the remark he leaned back on the couch, and the next minute saw his friend, F. L., standing before him, dressed in his usual manner. N. J. S. noticed the details of his dress, that is, his hat with a black band, his overcoat unbuttoned, and a stick in his hand; he looked with a fixed regard at N. J. S., and then passed away. N. J. S. quoted to himself from Job, ‘And lo, a spirit passed before me, and the hair of my flesh stood up.’ At that moment an icy chill passed through him,11 See Vol. ii., p. 37, first note, and the addition thereto in the “Additions and Corrections” at the beginning of Vol. ii.[☼] and his hair bristled. He then turned to his wife and asked her the time; she said, ‘12 minutes to 9.’ He then said, ‘The reason I ask you is that F. L. is dead. I have just seen him.’ She tried to persuade him it was fancy, but he most positively assured her that no argument was of avail to alter his opinion.

    “The next day, Sunday, about 3 p.m., A. L., brother of F. L., came to the house of N. J. S., who let him in. A. L. said, ‘I suppose you know what I have come to tell you?’ N. J. S. replied, ‘Yes, your brother is dead.’ A. L. said, ‘I thought you would know it.’ N. J. S. replied, ‘Why?’ A. L. said, ‘Because you were in such sympathy with one another.’

    N. J. S. afterwards ascertained that A. L. called on Saturday to see his brother, and on leaving him noticed the clock on the stairs was 25 minutes to 9 p.m. F. L.’s sister, on going to him at 9 p.m., found him dead from rupture of the aorta.

    {i-211}

    “This is a plain statement of facts, and the only theory N. J. S. has on the subject is that at the supreme moment of death, F. L. must have felt a great wish to communicate with him, and in some way by force of will impressed his image on N. J. S.’s senses.”

    In reply to our inquiries Mr. S. says:—

    “May 11th, 1883.

    “(1) My wife was sitting at a table in the middle of the room under a gas chandelier, either reading or doing some wool work. I was sitting on a couch at the side of the room in the shade; she was not looking in the direction I was. I studiously spoke in a quiet manner to avoid alarming her; she noticed nothing particular in me.

    “(2) I have never seen any appearance before, but have disbelieved in them, not seeing any motive.

    “(3) Mr. A. L. told me that in coming to inform me of his brother’s death, he wondered what would be the best way of breaking the matter to me, when, without any reason except the knowledge of our strong mutual regard, it seemed to flash upon his mind that I might know it.

    “There had been no instances of thought-transmission between us.

    “There are many slight details which it is nearly impossible to describe in writing, so I may say that I shall be most willing to give you a personal account and answer any questions at any time you should be in town.

    “There is one thing which strikes me as singular—the instant certainty I felt that my friend was dead, as there was nothing to lead up to the idea; and also that I seemed to accept all that passed without feeling surprise, and as if it were an ordinary matter of course.

    “N. J. S.”

    Mrs. S. supplies the following corroboration:—

    “September 18th, 1883.

    “On the evening of the 24th March last, I was sitting at a table reading, my husband was sitting on a couch at the side of the room; he asked me the time, and on my replying 12 minutes to 9, he said, ‘The reason why I ask is that L. is dead, I have just seen him.’ I answered, ‘What nonsense, you don’t even know that he is ill; I dare say when you go to town on Tuesday you will see him all right.’ However, he persisted in saying he had seen L., and was sure of his death. I noticed at the time that he looked very much agitated and was very pale

    “MARIA S.”

    We find from the Times obituary that F. L.’s death took place on March 24th, 1883.

    In a later communication Mr. S. says:—

    “February 23rd, 1885.

    “In compliance with your request, I have asked Mr. A. L. to send you the statement of what came to his knowledge with reference to the time of his brother’s death.

    “I have often thought the matter over since. I am unable to satisfy my own mind as to the why of the occurrence, but I still adhere to every particular, having nothing to add or withdraw.”

    {i-212}

    Mr. L.’s brother corroborates as follows:—

    “Bank of England.

    “February 24th, 1885.

    “Mr. S. having informed me that you have expressed a wish that I should corroborate some statements made by him relative to my brother Frederick’s sudden death, I beg to send you the following particulars.

    “On Saturday, March 24th, 1883, my brother having been absent from business, I called about 8 p.m. to see him, and found him sitting up in his bedroom. I left him, apparently much better, and came down to the dining-room about 8.40, where I remained with my sister for about half-an-hour, when I left, and she, going upstairs, immediately upon my departure, found her brother lying dead upon the bed, so that the exact time of his death will never be known. On my way over to Mr. S. the next day, to break the news to him, the thought occurred to me—knowing the strong sympathy between them—‘I should not be surprised if he has had some presentiment of it’; and when he came to the door to meet me, I felt certain from his look that it was so, hence I said, ‘You know what I have come for,’ and he then told me that he had seen my brother Frederick in a vision a little before 9 on the previous evening. I must tell you I am no believer in visions, and have not always found presentiments correct; yet I am perfectly certain of Mr. S.’s veracity, and having been asked to confirm him, willingly do so, though I strengthen a cause I am not a disciple of.

    “A. C. L.”

    An attempt to form a numerical estimate of the probability (or improbability) that the coincidence in this case was accidental will be found in a subsequent chapter on “The Theory of Chance-Coincidence” (Vol. II, pp. 18–20).

    The next case again exhibits the slight deferment of the percipient’s experience which I have already mentioned (p. 201). But its chief interest is as illustrating what may be called a local, as distinct from a personal, rapport between the parties concerned.11 As to this point, see Vol. ii., pp. 268 and 301–2. The percipient, at the moment of his impression, was contemplating a spot with which the agent was specially connected, and which may even have had a very distinct place in her dying thoughts; and it is natural to find in this fact a main condition why he, of all people, should have been the one impressed. The case was thus narrated to us by the Rev. C. T. Forster, Vicar of Hinxton, Saffron Walden:—

    “August 6th, 1885.

    (29) “My late parishioner, Mrs. de Fréville, was a somewhat eccentric lady, who was specially morbid on the subject of tombs, &c.

    “About two days after her death, which took place in London, May 8th, in the afternoon, I heard that she had been seen that very night by Alfred Bard. I sent for him, and he gave me a very clear and circumstantial account of what he had seen.

    {i-213}

    “He is a man of great observation, being a self-taught naturalist, and I am quite satisfied that he desires to speak the truth without any exaggeration.

    “I must add that I am absolutely certain that the news of Mrs. de Fréville’s death did not reach Hinxton till the next morning, May 9th. She was found dead at 7.30 p.m. She had been left alone in her room, being poorly, but not considered seriously or dangerously ill.

    “C. T. FORSTER.”

    The following is the percipient’s own account:—

    “July 21st, 1885.

    “I am a gardener in employment at Sawston. I always go through Hinxton churchyard on my return home from work. On Friday, May 8th, 1885, I was walking back as usual. On entering the churchyard, I looked rather carefully at the ground, in order to see a cow and donkey which used to lie just inside the gate. In so doing, I looked straight at the square stone vault in which the late Mr. de Fréville was at one time buried. I then saw Mrs. de Fréville leaning on the rails, dressed much as I had usually seen her, in a coal-scuttle bonnet, black jacket with deep crape, and black dress. She was looking full at me. Her face was very white, much whiter than usual. I knew her well, having at one time been in her employ. I at once supposed that she had come, as she sometimes did, to the mausoleum in her own park, in order to have it opened and go in. I supposed that Mr. Wiles, the mason from Cambridge, was in the tomb doing something. I walked round the tomb looking carefully at it, in order to see if the gate was open, keeping my eye on her and never more than five or six yards from her. Her face turned and followed me. I passed between the church and the tomb (there are about four yards between the two), and peered forward to see whether the tomb was open, as she hid the part of the tomb which opened. I slightly stumbled on a hassock of grass, and looked at my feet for a moment only. When I looked up she was gone. She could not possibly have got out of the churchyard, as in order to reach any of the exits she must have passed me.11 See the remark within brackets, which follows the case. So I took for granted that she had quickly gone into the tomb. I went up to the door, which I expected to find open, but to my surprise it was shut and had not been opened, as there was no key in the lock. I rather hoped to have a look into the tomb myself, so I went back again and shook the gate to make sure, but there was no sign of any one’s having been there. I was then much startled and looked at the clock, which marked 9.20. When I got home I half thought it must have been my fancy, but I told my wife that I had seen Mrs. de Fréville.

    “Next day, when my little boy told me that she was dead, I gave a start, which my companion noticed, I was so much taken aback.

    “I have never had any other hallucination whatever.

    “ALFRED BARD.”

    Mrs. Bard’s testimony is as follows:—

    “July 8th, 1885.

    “When Mr. Bard came home he said, ‘I have seen Mrs. de Fréville to-night, leaning with her elbow on the palisade, looking at me. I turned again to look at her and she was gone. She had cloak and bonnet on.’ {i-214} He got home as usual between 9 and 10; it was on the 8th of May, 1885

    “SARAH BARD.”

    The Times obituary confirms the date of the death.

    [Mr. Myers was conducted over Hinxton churchyard by Mr. Forster, and can attest the substantial accuracy of Mr. Bard’s description of the relative position of the church, the tomb, and the exits. The words “must have passed me,” however, give a slightly erroneous impression; “must have come very near me” would be the more correct description.]

    The next case is of a more abnormal type. We received the first account of it—the percipient’s evidence—through the kindness of Mrs. Martin, of Ham Court, Upton-on-Severn, Worcester.

    “Antony, Torpoint, December 14th, 1882.

    (30) “Helen Alexander (maid to Lady Waldegrave) was lying here very ill with typhoid fever, and was attended by me. I was standing at the table by her bedside, pouring out her medicine, at about 4 o’clock in the morning of the 4th October, 1880. I heard the call-bell ring (this had been heard twice before during the night in that same week), and was attracted by the door of the room opening,11 See p. 102, note. and by seeing a person entering the room whom I instantly felt to be the mother of the sick woman. She had a brass candlestick in her hand, a red shawl over her shoulders, and a flannel petticoat on which had a hole in the front. I looked at her as much as to say, ‘I am glad you have come,’ but the woman looked at me sternly, as much as to say, ‘Why wasn’t I sent for before?’ I gave the medicine to Helen Alexander, and then turned round to speak to the vision, but no one was there. She had gone. She was a short, dark person, and very stout. At about 6 o’clock that morning Helen Alexander died. Two days after her parents and a sister came to Antony, and arrived between 1 and 2 o’clock in the morning; I and another maid let them in, and it gave me a great turn when I saw the living likeness of the vision I had seen two nights before. I told the sister about the vision, and she said that the description of the dress exactly answered to her mother’s, and that they had brass candlesticks at home exactly like the one described. There was not the slightest resemblance between the mother and daughter.

    “FRANCES REDDELL.”

    This at first sight might be taken for a mere delusion of an excitable or over-tired servant, modified and exaggerated by the subsequent sight of the real mother. If such a case is to have evidential force, we must ascertain beyond doubt that the description of the experience was given in detail before any knowledge of the reality can have affected the percipient’s memory or imagination. This necessary corroboration has been kindly supplied by Mrs. Pole-Carew, of Antony, Torpoint, Devonport.

    “December 31st, 1883.

    “In October, 1880, Lord and Lady Waldegrave came with their Scotch maid, Helen Alexander, to stay with us. [The account then describes how Helen was discovered to have caught typhoid fever.] She did not seem to be very ill in spite of it, and as there seemed no fear of danger, and Lord {i-215} and Lady Waldegrave had to go a long journey the following day (Thursday), they decided to leave her, as they were advised to do, under their friends’ care.

    “The illness ran its usual course, and she seemed to be going on perfectly well till the Sunday week following, when the doctor told me that the fever had left her, but the state of weakness which had supervened was such as to make him extremely anxious. I immediately engaged a regular nurse, greatly against the wish of Reddell, my maid, who had been her chief nurse all through the illness, and who was quite devoted to her. However, as the nurse could not conveniently come till the following day, I allowed Reddell to sit up with Helen again that night, to give her the medicine and food, which were to be taken constantly.

    “At about 4.30 that night, or rather Monday morning, Reddell looked at her watch, poured out the medicine, and was bending over the bed to give it to Helen, when the call-bell in the passage rang. She said to herself, ‘There’s that tiresome bell with the wire caught again.’ (It seems it did occasionally ring of itself in this manner.) At that moment, however, she heard the door open, and looking round, saw a very stout old woman walk in. She was dressed in a nightgown and red flannel petticoat, and carried an old-fashioned brass candlestick in her hand. The petticoat had a hole rubbed in it. She walked into the room, and appeared to be going towards the dressing-table to put her candle down. She was a perfect stranger to Reddell, who, however, merely thought, ‘This is her mother come to see after her,’ and she felt quite glad it was so, accepting the idea without reasoning upon it, as one would in a dream. She thought the mother looked annoyed, possibly at not having been sent for before. She then gave Helen the medicine, and turning round, found that the apparition had disappeared, and that the door was shut. A great change, meanwhile, had taken place in Helen, and Reddell fetched me, who sent off for the doctor, and meanwhile applied hot poultices, &c., but Helen died a little before the doctor came. She was quite conscious up to about half-an-hour before she died, when she seemed to be going to sleep.

    “During the early days of her illness Helen had written to a sister, mentioning her being unwell, but making nothing of it, and as she never mentioned anyone but this sister, it was supposed by the household, to whom she was a perfect stranger, that she had no other relation alive. Reddell was always offering to write for her, but she always declined, saying there was no need, she would write herself in a day or two. No one at home, therefore, knew anything of her being so ill, and it is, therefore, remarkable that her mother, a far from nervous person, should have said that evening going up to bed, ‘I am sure Helen is very ill.’

    “Reddell told me and my daughter of the apparition, about an hour after Helen’s death, prefacing with, ‘I am not superstitious, or nervous, and I wasn’t the least frightened, but her mother came last night,’ and she then told the story, giving a careful description of the figure she had seen. The relations were asked to come to the funeral, and the father, mother, and sister came, and in the mother Reddell recognised the apparition, as I did also, for Reddell’s description had been most accurate, even to the expression, which she had ascribed to annoyance, but which was due to deafness. It was judged best not to speak about it to the mother, but Reddell told the sister, who said the description of the figure corresponded {i-216} exactly with the probable appearance of her mother if roused in the night; that they had exactly such a candlestick at home, and that there was a hole in her mother’s petticoat produced by the way she always wore it. It seems curious that neither Helen nor her mother appeared to be aware of the visit. Neither of them, at any rate, ever spoke of having seen the other, nor even of having dreamt of having done so.

    “F. A. POLE-CAKEW.”

    Frances Reddell states that she has never had any hallucination, or any odd experience of any kind, except on this one occasion. The Hon. Mrs. Lyttelton, of Selwyn College, Cambridge, who knows her, tells us that “she appears to be a most matter-of-fact person, and was apparently most impressed by the fact that she saw a hole in the mother’s flannel petticoat, made by the busk of her stays, reproduced in the apparition.”

    Mrs. Pole-Carew’s evidence goes far to stamp this occurrence as having been something more than a mere subjective hallucination. But it will be observed that there is some doubt as to who was the agent. Was it the mother? If so, we find nothing more definite on the agent’s part, as a basis for the distant effect, than a certain amount of anxiety as to her daughter’s condition; while the fact that Reddell and she were totally unknown to one another, would show, even more conclusively than the two preceding narratives, that a special personal rapport between the parties is not a necessary condition for spontaneous telepathic transference. Thus regarded, the case would considerably resemble the instance of local rapport last quoted—the condition of the telepathic impression being presumably the common occupation of the mind of both agent and percipient with one subject, the dying girl. But it is also conceivable that Helen herself was the agent; and that in her dying condition a flash of memory of her mother’s aspect conveyed a direct impulse to the mind of her devoted nurse.

    The last five cases have all been recent. I will now give an example which is 70 years old. It will show the value that even remote evidence may have, if proper care is exercised at the time; and it points the moral which must be enforced ad nauseam, as to the importance of an immediate written record on the percipient’s part. The account was received from Mrs. Browne, of 58, Porchester Terrace, W. On May 29th, 1884, Mr. Podmore wrote:—

    “May 29th, 1884.

    (31) “I called to-day on Mrs. Browne, and saw (1) a document in the handwriting of her mother, Mrs. Carslake (now dead), which purported to be a copy of a memorandum made by Mrs. Browne’s father, the late Captain John Carslake, of Sidmouth. Appended to this was (2) a note, {i-217} also in Mrs. Carslake’s handwriting, and signed by her; and (3) a copy also in Mrs. Carslake’s handwriting, of a letter from the Rev. E. B——r, of Sidmouth.

    “Mrs. Browne told me that, as far as she knows, the originals of (1) and (3) are no longer in existence.

    “Document (4) is a note from Mrs. Browne herself.

    “The Middleburg referred to is apparently the town of that name in the Netherlands.”

    (1)

    “Thursday, July the 6th, 1815.—On returning to-day from Middleburg with Captain T., I was strongly impressed with the idea that between 2 and 3 I saw my uncle John cross the road, a few paces before me, and pass into a lane on the left leading to a mill, called Olly Moulin, and that when he arrived at the edge of the great road, he looked round and beckoned to me.

    “Query.—As he has long been dangerously ill, may not this be considered as an omen of his having died about this time?

    “JOHN CARSLAKE.”

    (2)

    “He had not been thinking of his uncle, but talking with Captain T. about a sale where they had been; he was quite silent afterwards, and would not tell the reason. On going on board, he went to his cabin and wrote the time he saw his uncle, and wrote to Mr. B.

    “T. CARSLAKE.”

    (3)

    “Long, in all probability, before this can reach you, you will have been informed that, precisely at the minute in which his apparition crossed your path in the neighbourhood of Middleburg, your dear and venerable uncle expired. I think it proves, beyond all contradiction, that his last and affectionate thoughts were fixed on you. The fact you have stated is the strongest of the kind, in which I could place such full confidence in the parties, that I ever knew.—E. B.”

    [Judging from Mr. Carslake’s own account, it seems unlikely that the writer of this can have known the coincidence to have been as close as he describes.]

    (4)

    “May 29th, 1884.

    “I remember more than once hearing this story, exactly as it is told here, from my father’s own lips. I remember that he added that the figure wore a peculiar hat, which he recognised as being like one worn by his uncle.

    “T. L. BROWNE.”

    The next example repeats the peculiarity that the percipient’s impression, though unique in his experience, did not at the moment suggest the agent; but it differs, as will be seen, from Frances Reddell’s case. We received it from the Rev. Robert Bee, now residing at 12, Whitworth Road, Grangetown, near Southbank, Yorkshire.

    {i-218}

    “Colin Street, Wigan.

    “December 30th, 1883.

    (32) “On December 18th, 1873, I left my house in Lincolnshire to visit my wife’s parents, then and now residing in Lord Street, Southport. Both my parents were, to all appearance, in good health when I started. The next day after my arrival was spent in leisurely observation of the manifold attractions of this fashionable seaside resort. I spent the evening in company with my wife in the bay-windowed drawing-room upstairs, which fronts the main street of the town. I proposed a game at chess, and we got out the board and began to play. Perhaps half-an-hour had been thus occupied by us, during which I had made several very foolish mistakes. A deep melancholy was oppressing me. At length I remarked: ‘It is no use my trying to play, I cannot for the life think about what I am doing. Shall we shut it up and resume our talk? I feel literally wretched.’

    “‘Just as you like,’ said my wife, and the board was at once put aside.

    “This was about half-past 7 o’clock; and after a few minutes’ desultory conversation, my wife suddenly remarked: ‘I feel very dull to-night. I think I will go downstairs to mamma, for a few minutes.’

    “Soon after my wife’s departure, I rose from my chair, and walked in the direction of the drawing-room door. Here I paused for a moment, and then passed out to the landing of the stairs.

    “It was then exactly 10 minutes to 8 o’clock. I stood for a moment upon the landing, and a lady, dressed as if she were going on a business errand, came out, apparently, from an adjoining bedroom, and passed close by me. I did not distinctly see her features, nor do I remember what it was that I said to her.

    “The form passed down the narrow winding stairs, and at the same instant my wife came up again, so that she must have passed close to the stranger, in fact, to all appearance, brushed against her.

    “I exclaimed, almost immediately, ‘Who is the lady, Polly, that you passed just now, coming up?’

    “Never can I forget, or account for, my wife’s answer. ‘I passed nobody,’ she said.

    “‘Nonsense,’ I replied; ‘You met a lady just now, dressed for a walk. She came out of the little bedroom. I spoke to her. She must be a visitor staying with your mother. She has gone out, no doubt, at the front door.’

    “‘It is impossible,’ said my wife. ‘There is not any company in the house. They all left nearly a week ago. There is no one in fact at all indoors, but ourselves and mamma.’

    “‘Strange,’ I said; ‘I am certain that I saw and spoke to a lady, just before you came upstairs, and I saw her distinctly pass you;11 In conversation Mr. Bee reiterated to me his certainty as to having seen the two figures simultaneously. so that it seems incredible that you did not perceive her.’

    “My wife positively asserted that the thing was impossible. We went downstairs together, and I related the story to my wife’s mother, who was busy with her household duties. She confirmed her daughter’s previous statement. There was no one in the house but ourselves.

    {i-219}

    “The next morning, early, a telegram reached me from Lincolnshire; it was from my elder sister, Julia (Mrs T. W. Bowman, of Prospect House, Stechford, Birmingham), and announced the afflicting intelligence that our dear mother had passed suddenly away the night before; and that we (i.e., myself and wife) were to return home to Gainsborough by the next train. The doctor said it was heart-disease, which in a few minutes had caused her death.”

    After giving some details of his arrival at home, and of the kindness of friends, Mr. Bee continues:—

    “When all was over and Christmas Day had arrived, I ventured to ask my brother the exact moment of our mother’s death.

    “‘Well, father was out,’ he said, ‘at the school-room, and I did not see her alive. Julia was just in time to see her breathe her last. It was, as nearly as I can recollect, 10 minutes to 8 o’clock.’

    “I looked at my wife for a moment, and then said: ‘Then I saw her in Southport, and can now account, unaccountably, for my impressions.’

    “Before the said 19th of December I was utterly careless of these things; I had given little or no attention to spiritual apparitions or impressions.

    “ROBT. BEE.

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Bee adds:—

    “My mother died in her dress and boots; she was taken ill in the street, and had to be taken to a neighbour’s house in Gainsborough a few paces from her own house. The figure resembled my mother exactly as to size, dress, and appearance, but it did not recall her to my mind at the time. The light was not so dim that, if my mother had actually passed me in flesh and blood, I should not have recognised her.”

    We learn from the obituary notice in the Lincolnshire Chronicle that Mr. Bee’s mother died on December 19, 1873, in Mr. Smithson’s shop, in Gainsborough, of heart-disease; and that her usual health was pretty good.

    In answer to the question whether this is the only case of hallucination that he has experienced, Mr. Bee answers “Yes.”

    He further adds:—

    “The gas light over the head of the stairway shone within a frosted globe, and was probably not turned on fully.

    “The fact is, there was ample light to see the figure in, but just as the face might have been turned to me, or was turned to me, I could not, or did not, clearly discern it. Many, many times, my regret and disappointment when I recall this fact have been deeply felt.”

    Mrs. Bee writes to us as follows:—

    “January 9th, 1884.

    “If anything I can say to you will be of any use, I will willingly give my testimony to all my husband has said. I remember perfectly ten years ago my visit to my mother’s, and my husband’s unaccountable restlessness on the particular evening mentioned, also Mr. Bee asking me, after I had been downstairs, if I had met a lady on the stairs. I said, ‘No, I do not think there is any one in the house but us.’ Mr. Bee then said, ‘Well, a lady has passed me just now on the landing; she came out of the small {i-220} bedroom and went downstairs; she was dressed in a black bonnet and shawl.’ I said, ‘Nonsense, you must be mistaken.’ He said, ‘I am certain I am not, and I assure you I feel very queer.’ I then went to ask mamma if there was anyone in the house, and she said no, only ourselves; still Mr. Bee insisted someone had passed him on the landing, although we tried to reason him out of it.

    “In the morning while we were in bed, we received a telegram stating that Mrs. Bee had died suddenly the night before. I said at once, ‘Robert, that was your mother you saw last night.’ He said it was. When we got to Gainsborough we asked what time she died; we were told about 10 minutes to 8, which was the exact time; also that she was taken suddenly ill in the street (wearing at the time a black bonnet and shawl) and died in 10 minutes.

    “MARY ANN BEE.”

    Mrs. Bourne, a sister of Mr. Bee’s, writes to us:—

    “Eastgate Lodge, Lincoln.

    “October 2nd, 1885.

    “My mother died on December 19th, 1873, about 10 minutes to 8 in the evening; it might be a little later or a little earlier. Her attack resembled a fainting fit, and lasted from 30 to 40 minutes. At the commencement of it, she said a few words to my sister, when I was not present; afterwards I believe she never opened her eyes or spoke again, though we tried our utmost to induce her to do so.

    “MARIAN BOURNE.”

    If this case is accurately reported, the figure seen cannot be supposed to have been a real person; for—to say nothing of the unlikelihood that a strange lady would be on the upper floor on some unknown errand—Mrs. Bee, who seemed to her husband to come into actual contact with the figure, could hardly have failed to observe that some one passed her on the stairs. The fact that the form did not at the moment suggest Mr. Bee’s mother tends, no doubt, to weaken the case as evidence for telepathy, to this extent,—that if a person has the one hallucination of his life at the moment that a near relative dies, this singular coincidence may with less violence be ascribed to accident if the hallucination is merely an appearance—an unrecognised figure—than if it is the appearance of that; particular relative. The phantasm not being individualised, the conditions for the operation of chance are so far widened. Still, there are two strong evidential points. The coincidence of time seems to have been precise; and the resemblance to the supposed agent “as to size, dress, and appearance” is described as exact. As for any theoretic difficulty that might be felt in the fact of non-recognition, I will make at this point only one remark.

    {i-221}

    If we are prepared (as experiment has prepared us) to admit that telepathic impressions need not even affect consciousness at all—if it is possible for some of them to remain completely unfelt—it does not seem specially surprising that others should issue on the mental stage with various degrees of distinctness and completeness.

    § 7. So much for visual examples. I will now give an illustration of externalised impressions of the auditory sort. The case differs in another respect from the foregoing visual examples; for though, as in most of them, the agent died, the percipient’s experience preceded the death by some hours; and that being so, we must clearly connect this experience with the serious condition in which her friend actually was, not with that in which he was about to be. The narrative is from a lady who prefers that her name and address should not be published. She is a person of thorough good sense, and with no appetite for marvels.

    “1884.

    (33) “On the morning of October 27th, 1879, being in perfect health and having been awake for some considerable time, I heard myself called by my Christian name by an anxious and suffering voice, several times in succession. I recognised the voice as that of an old friend, almost playfellow, but who had not been in my thoughts for many weeks, or even months. I knew he was with his regiment in India, but not that he had been ordered to the front, and nothing had recalled him to my recollection. Within a few days I heard of his death from cholera on the morning I seemed to hear his call. The impression was so strong I noted the date and fact in my diary before breakfast.”

    In answer to inquiries, the narrator says:—

    “I was never conscious of any other auditory hallucination whatever. I do not think I mentioned the subject to any one, as I believe we had friends with us. I still have my diary preserved.”

    The present writer has seen the page of the diary, and the reference to the strange experience, under the date of Monday, October 27th, 1879.

    “We find from the East India Service Register for January, 1880, that the death of Captain John B., Native Infantry (Bombay Division), took place on October 27th, 1879, at Jhelum.

    (This is the gentleman referred to in the account.) The Times obituary of November 4th, 1879, mentions that the death was due to cholera.

    Our informant was requested to find out the exact hour of the death, and learnt that it took place, not in the morning, as she had supposed, but at 10 p.m. (about 5 p.m. in England). She adds: “So that would not make the time agree with the hour of hearing his call, The cry may have come, however, when the illness began first.”

    In the last-quoted visual example, the figure seen was unrecognised. {i-222} I will now give a parallel auditory case, where the sound heard by the percipient suggested at the moment no particular person. The account is from a gentleman of good position, whom I must term Mr. A. Z. He is as far removed as possible from superstition, and takes no general interest in the subject. He has given us the full names of all the persons concerned, but is unwilling that they should be published, on account of the painful character of the event recorded.

    “May, 1885.

    (34) “In 1876, I was living in a small agricultural parish in the East of England, one of my neighbours at the time being a young man, S. B.,11These are not the right initials of the name. who had recently come into the occupation of a large farm in the place. Pending the alteration of his house, he lodged and boarded with his groom at the other end of the village, furthest removed from my own residence, which was half a mile distant and separated by many houses, gardens, a plantation, and farm buildings. He was fond of field sports, and spent much of his spare time during the season in hunting. He was not a personal friend of mine, only an acquaintance, and I felt no interest in him except as a tenant on the estate. I have asked him occasionally to my house, as a matter of civility, but to the best of my recollection was never inside his lodgings.

    “One afternoon in March, 1876, when leaving, along with my wife, our railway station to walk home, I was accosted by S. B.; he accompanied us as far as my front gate, where he kept us in conversation for some time, but on no special subject. I may now state that the distance from this gate, going along the carriage drive, to the dining and breakfast room windows is about 60 yards; both the windows of these rooms face the north-east and are parallel with the carriage drive.22 The position of the house, as I found on visiting it, is particularly retired and quiet. On S. B. taking leave of us my wife remarked, ‘Young B. evidently wished to be asked in, but I thought you would not care to be troubled with him.’ Subsequently—about half-an-hour later—I again met him, and, as I was then on my way to look at some work at a distant part of the estate, asked him to walk with me, which he did. His conversation was of the ordinary character; if anything, he seemed somewhat depressed at the bad times and the low prices of farming produce. I remember he asked me to give him some wire rope to make a fence on his farm, which I consented to do. Returning from our walk, and on entering the village, I pulled up at the crossroads to say good evening, the road to his lodgings taking him at right angles to mine. I was surprised to hear him say, ‘Come and smoke a cigar with me to-night.” To which I replied, ‘I cannot very well, I am engaged this evening.’ ‘Do come,’ he said. ‘No,’ I replied, ‘I will look in another evening.’ And with this we parted. We had separated about 40 yards when he turned around and exclaimed, ‘Then if you will not come, good-bye.’ This was the last time I saw him alive.

    “I spent the evening in my dining-room in writing, and for some hours I may say that probably no thought of young B. passed through my mind. The night was bright and clear, full or nearly full moon, still, and without {i-223} wind. Since I had come in slight snow had fallen, just sufficient to make the ground show white.

    “At about 5 minutes to 10 o’clock I got up and left the room, taking up a lamp from the hall table, and replacing it on a small table standing in a recess of the window in the breakfast-room. The curtains were not drawn across the window. I had just taken down from the nearest bookcase a volume of ‘Macgillivray’s British Birds’ for reference, and was in the act of reading the passage, the book held close to the lamp, and my shoulder touching the window shutter, and in a position in which almost the slightest outside sound would be heard, when I distinctly heard the front gate opened and shut again with a clap, and footsteps advancing at a run up the drive; when opposite the window the steps changed from sharp and distinct on gravel to dull and less clear on the grass slip below the window, and at the same time I was conscious that someone or something stood close to me outside, only the thin shutter and a sheet of glass dividing us. I could hear the quick panting laboured breathing of the messenger, or whatever it was, as if trying to recover breath before speaking. Had he been attracted by the light through the shutter? Suddenly, like a gunshot, inside, outside, and all around, there broke out the most appalling shriek—a prolonged wail of horror, which seemed to freeze the blood. It was not a single shriek, but more prolonged, commencing in a high key, and then less and less, wailing away towards the north, and becoming weaker and weaker as it receded in sobbing pulsations of intense agony. Of my fright and horror I can say nothing—increased tenfold when I walked into the dining-room and found my wife sitting quietly at her work close to the window, in the same line and distant only 10 or 12 feet from the corresponding window in the breakfast-room. She had heard nothing. I could see that at once; and from the position in which she was sitting, l knew she could not have failed to hear any noise outside and any footstep on the gravel. Perceiving I was alarmed about something, she asked, ‘What is the matter?’ ‘Only someone outside,’ I said. ‘Then why do you not go out and see? You always do when you hear any unusual noise.’ I said, ‘There is something so queer and dreadful about the noise. I dare not face it. It must have been the Banshee shrieking.’

    “Young S. B., on leaving me, went home to his lodgings. He spent most of the evening on the sofa, reading one of Whyte Melville’s novels. He saw his groom at 9 o’clock and gave him orders for the following day. The groom and his wife, who were the only people in the house besides S. B., then went to bed.

    “At the inquest the groom stated that when about falling asleep, he was suddenly aroused by a shriek, and on running into his master’s room found him expiring on the floor. It appeared that young B. had undressed upstairs, and then came down to his sitting-room in trousers and nightshirt, had poured out half-a-glass of water, into which he emptied a small bottle of prussic acid (procured that morning under the plea of poisoning a dog, which he did not possess). He walked upstairs, and on entering his room drank off the glass, and with a scream fell dead on the floor. All this happened, as near as I can ascertain, at the exact time when I had been so much alarmed at my own house. It is utterly impossible that any sound short of a cannon shot could have reached me from B.’s lodgings, {i-224} through closed windows and doors, and the many intervening obstacles of houses and gardens, farmsteads and plantations, &c.

    “Having to leave home by the early train, I was out very soon on the following morning, and on going to examine the ground beneath the window found no footsteps on grass or drive, still covered with the slight sprinkling of snow which had fallen on the previous evening.

    “The whole thing had been a dream of the moment—an imagination, call it what you will; I simply state these facts as they occurred, without attempting any explanation, which, indeed, I am totally unable to give. The entire incident is a mystery, and will ever remain a mystery to me. I did not hear the particulars of the tragedy till the following afternoon, having left home by an early train. The motive of suicide was said to be a love affair.”

    In a subsequent letter dated June 12th, 1885, Mr. A. Z. says:—

    “The suicide took place in this parish on Thursday night, March 9th, 1876, at or about 10 p.m. The inquest was held on Saturday, 11th, by ——, the then coroner. He has been dead some years, or I might perhaps have been able to obtain a copy of his notes then taken. You will probably find some notice of the inquest in the —— of March 17th. I did not myself hear any particulars of the event till my return home on Friday afternoon, 17 hours afterwards. The slight snow fell about 8 o’clock—not later. After this the night was bright and fine, and very still. There was also a rather sharp frost. I have evidence of all this to satisfy any lawyer.

    “I went early the next morning under the window to look for footsteps, just before leaving home for the day. Perhaps it is not quite correct to call it snow; it was small frozen sleet and hail, and the grass blades just peeped through, but there was quite enough to have shown any steps had there been any.

    “I was not myself at the inquest, so in that case only speak from hearsay. In my narrative I say the groom was awoke by ‘a shriek.’ I have asked the man [name given], and cross-questioned him closely on this point; and it is more correct to say by ‘a series of noises ending in a crash’ or ‘heavy fall.’ This is most probably correct, as the son of the tenant [name given], living in the next house, was aroused by the same sort of sound coming through the wall of the house into the adjoining bedroom in which he was sleeping.

    “I do not, however, wish it to be understood that any material noises heard in that house or the next had any connection with the peculiar noises and scream which frightened me so much, as anyone knowing the locality must admit at once the impossibility of such sounds travelling under any conditions through intervening obstacles. I only say that the scene enacted in the one was coincident with my alarm and the phenomena attending it in the other.

    “I find by reference to the book of ——, chemist, of ——, that the poison was purchased by young S. B., on March 8th. I enclose a note from Mrs. A. Z., according to your request.”

    The enclosed note, signed by Mrs. A. Z., also dated June 12th, 1885, is as follows:—

    {i-225}

    “I am able to testify that on the night of March 9th, 1876, about 10 o’clock, my husband, who had gone into the adjoining room to consult a book, was greatly alarmed by sounds which he heard, and described as the gate clapping, footsteps on the drive and grass, and heavy breathing close to the window—then a fearful screaming.

    “I did not hear anything. He did not go to look round the house, as he would have done at any other time, and when I afterwards asked him why he did not go out, he replied, ‘Because I felt I could not.’ On going to bed he took his gun upstairs; and when I asked him why, said, ‘Because there must be someone about.’

    “He left home early in the morning, and did not hear of the suicide of Mr. S. B. until the afternoon of that day.”

    An article which we have seen in a local newspaper, describing the suicide and inquest, confirms the above account of them.

    Asked if he had had any similar affections which had not corresponded with reality, Mr. A. Z. replied in the negative.

    The criticism made on Mr. Bee’s case will of course apply again here; the percipient’s failure to connect his impression with the agent is, pro tantoto that extent an evidential defect. But the fact remains that he received an impression of a vividly distressful and horrible kind—of a type, too, rarely met with as a purely subjective hallucination among sane and healthy persons11 See Chapter xi., § 4.—at the very time that his companion of a few hours back was in the agony of a supreme crisis.

    § 8. Telepathic impressions of the sense of touch are naturally hard to establish, unless some other sense is also affected. In the cases in our collection, at all events, a mere impression of touch has rarely, if ever, been sufficiently remarkable or distinctive for purposes of evidence. The case, therefore, which I select to illustrate tactile impression is one where the sense of hearing was also concerned. And the example, as it happens, will serve a double purpose; for it will also illustrate the phenomenon of reciprocality, which, as I have said, we make the basis of a separate class (F). The narrator is again the Rev. P. H. Newnham, of whose telepathic rapport with his wife we have had such striking experimental proof, and who describes himself as “an utter sceptic, in the true sense of the word.”

    (35) “In March, 1854, I was up at Oxford, keeping my last term, in lodgings. I was subject to violent neuralgic headaches, which always culminated in sleep. One evening, about 8 p.m., I had an unusually violent one; when it became unendurable, about 9 p.m., I went into {i-226} my bedroom, and flung myself, without undressing, on the bed, and soon fell asleep.

    “I then had a singularly clear and vivid dream, all the incidents of which are still as clear to my memory as ever. I dreamed that I was stopping with the family of the lady who subsequently became my wife. All the younger ones had gone to bed, and I stopped chatting to the father and mother, standing up by the fireplace. Presently I bade them goodnight, took my candle, and went off to bed. On arriving in the hall, I perceived that my fiancée had been detained downstairs, and was only then near the top of the staircase. I rushed upstairs, overtook her on the top step, and passed my two arms round her waist, under her arms, from behind. Although I was carrying my candle in my left hand, when I ran upstairs, this did not, in my dream, interfere with this gesture.

    “On this I woke, and a clock in the house struck 10 almost immediately afterwards.

    “So strong was the impression of the dream that I wrote a detailed account of it next morning to my fiancée.

    Crossing my letter, not in answer to it, I received a letter from the lady in question: ‘Were you thinking about me, very specially, last night, just about 10 o’clock? For, as I was going upstairs to bed, I distinctly heard your footsteps on the stairs, and felt you put your arms round my waist.’

    “The letters in question are now destroyed, but we verified the statement made therein some years later, when we read over our old letters, previous to their destruction, and we found that our personal recollections had not varied in the least degree therefrom. The above narratives may, therefore, be accepted as absolutely accurate.

    ‘P. H. NEWNHAM.”

    Asked if his wife has ever had any other hallucinations, Mr. Newnham replied, ‘No, Mrs. N. never had any fancy of either myself or any one else being present on any other occasion.”

    The following is Mrs. Newnham’s account:—

    “June 9th, 1884.

    “I remember distinctly the circumstance which my husband has described as corresponding with his dream. I was on my way up to bed, as usual, about 10 o’clock, and on reaching the first landing I heard distinctly the footsteps of the gentleman to whom I was engaged, quickly mounting the stairs after me, and then I as plainly felt him put his arms round my waist. So strong an impression did this make upon me that I wrote the very next morning to the gentleman, asking if he had been particularly thinking of me at 10 o‘clock the night before, and to my astonishment I received (at the same time that my letter would reach him) a letter from him describing his dream, in almost the same words that I had used in describing my impression of his presence.

    “M. NEWNHAM.”

    [It is unfortunate that the actual letters cannot be put in evidence. But Mr. Newnham’s distinct statement that the letters were examined, and the coincidence verified, some years after the occurrence, strongly confirms his own and his wife’s recollections of the original incident.]

    {i-227}

    In this case it would, no doubt, be possible to suppose that Mr. Newnham was the sole agent, and that his normal dream was the source of his fiancée’s abnormal hallucination. But it is at least equally natural to suppose a certain amount of reciprocal percipience—a mutual influence of the two parties on one another. We shall meet with more conclusive examples of the mutual effect further on; and it need in no way disturb our conception of telepathy. For if once the startling fact that A’s mind can affect B’s at a distance be admitted, there seems no à priori reason for either affirming or denying that the conditions of this affection are favourable to a reverse telepathic communication from B’s mind to A’s. Indeed, if in our ignorance of the nature of these conditions any sort of surmise were legitimate, it might perhaps rather lean to the probability of the reciprocal influence; and the natural question might seem to be, not why this feature is present, but why it is so generally absent. Meanwhile it is enough to note the type, and observe that the telepathic theory, as so far evolved, will sufficiently cover it.

    § 9. Finally, the class of collective percipience (G) may be illustrated by an instance which (since visual cases have preponderated in this chapter) I will again select from the auditory group. It was received in the summer of 1885, from Mr. John Done, of Stockley Cottage, Stretton, Warrington.

    (36) “My sister-in-law, Sarah Eustance, of Stretton, was lying sick unto death, and my wife was gone over to there from Lowton Chapel (12 or 13 miles off), to see her and tend her in her last moments. And on the night before her death (some 12 or 14 hours before) I was sleeping at home alone, and awaking, heard a voice distinctly call me. Thinking it was my niece, Rosanna, the only other occupant of the house, who might be sick or in trouble, I went to her room and found her awake and nervous. I asked her whether she had called me. She answered, ‘No; but something awoke me, when I heard someone calling!’

    “On my wife returning home after her sister’s death, she told me how anxious her sister had been to see me, ‘craving for me to be sent for,’ and saying, ‘Oh, how I want to see Done once more!’ and soon after became speechless. But the curious part was that about the same time she was ‘craving,’ I and my niece heard the call.

    “John Done.”

    In a subsequent letter Mr. Done writes:—

    “In answer to your queries respecting the voice or call that I heard on the night of July 2nd, 1866, I must explain that there was a strong sympathy and affection between myself and my sister-in-law, of pure brotherly and sisterly love; and that she was in the habit of calling me by the title of ‘Uncle Done,’ in the manner of a husband calling his wife {i-228} ‘mother’ when there are children, as in this case. Hence the call being ‘Uncle, uncle, uncle!’ leading me to think that it was my niece (the only-other occupant of the house that Sunday night) calling to me.

    “Copy of funeral card: ‘In remembrance of the late Sarah Eustance, who died July 3rd, 1866, aged 45 years, and was this day interred at Stretton Church, July 6th, 1866.’

    “My wife, who went from Lowton that particular Sunday to see her sister, will testify that as she attended upon her (after the departure of the minister), during the night she was wishing and craving to see me, repeatedly saying, ‘Oh, I wish I could see Uncle Done and Rosie once more before I go!’ and soon after then she became unconscious, or at least ceased speaking, and died the next day; of which fact I was not aware until my wife returned on the evening of the 4th of July.

    “I hope my niece will answer for me; however, I may state that she reminds me that she thought I was calling her and was coming to me, when she met me in the passage or landing, and I asked her if she called me.

    “I do not remember ever hearing a voice or call besides the above case.”

    On August 7th, 1885, Mr. Done writes:—

    “My wife being sick and weak of body, dictates the following statement to me:—

    “I, Elizabeth Done, wife of John Done, and aunt to Rosanna Done (now Sewill), testify that, on the 2nd of July, 1866, I was attending upon my dying sister, Sarah Eustance, at Stretton, 12 miles from my home at Lowton Chapel, Newton le Willows; when during the night previous to her death, she craved for me to send for my husband and niece, as she wished to see them once more before she departed hence, saying often ‘Oh, I wish Done and Rosie were here. Oh, I do long to see Uncle Done.’ Soon after she became speechless and seemingly unconscious, and died some time during the day following.

    “ELIZABETH DONE.”

    Mr. Done adds:—

    “Several incidents have come to my mind, one of which is that, feeling unsettled in my mind during the day after having heard the voice calling me, and feeling a presentiment that my dear sister-in-law was dead, I, towards evening, set off to meet a train at Newton Bridge, which I believed my wife would come by, returning home, if her sister was dead as I expected. There was an understanding that she was to stay at Stretton to attend upon Mrs. Eustance until her demise or convalescence.

    “I met my wife some few hundred yards from the station, and could see by her countenance that my surmises were correct. She then told me the particulars of her sister’s death, how she longed to see me and Rosanna. I then told her of our being called by a voice resembling hers some time in the night previous, when she (my wife) said she (Mrs. Eustance) often repeated our names during the night before becoming unconscious.”

    The niece, Mrs. Sewill, writes as follows:—

    “11, Smithdown Lane, Paddington, Liverpool.

    “August 21st, 1885.

    “At my uncle’s and your request, I write to confirm the statement of uncle respecting the voice I heard, as follows: I was awakened suddenly without apparent cause, and heard a voice call me distinctly, thus: ‘Rosy, {i-229} Rosy, Rosy!’11 Each of the percipients, it will be noted, heard his or her own name. This point receives its explanation in Chap. xii., § 5. Thinking it was my uncle calling, I rose and went out of my room, and met my uncle coming to see if I was calling him.22 Mrs. Sewill, (who was 14 or 15 at the time) is certain that she is correct on this point; and in conversation with her uncle, I found that his memory agrees with hers. We were the only occupants of the house that night, aunt being away attending upon her sister. The night I was called was between 2nd and 3rd of July, 1866. I could not say the time I was called, but I know it was the break of day. I never was called before or since.

    “ROSANNA SEWILL.”

    [The last words—an answer to the question whether the narrator had ever experienced any other hallucination—perhaps need correction, as I learnt in conversation that on another occasion she (and two other persons in the same house) had been woke by a voice resembling that of a deceased relative. But she is by no means a fanciful or superstitious witness.]

    The percipients in this case may perhaps have been in a somewhat anxious and highly-wrought state. Now that is a condition which—as we shall see in the sequel—tends occasionally to produce purely subjective hallucinations of the senses. It is true that the impression of a call which was imagined to be that of a healthy person close at hand, and was in no way suggestive of the dying woman, does not seem a likely form for subjective hallucination due to anxiety about her to take; still, the presence of the anxiety would have prevented us from including such a case in our evidence, had only a single person been impressed. But it must be admitted as a highly improbable accident that two startling impressions, so similar in character, and each unique in the life of the person who experienced it, should have so exactly coincided.

    § 10. The above may serve as examples of the several groups classified with reference to the nature of the percipient’s impression. But it will be seen that the agent has also been exhibited in a great variety of conditions—in normal waking health, in apparently dreamless sleep (pp. 103–9), in dream, in physical pain, in a swoon, in the excitement of danger, in dangerous illness, and in articulo mortis, at the moment of death the death being in one case accidental and instantaneous, in another the result of a sudden seizure, and in others the conclusion of a prolonged illness. And amid this variety the reader will, no doubt, have been struck by the large proportion of death cases—a proportion which duly represents their general preponderance among alleged cases of spontaneous telepathy. They constitute about half of our whole collection. Now this fact raises a question with respect to the interpretation of the phenomena which may be conveniently noticed at once since it bears an equal relation to nearly all the {i-230} chapters that follow, while such answer as I can give to it depends to some extent on what has preceded.

    We are, of course, accustomed to regard death as a completely unique and incomparably important event; and it might thus seem, on a superficial glance, that if spontaneous telepathy is possible, and the conditions and occasions of its occurrence are in question, no more likely occasion than death could be suggested. But on closer consideration, we are reminded that the actual psychical condition that immediately precedes death often does not seem to be specially or at all remarkable, still less unique; and that it is this actual psychical condition—while it lasts, and not after it has ceased—that really concerns us here. Our subject is phantasms of the living: we seek the conditions of the telepathic impulse on the hither side of the dividing line, in the closing passage of life; not in that huge negative fact—the apparent cessation or absence of life—on which the common idea of death and of its momentous importance is based. And the

    (36) “My sister-in-law, Sarah Eustance, of Stretton, was lying sick unto death, and my wife was gone over to there from Lowton Chapel (12 or 13 miles off), to see her and tend her in her last moments. And on the night before her death (some 12 or 14 hours before) I was sleeping at home alone, and awaking, heard a voice distinctly call me. Thinking it was my niece, Rosanna, the only other occupant of the house, who might be sick or in trouble, I went to her room and found her awake and nervous. I asked her whether she had called me. She answered, ‘No; but something awoke me, when I heard someone calling!’

    “On my wife returning home after her sister’s death, she told me how anxious her sister had been to see me, ‘craving for me to be sent for,’ and saying, ‘Oh, how I want to see Done once more!’ and soon after became speechless. But the curious part was that about the same time she was ‘craving,’ I and my niece heard the call.

    “John Done.”

    In a subsequent letter Mr. Done writes:—

    “In answer to your queries respecting the voice or call that I heard on the night of July 2nd, 1866, I must explain that there was a strong sympathy and affection between myself and my sister-in-law, of pure brotherly and sisterly love; and that she was in the habit of calling me by the title of ‘Uncle Done,’ in the manner of a husband calling his wife {i-228} ‘mother’ when there are children, as in this case. Hence the call being ‘Uncle, uncle, uncle!’ leading me to think that it was my niece (the only-other occupant of the house that Sunday night) calling to me.

    “Copy of funeral card: ‘In remembrance of the late Sarah Eustance, who died July 3rd, 1866, aged 45 years, and was this day interred at Stretton Church, July 6th, 1866.’

    “My wife, who went from Lowton that particular Sunday to see her sister, will testify that as she attended upon her (after the departure of the minister), during the night she was wishing and craving to see me, repeatedly saying, ‘Oh, I wish I could see Uncle Done and Rosie once more before I go!’ and soon after then she became unconscious, or at least ceased speaking, and died the next day; of which fact I was not aware until my wife returned on the evening of the 4th of July.

    “I hope my niece will answer for me; however, I may state that she reminds me that she thought I was calling her and was coming to me, when she met me in the passage or landing, and I asked her if she called me.

    “I do not remember ever hearing a voice or call besides the above case.”

    On August 7th, 1885, Mr. Done writes:—

    “My wife being sick and weak of body, dictates the following statement to me:—

    “I, Elizabeth Done, wife of John Done, and aunt to Rosanna Done (now Sewill), testify that, on the 2nd of July, 1866, I was attending upon my dying sister, Sarah Eustance, at Stretton, 12 miles from my home at Lowton Chapel, Newton le Willows; when during the night previous to her death, she craved for me to send for my husband and niece, as she wished to see them once more before she departed hence, saying often ‘Oh, I wish Done and Rosie were here. Oh, I do long to see Uncle Done.’ Soon after she became speechless and seemingly unconscious, and died some time during the day following.

    “ELIZABETH DONE.”

    Mr. Done adds:—

    “Several incidents have come to my mind, one of which is that, feeling unsettled in my mind during the day after having heard the voice calling me, and feeling a presentiment that my dear sister-in-law was dead, I, towards evening, set off to meet a train at Newton Bridge, which I believed my wife would come by, returning home, if her sister was dead as I expected. There was an understanding that she was to stay at Stretton to attend upon Mrs. Eustance until her demise or convalescence.

    “I met my wife some few hundred yards from the station, and could see by her countenance that my surmises were correct. She then told me the particulars of her sister’s death, how she longed to see me and Rosanna. I then told her of our being called by a voice resembling hers some time in the night previous, when she (my wife) said she (Mrs. Eustance) often repeated our names during the night before becoming unconscious.”

    The niece, Mrs. Sewill, writes as follows:—

    “11, Smithdown Lane, Paddington, Liverpool.

    “August 21st, 1885.

    “At my uncle’s and your request, I write to confirm the statement of uncle respecting the voice I heard, as follows: I was awakened suddenly without apparent cause, and heard a voice call me distinctly, thus: ‘Rosy, {i-229} Rosy, Rosy!’11 Each of the percipients, it will be noted, heard his or her own name. This point receives its explanation in Chap. xii., § 5. Thinking it was my uncle calling, I rose and went out of my room, and met my uncle coming to see if I was calling him.22 Mrs. Sewill, (who was 14 or 15 at the time) is certain that she is correct on this point; and in conversation with her uncle, I found that his memory agrees with hers. We were the only occupants of the house that night, aunt being away attending upon her sister. The night I was called was between 2nd and 3rd of July, 1866. I could not say the time I was called, but I know it was the break of day. I never was called before or since.

    “ROSANNA SEWILL.”

    [The last words—an answer to the question whether the narrator had ever experienced any other hallucination—perhaps need correction, as I learnt in conversation that on another occasion she (and two other persons in the same house) had been woke by a voice resembling that of a deceased relative. But she is by no means a fanciful or superstitious witness.]

    The percipients in this case may perhaps have been in a somewhat anxious and highly-wrought state. Now that is a condition which—as we shall see in the sequel—tends occasionally to produce purely subjective hallucinations of the senses. It is true that the impression of a call which was imagined to be that of a healthy person close at hand, and was in no way suggestive of the dying woman, does not seem a likely form for subjective hallucination due to anxiety about her to take; still, the presence of the anxiety would have prevented us from including such a case in our evidence, had only a single person been impressed. But it must be admitted as a highly improbable accident that two startling impressions, so similar in character, and each unique in the life of the person who experienced it, should have so exactly coincided.

    § 10. The above may serve as examples of the several groups classified with reference to the nature of the percipient’s impression. But it will be seen that the agent has also been exhibited in a great variety of conditions—in normal waking health, in apparently dreamless sleep (pp. 103–9), in dream, in physical pain, in a swoon, in the excitement of danger, in dangerous illness, and in articulo mortis, at the moment of death the death being in one case accidental and instantaneous, in another the result of a sudden seizure, and in others the conclusion of a prolonged illness. And amid this variety the reader will, no doubt, have been struck by the large proportion of death cases—a proportion which duly represents their general preponderance among alleged cases of spontaneous telepathy. They constitute about half of our whole collection. Now this fact raises a question with respect to the interpretation of the phenomena which may be conveniently noticed at once since it bears an equal relation to nearly all the {i-230} chapters that follow, while such answer as I can give to it depends to some extent on what has preceded.

    We are, of course, accustomed to regard death as a completely unique and incomparably important event; and it might thus seem, on a superficial glance, that if spontaneous telepathy is possible, and the conditions and occasions of its occurrence are in question, no more likely occasion than death could be suggested. But on closer consideration, we are reminded that the actual psychical condition that immediately precedes death often does not seem to be specially or at all remarkable, still less unique; and that it is this actual psychical condition—while it lasts, and not after it has ceased—that really concerns us here. Our subject is phantasms of the living: we seek the conditions of the telepathic impulse on the hither side of the dividing line, in the closing passage of life; not in that huge negative fact—the apparent cessation or absence of life—on which the common idea of death and of its momentous importance is based. And the

    closing passage of life, in some of the cases above quoted and in many others that are to follow, was, to all appearance, one of more or less complete lethargy; a state which (on its psychical side at any rate) seems in no way distinguishable from one through which the agent has passed on numerous previous occasions—that of deep sleep. Nor are the cases which issue in death the only ones to which this remark applies: in the more remarkable cases of Chap. III., the agent was actually in deep sleep; Mrs. Bettany’s mother was in a swoon (p. 194); and other similar instances will meet us. Here, then, there appears to be a real difficulty. For how can we attribute an extraordinary exercise of psychical energy to a state which on its psychical side is quite ordinary, and in which psychical and physical energies alike seem reduced to their lowest limits?

    It may, no doubt, be replied that we have no right to assume that the psychical condition is ordinary; that the nervous condition in the lethargy of approaching death, and even in a fainting-fit, may differ greatly from that of normal sleep, and that this difference may be somehow represented on the psychical side, even though the ostensible psychical condition is approximately nil. But a completer answer may possibly be found in some further development of the idea of the “unconscious intelligence” which was mentioned above (pp. 69, 70). We there noted stray manifestations of psychical action that seemed unconnected with the more or less coherent stream of experience which we recognise as a self; and a probable relation of these was pointed {i-231} out to those curious cases of “double consciousness,” in which two more or less coherent streams of experience replace one another by turns, and the same person seems to have two selves. Many other cognate facts might be mentioned, which enable us to generalise to some extent the conceptions suggested by the more prominent instances. But since for present purposes the topic only concerns us at the point where it comes into contact with telepathy, I must ask the reader to seek those further facts elsewhere; and to accept here the statement that the more these little-known paths of psychology are explored, the more difficult will it appear to round off the idea of personality, or to measure human existence by the limits of the phenomenal self.11 In addition to Dr. Azam’s well-known case of Félida, I may refer specially to Professor Verriest’s “Observation de trois existences cérébrales distinctes chez le même sujet,” in the Bulletin de l’Académic Royale de Médecine de Belgique, 3rd Series, Vol. xvi.; the case of Louis V——, with his six different personalities, reported by various French observers (Camuset, Annales Médico-psychologiques,1882, p. 75; Jules Voisin, Archives de Neurologie, September, 1885; Bourru and Burot, Revue Philosophique, October, 1885, and Archives de Neurologie, November, 1885); and the hypnotic experiments described by Mr. Myers, in his paper on “Human Personality,” Proceedings of the S.P.R. Part x. A theory of the transcendental self, in its relation to various abnormal states, has been worked out at length in Du Prel’s Philosophie der Mystik (Leipzig, 1885). Now the very nature of this difficulty cannot but suggest a deeper solution than the mere connection of various streams of psychic life in a single organism. It suggests the hypothesis that a single individuality may have its psychical being, so to speak, on different planes; that the stray fragments of “unconscious intelligence,” and the alternating selves of “double consciousness,” belong really to a more fundamental unity, which finds in what we call life very imperfect conditions of manifestation; and that the self which ordinary men habitually regard as their proper individuality may after all be only a partial emergence. And this hypothesis would readily embrace and explain the special telepathic fact in question; while itself drawing from that fact a fresh support. By its aid we can at once picture to ourselves how it should be that the near approach of death is a condition exceptionally favourable to telepathic action, even though vital faculties seem all but withdrawn, and the familiar self has lapsed to the very threshold of consciousness. For to the hidden and completer self the imminence of the great change may be apparent in its full and unique impressiveness; nay, death itself may be recognised, for aught we can tell, not as a cessation but as a liberation of energy. But this line of thought, though worth pointing out as that along which the full account of certain phenomena of telepathy may in time be sought, is not one that I can here pursue.

    {i-232}

    CHAPTER VI.

    TRANSFERENCE OF IDEAS AND OF MENTAL PICTURES.

    § 1. THE advance-guard of cases in the last chapter has afforded a glance at the whole range of the phenomena. But I must now start on a methodical plan, and take the narratives in groups according to their subject-matter. The groups will follow the same order as the preceding specimens; but though theoretically the best, this order has the practical disadvantage that it puts the weakest classes first. Of the two great divisions, the externalised impressions are by-far the most remarkable in themselves, and by far the most conclusive as evidence; but as they constitute the extreme examples of telepathic action, they are logically led up to through the non-externalised group, which presents more obvious analogies with the experimental basis of our inquiry. I must, therefore, beg the reader who may be disappointed by much of the evidence in this and the two following chapters, to note that it is no way presented as conclusive; and that though it is well worthy of attention if the case for spontaneous telepathy is once made out, it is only when we come to the “borderland” examples of Chap. IX. that the strength of the case begins rapidly to accumulate.

    The great point which connects many of the more inward impressions of spontaneous telepathy with the experimental cases is this—that what enters the percipient’s mind is the exact reproduction of the agent’s thought at the moment. It is to this class of direct transferences, especially between persons who are in close association with one another, that popular belief most readily inclines—as a rule, without any sufficient grounds. Nothing is commoner than to hear instances of sympathetic flashes between members of the same household—cases where one person suddenly makes the very remark that another was about to make—adduced as evidence of some sort of supersensuous communication. But it is tolerably evident that a {i-233} number of such “odd coincidences” are sure to occur in a perfectly normal way. Minds which are in habitual contact with one another will constantly react in the same way, even to the most trifling influences of the moment; and the sudden word which proves them to have done so would have nothing startling in it, if the whole train of association that led up to it could be exposed to view. Moreover, physical signs which would be imperceptible to a stranger, may be easily and half-automatically interpreted by a familiar associate; and thus what looks sometimes like divination may perfectly well be due to unconscious inference. It is very rarely that conditions of this sort can be with certainty excluded. Still, experimental thought-transference would certainly prepare us to encounter the phenomenon occasionally in ordinary social and domestic life; and one or two examples may be given which have a strong primâ facie air of being genuine specimens.

    One frequent form of the alleged transferences is that of tunes. It is matter of very common observation that one person begins humming the very tune that is running in some one else’s head. This admits, as a rule, of a perfectly simple explanation. It is easy to suppose that some special tune has been a good deal “in the air” of a house, half unconsciously hummed or whistled, as tunes often are, and that thus the coincidence is an accident which may very readily occur. At the same time, if the telepathic faculty exists tunes should apparently be a form of “thought” well calculated for transference. With many people the imagining of a tune is the sort of idea which comes nearest to the vividness of actual sensation. And moreover, it contains not only the representation of sensory experience, but also a distinct motor element—an impulse to reproduction. A person with a musical ear can silently reproduce a tune, with such an inward force as almost produces the illusion of driving it into objective existence. Such an incident as the following therefore, where there is no question of a family knowledge of the tune, or of its having been in any way in the air, is of decided interest; though, of course, the actual force of any single case of the sort is very small.1

    closing passage of life, in some of the cases above quoted and in many others that are to follow, was, to all appearance, one of more or less complete lethargy; a state which (on its psychical side at any rate) seems in no way distinguishable from one through which the agent has passed on numerous previous occasions—that of deep sleep. Nor are the cases which issue in death the only ones to which this remark applies: in the more remarkable cases of Chap. III., the agent was actually in deep sleep; Mrs. Bettany’s mother was in a swoon (p. 194); and other similar instances will meet us. Here, then, there appears to be a real difficulty. For how can we attribute an extraordinary exercise of psychical energy to a state which on its psychical side is quite ordinary, and in which psychical and physical energies alike seem reduced to their lowest limits?

    It may, no doubt, be replied that we have no right to assume that the psychical condition is ordinary; that the nervous condition in the lethargy of approaching death, and even in a fainting-fit, may differ greatly from that of normal sleep, and that this difference may be somehow represented on the psychical side, even though the ostensible psychical condition is approximately nil. But a completer answer may possibly be found in some further development of the idea of the “unconscious intelligence” which was mentioned above (pp. 69, 70). We there noted stray manifestations of psychical action that seemed unconnected with the more or less coherent stream of experience which we recognise as a self; and a probable relation of these was pointed {i-231} out to those curious cases of “double consciousness,” in which two more or less coherent streams of experience replace one another by turns, and the same person seems to have two selves. Many other cognate facts might be mentioned, which enable us to generalise to some extent the conceptions suggested by the more prominent instances. But since for present purposes the topic only concerns us at the point where it comes into contact with telepathy, I must ask the reader to seek those further facts elsewhere; and to accept here the statement that the more these little-known paths of psychology are explored, the more difficult will it appear to round off the idea of personality, or to measure human existence by the limits of the phenomenal self.11 In addition to Dr. Azam’s well-known case of Félida, I may refer specially to Professor Verriest’s “Observation de trois existences cérébrales distinctes chez le même sujet,” in the Bulletin de l’Académic Royale de Médecine de Belgique, 3rd Series, Vol. xvi.; the case of Louis V——, with his six different personalities, reported by various French observers (Camuset, Annales Médico-psychologiques,1882, p. 75; Jules Voisin, Archives de Neurologie, September, 1885; Bourru and Burot, Revue Philosophique, October, 1885, and Archives de Neurologie, November, 1885); and the hypnotic experiments described by Mr. Myers, in his paper on “Human Personality,” Proceedings of the S.P.R. Part x. A theory of the transcendental self, in its relation to various abnormal states, has been worked out at length in Du Prel’s Philosophie der Mystik (Leipzig, 1885). Now the very nature of this difficulty cannot but suggest a deeper solution than the mere connection of various streams of psychic life in a single organism. It suggests the hypothesis that a single individuality may have its psychical being, so to speak, on different planes; that the stray fragments of “unconscious intelligence,” and the alternating selves of “double consciousness,” belong really to a more fundamental unity, which finds in what we call life very imperfect conditions of manifestation; and that the self which ordinary men habitually regard as their proper individuality may after all be only a partial emergence. And this hypothesis would readily embrace and explain the special telepathic fact in question; while itself drawing from that fact a fresh support. By its aid we can at once picture to ourselves how it should be that the near approach of death is a condition exceptionally favourable to telepathic action, even though vital faculties seem all but withdrawn, and the familiar self has lapsed to the very threshold of consciousness. For to the hidden and completer self the imminence of the great change may be apparent in its full and unique impressiveness; nay, death itself may be recognised, for aught we can tell, not as a cessation but as a liberation of energy. But this line of thought, though worth pointing out as that along which the full account of certain phenomena of telepathy may in time be sought, is not one that I can here pursue.

    {i-232}

    CHAPTER VI.

    TRANSFERENCE OF IDEAS AND OF MENTAL PICTURES.

    § 1. THE advance-guard of cases in the last chapter has afforded a glance at the whole range of the phenomena. But I must now start on a methodical plan, and take the narratives in groups according to their subject-matter. The groups will follow the same order as the preceding specimens; but though theoretically the best, this order has the practical disadvantage that it puts the weakest classes first. Of the two great divisions, the externalised impressions are by-far the most remarkable in themselves, and by far the most conclusive as evidence; but as they constitute the extreme examples of telepathic action, they are logically led up to through the non-externalised group, which presents more obvious analogies with the experimental basis of our inquiry. I must, therefore, beg the reader who may be disappointed by much of the evidence in this and the two following chapters, to note that it is no way presented as conclusive; and that though it is well worthy of attention if the case for spontaneous telepathy is once made out, it is only when we come to the “borderland” examples of Chap. IX. that the strength of the case begins rapidly to accumulate.

    The great point which connects many of the more inward impressions of spontaneous telepathy with the experimental cases is this—that what enters the percipient’s mind is the exact reproduction of the agent’s thought at the moment. It is to this class of direct transferences, especially between persons who are in close association with one another, that popular belief most readily inclines—as a rule, without any sufficient grounds. Nothing is commoner than to hear instances of sympathetic flashes between members of the same household—cases where one person suddenly makes the very remark that another was about to make—adduced as evidence of some sort of supersensuous communication. But it is tolerably evident that a {i-233} number of such “odd coincidences” are sure to occur in a perfectly normal way. Minds which are in habitual contact with one another will constantly react in the same way, even to the most trifling influences of the moment; and the sudden word which proves them to have done so would have nothing startling in it, if the whole train of association that led up to it could be exposed to view. Moreover, physical signs which would be imperceptible to a stranger, may be easily and half-automatically interpreted by a familiar associate; and thus what looks sometimes like divination may perfectly well be due to unconscious inference. It is very rarely that conditions of this sort can be with certainty excluded. Still, experimental thought-transference would certainly prepare us to encounter the phenomenon occasionally in ordinary social and domestic life; and one or two examples may be given which have a strong primâ facie air of being genuine specimens.

    One frequent form of the alleged transferences is that of tunes. It is matter of very common observation that one person begins humming the very tune that is running in some one else’s head. This admits, as a rule, of a perfectly simple explanation. It is easy to suppose that some special tune has been a good deal “in the air” of a house, half unconsciously hummed or whistled, as tunes often are, and that thus the coincidence is an accident which may very readily occur. At the same time, if the telepathic faculty exists tunes should apparently be a form of “thought” well calculated for transference. With many people the imagining of a tune is the sort of idea which comes nearest to the vividness of actual sensation. And moreover, it contains not only the representation of sensory experience, but also a distinct motor element—an impulse to reproduction. A person with a musical ear can silently reproduce a tune, with such an inward force as almost produces the illusion of driving it into objective existence. Such an incident as the following therefore, where there is no question of a family knowledge of the tune, or of its having been in any way in the air, is of decided interest; though, of course, the actual force of any single case of the sort is very small.1

    >1 The phenomenon is not without experimental support. Just a century ago, Puységur wrote, of one of his “magnetised” subjects: “Je le forçais à se donner beaucoup de mouvement sur sa chaise, comme pour danser sur un air, qu’en chantant mentalement je lui faisais répéter tout haut.” (Mémoires, &c., du Magnetisme Animal, 3rd edition, p. 22. See also Dr. Macario, Du Sommeil, des Rêves, et du Somnambulisme, p. 184.) Mr. Guthrie has successfully repeated the experiment several times with a “subject” in a normal state (Proceedings of the S.P.R., Vol. iii.)—with contact, it is true, which prevents the results from being quite conclusive. Still, the only element in a tune which could be conveyed with any accuracy by minute movements is the rhythm. Now this could only be conveyed by sudden movements at definite moments—a very different matter from the continuous slightly-varied pressure of the willing-game; while even supposing that these discrete and accurate indications could be unconsciously given, it is hard to believe that they could lead to the identification of the tune, unless their rhythmic character were consciously perceived. We received the account from Sir Lepel Griffin, K.C.S.I.

    {i-234}

    “53A, Pall Mall.

    “February 14th, 1884.

    (37) “Colonel Lyttleton Annesley, Commanding Officer of the 11th Hussars, was staying in my house some time ago, and one afternoon, having nothing to do, we wandered into a large unoccupied room, given up to lumber and packing cases. Colonel A. was at one end of this long room reading, to the best of my recollection, while I opened a box, long forgotten, to see what it contained. I took out a number of papers and old music, which I was turning over in my hand, when I came across a song in which I, years before, had been accustomed to take a part, ‘Dal tuo stellato soglio,’ out of ‘Mosé in Egitto,’ if I remember right. As I looked at this old song, Colonel A., who had been paying no attention whatever to my proceedings, began to hum, ‘Dal tuo stellato soglio.’ In much astonishment I asked him why he was singing that particular air. He did not know. He did not remember to have sung it before; indeed I have not ever heard Colonel A. sing, though he is exceedingly fond of music. I told him that I was holding the very song in my hand. He was as much astonished as I had been, and had no knowledge that I had any music in my hand at all. I had not spoken to him, nor had I hummed the air, or given him any sign that I was looking over music. The incident is curious, for it is outside all explanation on the theory of coincidence.”

    Later, Sir L. Griffin wrote:—

    “28th April, 1884.

    “I promised to write to you when I received a reply from General Lyttleton Annesley, to whom I had written, in the same words I had used to you, the little incident which struck you as noteworthy. I may mention that it had never formed the subject of conversation or correspondence between us from the day that it happened until now. He says: ‘I perfectly recollect the incident you refer to about the song “Dal tuo stellato soglio.” I had my back to you at the time you were taking out the music, and did not even know what you were doing. I was close to a window and you were at the bottom end of the room. In fact your account is exact to the minutest point.’

    “LEPEL GRIFFIN

    We have other cases in which the transferred impression was not of a tune, but of a word or phrase, while still apparently of an auditory sort, conveying the sound of the word rather than its meaning. When the two persons concerned have been in close proximity, it is, of course, difficult to make sure that some incipient sound or movement of the lips, on the part of the supposed agent, did not {i-235} supply an unconscious suggestion.1 1 For instance, we should not be justified in laying stress on such an occurrence as the following, described to us by Mr. Dismorr, of Thelcrest Lodge, Gravesend. “November 19th, 1884. “A somewhat curious little incident occurred this morning, which, though not of any value, might be of interest to you. “Last evening a friend of mine, Mr. F. P., and I, unable to fix upon a suitable name for a new invention of ours, agreed to think it over and communicate the names selected this morning. The only names I could think of at all suitable were three, ‘Matchless,’ ‘Marvel,’ and ‘Express.’ “We met in the train, and I said to P., ‘Have you thought of any name?’he replied ‘Yes,’and leant across to mention it, but suddenly stopped short, and said, ‘Tell me yours.’ I at once commenced, as I thought, to give the three I had selected in the order named; but quite as much to my surprise as that of Mr. P., the first name I mentioned was the word ‘Superb,’ a name that had never entered my mind, but strangely enough the actual name that P. had settled on and was about to mention. “As there was not any reflection whatever, nor time for it, between P.’s question and my rejoinder, it struck me as rather curious. “J. S. DISMORR.” [Mr. P. admits the fact, but would rather his name did not appear.] This may have been a lucky chance, or it may have been that Mr. P., before checking himself, had given a hint of the coming word. But the following case cannot be so explained. We received it from Mr. J. G. Keulemans, who was mentioned above (p. 196) as having had a number of similar experiences.

    “November, 1882,

    (38) “In the summer of the year 1875, about eight in the evening, I was returning to my home in the Holloway Road, on a tramcar, when it flashed into my mind that my assistant, Herr Sehell, a Dutchman, who knew but little English (who was coming to see me that evening), would ask me what the English phrase, ‘to wit,’ meant in Dutch. So vivid was the impression that I mentioned it to my wife on arriving at my house, and I went so far as to scribble it down on the edge of a newspaper which I was reading. Ten minutes afterwards Schell arrived, and almost his first words were the inquiry, ‘Wat is het Hollandsch voor “to wit”?’ (The words scribbled on the newspaper were not in his sight, and he was a good many yards from it.) I instantly showed him the paper, with the memorandum on it, saying, ‘You see I was ready for you.’ He told me that he had resolved to ask me just before leaving his house in Kentish Town, as he was intending that evening to do a translation of an English passage in which the words occurred. He was in the habit of making such translations in order to improve his knowledge of English. The time of his resolution corresponded (as far as we could reckon) with that of my impression.”

    [Unfortunately no corroboration of this occurrence is now obtainable; but the incident of the newspaper does not seem a likely one to have been unconsciously invented.]

    The next case, if correctly reported, is of a transitional sort; for though it was a distinct idea, and not a mere sound-image, that seems to have been transferred, the transference was probably connected with the fact that the words were actually on the tip of the agent’s tongue. This fact, of course, suggests again the chance of unconscious suggestion by actual sound or movement of the lips; {i-236} but such an explanation seems here practically excluded by the length of the sentence. The case was recorded in the Spectator of June 24th, 1882, and has been confirmed to us by the writer.

    “Ferndene, Abbeydale, near Sheffield.

    “June 22nd.

    (39) “I had one day been spending the morning in shopping, and returned by train just in time to sit down with my children to our early family dinner. My youngest child—a sensitive, quick-witted little maiden of two years and six weeks old—was one of the circle. Dinner had just commenced, when I suddenly recollected an incident in my morning’s experience which I had intended to tell her; and I looked at the child with the full intention of saying, ‘Mother saw a big, black dog in a shop, with curly hair,’ catching her eyes in mine, as I paused an instant before speaking. Just then something called off my attention, and the sentence was not uttered. What was my amazement, about two minutes afterwards, to hear my little lady announce, ‘Mother saw a big dog in a shop.’ I gasped. ‘Yes, I did!’ I answered; ‘but how did you know?’ ‘With funny hair,’ she added, quite calmly, and ignoring my question. ‘What colour was it, Evelyn?’ said one of her elder brothers; ‘was it black?’ She said, ‘Yes.’

    “Now, it was simply impossible that she could have received any hint of the incident verbally. I had had no friend with me when I had seen the dog. All the children had been at home, in our house in the country, four miles from the town; I had returned, as I said, just in time for the children’s dinner, and I had not even remembered the circumstance until the moment when I fixed my eyes upon my little daughter’s. We have had in our family circle numerous examples of spiritual or mental insight or foresight; but this, I think, is decidedly the most remarkable that has ever come under my notice.

    “CAROLINE BARBER.

    Mrs. Barber has shown to Mr. Podmore the note-book in which she noted the occurrence, and from which her letter to the Spectator was taken almost verbatim. The incident was recorded on Jan. 11, 1880, as having taken place on Jan. 6. She adds that the governess and the other children at table were positive that she had not said anything about the dog, and were as much astonished as she was.

    § 2. In the next case (which might fairly have been included under the head of experiments) we break away altogether from the auditory symbols of thought, and have a transference of an idea pure and simple. For even if the agent was formulating his thought to himself, he would naturally do so in English, while the percipient described his impression in Italian. The account is from Mr. Robert Browning, and was first cited by Mr. James Knowles, in a letter to the Spectator of January 30th, 1869.

    (40) “Mr. Robert Browning tells me that when he was in Florence some years since, an Italian nobleman (a Count Giunasi, of Ravenna), visiting at Florence, was brought to his house without previous introduction, by an intimate friend. The Count professed to have great mesmeric or {i-237} clairvoyant faculties, and declared, in reply to Mr. Browning’s avowed scepticism, that he would undertake to convince him, somehow or other, of his powers. He then asked Mr. Browning whether he had anything about him then and there, which he could hand to him, and which was in any way a relic or memento. This, Mr. Browning thought, was, perhaps, because he habitually wore no sort of trinket or ornament, not even a watch-guard, and might, therefore, turn out to be a safe challenge. But it so happened, that by a curious accident, he was then wearing under his coat-sleeves some gold wrist-studs to his shirt, which he had quite recently taken into wear, in the absence (by mistake of a sempstress) of his ordinary wrist-buttons. He had never before worn them in Florence or elsewhere, and had found them in some old drawer, where they had lain forgotten for years. One of these studs he took out and handed to the Count, who held it in his hand awhile, looking earnestly in Mr. Browning’s face, and then he said, as if much impressed, ‘C’é qualche cosa che mi grida nell‘ orecchio, “Uccisione, uccisione!”’ [There is something here which cries out in my ear, ‘Murder, murder!’]

    “‘And truly,’ says Mr. Browning, ‘those very studs were taken from the dead body of a great-uncle of mine, who was violently killed on his estate in St. Kitts, nearly 80 years ago. These, with a gold watch and other personal objects of value, were produced in a court of justice, as proof that robbery had not been the purpose of the slaughter, which was effected by his own slaves. They were then transmitted to my grandfather, who had his initials engraved on them, and wore them all his life. They were taken out of the night-gown in which he died, and given to me, not my father. I may add that I tried to get Count Giunasi to use his clairvoyance on this termination of ownership, also; and that he nearly hit upon something like the fact, mentioning a bed in a room, but he failed in attempting to describe the room—situation of the bed with respect to windows and door. The occurrence of my great-uncle’s murder was known only to myself, of all men in Florence, as certainly was also my possession of the studs.’”

    Mr. Browning, in a letter to us, dated the 21st of July, 1883, affirms that the account “is correct in every particular”—adding, “My own explanation of the matter has been that the shrewd Italian felt his way by the involuntary help of my own eyes and face. The guess, however attained to, was a good one.”

    If a spurious diviner can thus feel his way as far as murder, and even Mr. Browning’s expression is so inadequate to veil his thought, then indeed is our daily life compassed with dangers of which genuine telepathy has shown no trace.

    With this account it is interesting to compare the following, from Miss Caroline B. Morse, of Northfield, Vermont.

    “April, 1884.

    (41) “I early became conscious of a peculiar sensitiveness to the undertones—the unuttered thoughts—of others. Later, this tendency developed into an occasional lightning-like reading of facts that apparently came to me through none of the ordinary sensory {i-238} channels, and which always, whatever their nature, gave me a shock of surprise. As an instance: About 13 years ago I went with an uncle to a jeweller’s shop to see a wonderful clock. I had never met the proprietor of the shop; he was known to my uncle, who introduced him as he came forward and stood with us before the clock. At that instant came a sensation as if every nerve in my body had been struck. The affable jeweller had extended his hand, but with a shudder, that only habitual self-control repressed, I said within myself: ‘I cannot touch your hand—there is blood upon it—you are a murderer.’ Outwardly, I merely bowed and looked at the clock, as if nothing could interest me so much, thus ignoring the proffered hand. Several weeks after, I learned that the jeweller and a companion, when young men, had been accused of and tried for the murder of a pedlar. They escaped conviction through the garbled testimony of the chief witness, who at the preliminary hearing had made a clear statement strongly against them.

    “CAROLINE B. MORSE.”

    The following corroboration is from Mr. B. T. Merrill:—

    “Montpelier, Vermont.

    “May 31st, 1884.

    “I think it was in the fall of 1871 that I asked my niece, Miss C. B. Morse, to go with me to see a musical clock. We went into the shop. I introduced the jeweller; he reached out his hand to shake hands with her, but she refused to take his hand. After we left the shop, I asked her why she did not shake hands with him. She did not make much reply, and I did not know the real reason till long afterwards. I did not then know that the jeweller had been tried for murder, but some time after learned the facts from some of the residents of this place.

    “BENJAMIN T. MERRILL.”1

    1 Compare case 379, where the impression seems to have been received when the agent’s hand was actually touched. The following account of a parallel incident occurs in the Zoist, Vol. x., p. 409, in a letter from the Rev. C. H. Townshend to Dr. Elliotson. “October 6th, 1852. “There is a curious story that M. Woodley de Cerjat wanted you to know. I believe he wrote it to Dickens to tell you again. However, I may as well repeat it. “A young lady, a friend of M. Cerjat’s, who had been with her family at Lausanne, was taken ill at Berne with typhus fever. Her doctor found her one day in a lucid interval (she was generally delirious), but no sooner had he touched her hand than she seemed to pass into an extraordinary state, and cried out, ‘Oh that poor child! that poor little boy! why did you cut his head open? How is he now?’ The doctor, astonished, replied, ‘I left him well; I hope he will recover,’ and tried to calm the patient. But when he got out of the room, he said, ‘That was the most extraordinary thing I ever knew in my life. I am come from trepanning a boy whose head had been injured, but there was no human means by which Miss —— could have known it, as I am only this moment come direct from the boy here, and no one knew of the accident, nor had Miss ——’s nurse ever left the room.’ The explanation seems to be that the touch of the doctor’s hand threw the young lady into clairvoyance. She is since dead, and M. de Cerjat attended her funeral.”

    In contrast to this purely ideal sort of horror, I may quote the following two cases where the impression, though still extremely indefinite in character, was yet sufficiently concrete to suggest the very presence of the object.

    The first account was given to us by Miss Charlotte E. Squire, then residing at Feltham Hill, Middlesex (now Mrs. Fuller Maitland).

    {i-239}

    “January 17th, 1884.

    (42) “My brother and I were travelling together from Cologne to Flushing. We were alone in the carriage when suddenly my brother, who had been half asleep, said to me that he had an odd idea that some one else was in the carriage sitting opposite to me. The very same idea had struck me just before he spoke.

    “Though my feet were on the opposite seat, I was certain that some one was there, though I was wide awake and never saw the slightest appearance of anything. The impression only lasted for a moment, but it was strange that our thoughts should have been simultaneous. This happened three years ago.”

    Asked if this impression was a unique experience in her life, Miss Squire replied that it was.

    The following corroboration is from Mr. W. Barclay Squire:—

    “The incident took place in the second week of February, 1881. My sister and myself had been to Hanover, and were returning home viâ Flushing. We were alone in a first-class carriage, I sitting with my face to the engine, she with her back, at the diagonal corners of the carriage. In the evening, as we drew near to Flushing, I was dozing, or rather in that half-awake, half-asleep state when dreams become mixed up with reality, and actual objects become mingled with dream images. From this state I suddenly woke, under the vivid impression that a figure was seated in the corner of the carriage opposite my sister, i.e., at the other end of the seat on which I was. The impression was quite transitory, but so vivid as to wake me thoroughly, though the figure was vague and dark, as if muffled up in a cloak, no features being visible. I immediately mentioned the hallucination to my sister, when she told me she had a similar one. I was careful to note that there were no bags or rugs on the seat on which I saw the figure, which could have given rise to its appearance by some fanciful combination.

    “W. BARCLAY SQUIRE.”

    Asked whether he had ever had any other hallucinations of vision, Mr. Squire replied that when quite a child he had seen figures, which were to be accounted for by an “almost continual state of delicate health. I never saw figures from the time I was about 7 or 8 until this experience in the railway carriage.”

    It naturally occurred to us that the impression might have been unconsciously suggested to one of the two persons by the other, through some unconscious gesture or sudden change of feature. But the following communications seem decisive against this hypothesis:—

    “39, Phillimore Gardens, W.

    “March 15th, 1885.

    “The idea of a third presence in the railway carriage occurred to both my brother and myself, without either of us ever having seen the other’s face. I had my eyes closed at the time, and as we were sitting on the same side of the carriage we could not see each other’s faces.

    “C. E. FULLER MAITLAND.”

    “I am certain the impression on my part was entirely spontaneous and not suggested by any action or look of my sister.

    “W. BARCLAY SQUIRE.”

    {i-240}

    [It will be seen, however, that there is a discrepancy as to the positions in the carriage.]

    Supposing this incident to have been telepathic, it is natural to regard Mr. Squire as the agent, and his impression of the strange presence as the momentary survival of a dream. But in the next example, if we surmise that a sort of waking nightmare of one of the three sisters affected the other two, we cannot at all assign their respective shares in the occurrence. The writer of the narrative is well known as an authoress and practical philanthropist.

    “1884.

    (43) “It was on a Saturday night, the end of October, or early in November, 1848, that I was staying at St. M——’s Vicarage, Leicester. My two sisters were at home, at H., about 14 or 15 miles from Leicester. The room in which I slept was large and low, opening into a broad, low corridor; the nursery was on the same floor; the rest of the family slept on the one below. I had been asleep for some time, and was not consciously dreaming at all. I was awoke instantaneously, not by any sound, but intensely awake, starting up in a panic—not of fear, but of horror, knowing that something horrible was close by. The room was still dimly lighted by the dying-out fire. I suppose it was seeing the room empty made me at once know that whatever it was, it was still outside the door, for I rushed at once to lock it. The impression I had was so vivid that I can only describe it by speaking of ‘It’ as objective. ‘It’ was living, not human, not physically dangerous; I think it was malevolent, but the overpowering consciousness I had was horrible; I did not represent it to myself in any shape even, except as an indefinite blackness, like a cloudy pillar, I suppose. The presence seemed to stay outside the door five minutes (but probably it was a much shorter time), and then it simply was not there. Whilst it was there I knew that it was nearly 2 o’clock, and the church bells chimed 2, about ten minutes, as I suppose, after it ceased. Whilst it was there I was very angry with myself for being so absurd; and I remember wondering whether a young German, who was living there as a pupil, a protégé of Chauncey Townsend’s, could be mesmerising me. He had been telling us about mesmerism and clairvoyance the day before, but I had not the slightest faith in either, at any rate not in C. H. T.’s accuracy of observation.

    “I went home on the following Tuesday, and that night, in talking over my visit with my two sisters, I told them what a strange delusion I had had.

    “They were both astonished, and related a similar experience each had had on the same Saturday night, or rather Sunday morning, for both agreed their impression at the time had been it was about or near 2. They were sleeping in separate rooms, but next each other.

    “R. was awoke in the same sudden manner, with the consciousness that something dreadful or harmful was near, not in her room, but a little way off. Her impression was the same in character, but less vivid than mine.

    “E. was awoke suddenly, as I had been, with a sense of intense horror, [sic] {i-241} Some presence, fearful, evil and powerful, was standing close by her side; she was unable to move or cry out; it seemed to her also to be a spiritual presence. Her room was quite dark, so she could see nothing. Her impression was at the time so much more overpowering, and it was so much closer to her, that it seemed to me, on talking it over, to have been the cause of ours. Not one of us for a moment connected it with a ghost. That notion never occurred to us.

    “R. and E. had told each other before my return, I believe on the next day. Afterwards we told the strange coincidence to my father and mother. She thought she had also been awoke by a cry, if I remember right, that night; but her recollection was too vague to be relied upon.

    “Nothing ever came of it, except that the known date of the commencement of E.’s fatal illness was the Saturday following. But neither she, so far as I know, nor we ever thought of it in this connection. She was very much interested in it afterwards, but not in the slightest degree uneasy or alarmed at it, only eager to find out how the coincidence could be accounted for. I was 28 at the time; E. was just 25.”

    [R. remembers this incident vaguely, and can add nothing.]

    § 3. I now come to cases where the impression was of a more definite sort, representing actual people and actual events. We sometimes encounter persons who allege that they have repeatedly experienced some occult sort of perception of what was happening to friends or relatives at a distance. As a rule their statements have no force at all as evidence for telepathy; partly because we have no means of judging how far the idea of the distant event may have been suggested in some normal way; partly because the impressions have not been recorded at the time, and it is specially easy to suppose that failures may have been forgotten, while a lucky guess has been remembered. We have, however, one example of marked correspondence where two witnesses were concerned, each of whom professes to have had other similar experiences, and where the particular incident narrated is adequately confirmed. The witnesses are Mr. and Mrs. L. H. Saunders, of St. Helen’s, near Ryde. As to former experiences, Mr. Saunders says:—

    “I have mentally noted frequent ‘vivid impressions’ during many years past, and in the majority of instances, when such impressions have appeared to be spontaneous and intuitive, the facts have actually corresponded.”

    Mrs. Saunders says:—

    “I have had other similar strong impressions at distant intervals, and as far as I can recollect they have corresponded with the reality. I cannot say if I have had any such impressions which have not corresponded with the reality, but my opinion is that I have had none such.”

    Mr. Saunders’ account of the particular incident is as follows:—

    {i-242}

    “San Claudio, Sandown, Isle of Wight.

    “March 12th, 1883.

    (44) “On Thursday evening last (8th inst.) in the house of friends with whom we were staying at Tavistock, Devon, I suddenly asked my wife ‘What she was thinking of?’ She replied, ‘I cannot get M. R. and A. F. out of my head all day; they will run through all my thoughts.’ I replied, ‘What makes you think of them?’ She said, ‘I don’t know, but it seems just as if they were married,’ to which I asked, ‘Have you any reason to suppose they would be married to-day?’ She replied, ‘Oh no! I am sure Mary would not be married during Lent.’ I then allowed my mind to travel to the house where M. R. resided in London, when I became immediately conscious of receiving the strongest possible conviction that they were married that day, so that I quickly but firmly replied, ‘They are married to-day, and we shall see the wedding announced in the Times on Saturday,’ at which there was a general titter. However, I was so convinced of the accuracy of our joint thoughts that I foolishly offered to wager the whole of my belongings on the truth of it, and until seeing the confirmation, I was anxious to risk anything in support of my belief. I may here mention that there were present, who could testify to the foregoing conversation, three independent witnesses, quite unknown to the persons referred to as M. R. and A. F. Neither of the latter had been seen nor communicated with by my wife for nearly six months, but I had seen them once about three months before. We knew they were to be married, but understood not until April or May. This knowledge and the question of Lent made my wife doubtful as to the fulfilment of her presentiment when I pressed her finally at noon on Saturday; soon after which, on reaching Exeter station, I procured a copy of the Times, and before opening it again declared my conviction absolutely unshaken. As you may have guessed, there was the notice of marriage, as having taken place on the 8th inst., all right. [We have verified this fact independently.] I may conclude by saying this notice is all we know of the wedding, no communication having passed between us and any member of the bride’s or bridegroom’s family, &c. Further, if you deem it of sufficient importance I will supply correct names and addresses of all parties interested, as I feel sure our Tavistock friends could not object to contributing to scientific truth by testifying to the facts.”

    The ladies who were present when Mr. and Mrs. Saunders had this impression corroborate as follows, in a letter written to Mr. Saunders from Harleigh House, Tavistock:—

    “After a lengthy discussion you both emphatically concluded that she was married on that day. We were quite sceptical at the time, but on receipt of the Times the proofs were quite convincing.

    “LILY SAMPSON.

    “KATHLEEN SAMPSON.”

    Here the state of the supposed agent or agents was presumably excitement of a happy nature. This, however, is rarely the case—which may perhaps be taken as indicating the superior vividness of pains over pleasures. Impressions of death, illness, or accident are {i-243} the almost unbroken rule. I will first quote cases where a distinct idea of the particular event was produced, without any distinct representation of the actual scene.

    The following account is from Mrs. Herbert Davy, of 1, Burdon Place, Newcastle-on-Tyne.

    “December 20th, 1883.

    (45) “A very old gentleman, living at Hurworth, a friend of my husband’s and with whom I was but slightly acquainted, had been ill many months. My sister-in-law, who resides also at H., often mentioned him in her letters, saying he was better or worse as the case might be.

    “Late last autumn, my husband and I were staying at the Tynedale Hydropathic Establishment. One evening I suddenly laid down the book I was reading, with this thought so strong upon me I could scarcely refrain from putting it into words: ‘I believe that Mr. C. is at this moment dying.’ So strangely was I imbued with this belief—there had been nothing whatever said to lead to it—that I asked my husband to note the time particularly, and to remember it for a reason I would rather not state just then. ‘It is exactly 7 o’clock,’ he said, and that being our dinner hour, we went downstairs to dine. The entire evening, however, I was haunted by the same strange feeling, and looked for a letter from my sister-in-law next morning. None came. But the following day there was one for her brother. In it she said: ‘Poor old Mr. C. died last night at 7 o’clock. It was past post time, so I could not let you know before.’”

    Mr. Davy corroborates as follows:—

    “December 27th, 1883.

    “I have a perfect recollection of the night in question, the 20th October, 1882, when my wife asked me to tell her the time. I told her the time, as she ‘had a reason for knowing it,’ she said. She afterwards told me that reason.

    “HERBERT DAVY.”

    The following is a copy of an obituary card, referring to the Mr. C. of the narrative:—

    “In loving memory of John Colling, of Hurworth-on-Tees, who died October the 20th, 1882, aged 84 years.”

    Mrs. Davy has had one other experience, to be quoted later (case 395), which also corresponded with a death. With this exception, she states that the present case was quite unique in her experience.

    In an interview with Professor Sidgwick, on April 15th, 1884, Mrs. Davy described the impression as strong and sudden, not emotional, but merely the sudden conviction that Mr. Colling was at that moment dying, though a strange feeling of sadness followed and remained during the evening. “She called it strange,” says Professor Sidgwick, “meaning (as I understand) that her interest in Mr. C. was too slight to account for it; and she has no reason to suppose that he thought of her at the moment of death. In this case her recollection of the uniqueness and strength of her conviction is confirmed by her request to her husband to note the time: she was certain that she had never on any other occasion made a similar request in consequence of a similar impression. Her belief at the time {i-244} was not the result of any reasoning process leading her to have confidence in her impression.” More than two years later, in conversation with the present writer, Mrs. Davy mentioned the surprise which she herself afterwards felt at having made the request to her husband.

    The next case is from Miss A. S. Jarry, of Settle, Yorkshire.

    “June 2nd, 1884.

    (46) “I was making a hurried tour in the North of Italy, having left a sister at home, who for some time past had been subject to sudden attacks of illness. Owing to short halts, and some uncertainty as to these, I had not had any tidings from home for nearly a fortnight. Although much disappointed at this, I can confidently say that I had not dwelt upon the thought so as to induce any nervous anxiety. One evening, in Venice, at about half-past 10, the certain conviction was suddenly forced upon me that my sister was ill. The impression was so distinct that it would have been impossible, in any case, to doubt the reality of the fact, but having had two similar communications some years before in the case of my mother’s illness, I knew quite well that my sister was ill. Under these circumstances, it would be difficult to measure time accurately; my impression was that I had been about two hours arranging in my own mind to leave Venice by the earliest morning train, when suddenly an assurance as strong as the first was conveyed that all cause for anxiety had passed away. On my return home I found that both impressions had been correct, as my sister’s account subjoined will show. I also send the evidence of a friend to whom, on the following morning, I communicated the impressions of the night.

    “A. S. JARRY.

    Miss Jarry’s sister writes:—

    “Having for some time been liable to sudden attacks in my head, the symptoms of which were great confusion of thought, an attack was never surprising. On the night of April 21st, 1882, as I was preparing for bed (being at the house of a friend), I all at once felt that I was not in my own room at home, and I could not account for that circumstance; for some moments, it might be minutes, I did not know where I was. At last I became clear on that point, but not as to the reason of my being there. I was so far clear as to know that at the time I was ill, and that I must hasten into bed as soon, but with as little movement, as possible. It was about 10.30 p.m. the attack came on; it continued to cause great and distressing confusion for about 2 hours. The time I was quite aware of, as a clock near, striking the quarters, marked the time accurately. After this, clearness of mind gradually returned, and I felt convinced I was recovering. I heard 2 a.m. strike before I fell asleep, but before that time I had felt convinced all danger was over.

    “M. L. JARRY.

    In answer to inquiries, Miss A. S. Jarry says:—

    “June 30th, 1884.

    “My impression of my sister’s illness occurred on the same night, and, as exactly as can be ascertained at that distance, at the same time as her illness occurred. By comparing notes as strictly as can be, the certainty of all danger being over coincided exactly with her consciousness that she was going to fall into a refreshing sleep. I told my impression to Miss Barnett on the following morning. The previous correct impression to {i-245} which I alluded in the account I sent you, referred to two communications of precisely the same nature in the cases of two distinct illnesses of my mother’s.1 1 We have received full accounts of these other cases; but as they occurred at a time when Miss Jarry was in distinct anxiety about her mother, they cannot be presented as evidence. The impressions were equally clear and unmistakeable. I have never had any false impression.”

    Miss Julia Barnett confirms as follows:—

    “81, Fitzwilliam Street, Huddersfield.

    “Miss Barnett begs to say that she is able to bear testimony to the accuracy of the statements contained in Miss Jarry’s letter, as she shared her room the night the strong impression of her sister’s illness came over her, and, on awaking in the morning, received from her a vivid account of the distress she had endured whilst (as it appeared to her) her sister’s attack lasted.

    “Miss Barnett can also state that, on arriving at home, she learned from the elder Miss Jarry that the latter had really had an attack on the night, and at the hour, when the certainty of it was felt by her sister.

    “JULIA BARNETT.”

    Here the noteworthy points are, of course, the sudden resolution to start homewards next morning, and the distinct and unaccountable cessation of the anxiety. But in both these last cases the percipient was aware that the supposed agent was in a state where the event surmised was not wholly improbable, which reduces the force of the evidence. There are many cases of sudden accident where this objection does not apply.

    The following account is from Mrs. Muir, of 42, Holland Park, W.

    “April 7th, 1885.

    (47) “In the year 1849 I was staying in Edinburgh. One Sunday as I was dressing my second boy (aged 5 years) for church at about 10.30 a.m., he looked up at me and said, ‘Mother, Cousin Janie is dead.’ I asked him which Cousin Janie he meant, and he answered, ‘Cousin Janie at the Cape, she’s dead.’ I then tried to make him explain why he thought so, but he only kept repeating the statement. This ‘Cousin Janie’ was a girl of about 16 who had been staying in Edinburgh, and had gone out to the Cape with her parents some months before. She had been very fond of my boys, and had often played with them. I was rather struck by the way the child kept repeating what he had said, and wrote down the day and the hour, and told my mother and sisters. Some time afterwards the Cape mail brought the news that the girl had died on that very Sunday. She had been badly burnt the night before, and had lingered on till a little after midday.

    “ALICE MUIR.”

    In answer to questions, Mrs. Muir says:—

    (1) “The child was not in the habit of saying odd things of this kind.

    {i-246}

    (2) “As to the kind of impression I could discover nothing.

    (3) “I have no record in writing, but it is possible that my mother and sisters may remember the occurrence.”

    On November 25th, 1885, Miss M. A. Muir wrote:—

    “All that we have gathered is that neither my grandmother nor my mother’s two sisters have any distinct remembrance of the occurrence. The person who seemed to have been most impressed by it was a sister who died some years ago. I remember hearing her describe her feeling of wonder and awe, when the news came and they found the child’s words were true.”

    Very similar is the following incident, of which the first account was sent to us by Mr. C. B. Curtis, of 9, East 54th Street, New York.

    “November 20th, 1884.

    (48) “The incident I have to relate occurred 18 years ago, the present month. My wife at the time was making a visit at the house of her sister, about 300 miles from this city, in the central part of the State of New York. Thirty miles distant a brother resided with his family, among them a son, David, about 12 years of age.

    “One afternoon, my wife was sitting with her sister, while a child of the latter, a girl 3 years of age, was amusing itself with toys in another part of the room. Suddenly the child ceased its play and ran to my wife, exclaiming, ‘Auntie, Davie’s drowned.’ Not being attended to at once, the child repeated the words ‘Davie’s drowned.’ The aunt, thinking she had not heard correctly, asked the mother what the child said, when the words were again repeated. Nothing, however, was thought of the matter at the time, the mother simply saying the little one was probably only repeating what it had heard from some one.

    “A few hours later a telegram was received, announcing that at just about the time these words were spoken, David, the child’s cousin, with a brother, a year or two older, were drowned while skating 40 miles away.

    “CHARLES B. CURTIS.”

    [The Penn Yan Express for January 9th, 1867, describes the accident as having occurred on the afternoon of January 2nd. Mr. Curtis is, therefore, not correct in saying that it occurred in November.]

    On February 6th, 1885, Mr. Curtis sent us a copy of the following statement from his sister-in-law, Mrs. Ogden.

    “Kings Ferry, New York.

    “On the afternoon of January 2nd, 1867, my little daughter, Augusta, aged 3 years, was playing with her dolly, sitting near her aunt, who was spending the day at my house in Genoa, New York. Her little cousins, Darius and David Adams, aged 11 and 9 years, to the younger of whom she was tenderly attached, were living in Penn Yan, New York, 25 miles away. The cousins had not met since the preceding summer or early autumn.

    “While busy with her play, the child suddenly spoke, and said, ‘Auntie, Davie is drowned!’ Her father who was present, and I, heard {i-247} her distinctly. I answered, ‘Gussie, what did you say?’ She repeated the words, ‘Davie is drowned!’ Her aunt, who was not familiar with the childish accent, said, ‘Gussie, I do not understand you’; when the child repeated for the third time, ‘Auntie, Davie is drowned!’ I chanced to look at the clock, and saw it was just 4.

    “I immediately turned the conversation, as I did not wish such a painful thought fastened on the child’s mind.

    “I cannot recall that any allusion had been made to the boys that day; neither was I aware that my daughter even knew the meaning of the word drowned. She simply uttered the words without apparent knowledge of their import.

    “That evening a telegram came from my brother, saying, ‘My little boys, Darius and Davie, were drowned at 4 o’clock to-day while skating on Kenks Lake.’

    “E. M. O.”

    The impression of a very young child, corresponding to such an accident as this, has far more force than that of an adult would generally have; for seasons when relatives are supposed to be skating or boating are likely times for nervous apprehensions, which will naturally now and then be fulfilled.1 1 To a person who is constitutionally free from nervousness, and who recognises the impression received as having been a unique one, such an incident will naturally seem more striking than it does to others. This description applies to Mrs. Rachel Tuckett, of Southwood Lawn, Highgate (a member of the Society of Friends), who tells us that on August 10th, 1878, she was impressed, in a way unknown in her previous experience, with a sense that some member of a party who had gone out on a steam yacht had fallen overboard. This accident had actually happened at that very time to her daughter (now Mrs. Green), who remembers her mother’s mentioning the impression to her when she returned home, dripping wet. We have a similar case from Mr. J. N. Maskelyne, the celebrated conjurer. When a boy he was nearly drowned. He says: “The last thing I could remember was a vivid picture of my home. I saw my mother, and could describe minutely where she sat, and what she was doing.” This, however, would clearly not be evidence for telepathy, unless

    what the mother was doing was something very unusual, which does not seem to have been the case. But on Mr. Maskelyne’s return home, though he concealed from her what had happened, “she questioned me closely, and said she felt strangely anxious about me, and thought some accident had befallen me.” The percipient’s first-hand testimony cannot, however, be obtained. Nor have we any means of knowing the number of such maternal impressions about childish accidents that go unconfirmed. The following case is a strong one of its kind; since the coincidence appears to have been close to the hour, while the ground for nervousness, such as it was, extended over a good many days. The impression, moreover, seems to have been of a peculiarly definite and startling kind, being almost if not quite externalised as actual sound. The account is from the Rev. A. W. Arundel, who wrote from Colorado Springs, U.S.A., in 1884.

    (49) “In the fall of 1875, I took a trip to Madison, Ohio, to Johnson’s Island, Kelly’s Island, and neighbouring points. There were nine of us in all, and our conveyance was a small sailing vessel. One Sunday morning we crossed from Cedar Point to Sandusky, in order to attend church. During the service a heavy storm came up, and when we went down to the landing, on our return, we found a pretty rough sea. We ventured, however, to try and get across, and in the end succeeded; but in the trial we {i-248} had a very narrow escape. We had gone about halfway, when a very heavy gust of wind struck our little vessel, and turned her over on her side. The water rushed in, and it seemed almost impossible to keep her afloat. There we were clinging to the side that was still out of water, and expecting every moment to be swamped. By dint of almost superhuman effort, those who had sufficient presence of mind cut away all the sail we were carrying, and the boat righted just enough to allow the men to bale out some of the water. We managed, after one or two almost hopeless struggles, to get ashore. Now just at the moment of greatest danger, when escape seemed impossible, I thought of my wife and child a hundred miles away. I thought of them in a sort of agony, and felt that to leave them was impossible. If ever there was an unuttered cry for loved ones, it was at that moment. This was on the Sunday afternoon.

    “I reached home on the following Saturday afternoon. Having to preach that Sunday, I held no conversation with my wife that morning, and it was not until Sunday after dinner that we had an opportunity for a chat. Just as I was about to commence an account of my trip, my wife said, ‘By-the-way, I had a very peculiar experience last Sunday, just about this time. I was lying on the lounge, when all at once I had a startling impression that you wanted me, and even fancied I heard you call. I started up and listened, and went out on to the porch, and looked up and down the road, and acted altogether in a very agitated way.’

    “This happened, as nearly as we could determine by comparing notes, at precisely the same hour that I was clinging to that side of the sinking boat, and facing what seemed to be the possibility of a watery grave. I do not believe it was coincidence. It must, I think, be explained in some other way.

    “ALFRED W. ARUNDEL,
    “Pastor 1st U.E. Church.”

    [For Mrs. Arundel’s testimony, see the “Additions and Corrections.” [☼]]

    The next case is well-known, having been published in the Life of Bishop Wilberforce, Vol. I., p. 397.

    (50) “The Bishop was in his library at Cuddesdon, with three or four of his clergy, writing with him at the same table. The Bishop suddenly raised his hand to his head, and exclaimed, ‘I am certain that something has happened to one of my sons.’ It afterwards transpired that just at that time his eldest son’s foot (who was at sea) was badly crushed by an accident on board his ship. The Bishop himself records the circumstance in a letter to Miss Noel, dated March 4th, 1874; he writes: ‘It is curious that at the time of his accident I was so possessed with the depressing consciousness of some evil having befallen my son Herbert, that at last on the third day after, the 13th, I wrote down that I was quite unable to shake off the impression that something had happened to him, and noted this down for remembrance.’”

    [If the Bishop was correct in stating that he connected the impression at the time with the particular son who was hurt, the exclamation put into his mouth in the earlier part of the account is perhaps not exactly what he uttered. We have not been able to learn who were present at the scene. Here, as in other cases, I shall be most grateful for further testimony, should this book fall into the hands of anyone able to supply it.]

    {i-249}

    In the next case, though it seems certain that the percipient’s experience was mentioned at the moment, we unfortunately cannot obtain her own account, or her friend’s confirmation, as Mr. Smith has changed his residence, and we have failed to trace him. He was personally known to Professor Barrett, to whom the account was sent.

    “Leslie Lodge, Ealing, W.

    “October 10th, 1876.

    (51) “I had left my house, 10 miles from London, in the morning as usual, and in the course of the day was on my way to Victoria Street, Westminster, having reached Buckingham Palace, when in attempting to cross the road, recently made muddy and slippery by the water cart, I fell, and was nearly run over by a carriage coming in the opposite direction. The fall and the fright shook me considerably, but beyond that I was uninjured. On reaching home I found my wife waiting anxiously, and this is what she related to me: She was occupied wiping a cup in the kitchen, which she suddenly dropped, exclaiming, ‘My God! he’s hurt.’ Mrs. S. who was near her heard the cry, and both agreed as to the details of time and so forth. I have often asked my wife why she cried out, but she is unable to explain the state of her feelings beyond saying, ‘I don’t know why; I felt some great danger was near you.’ These are simple facts, but other things more puzzling have happened in connection with the singular intuitions of my wife.

    “T. W. SMITH.”

    As Mr. Smith was cognisant of his wife’s distress, and probably heard her tale before informing her of what had befallen him, this evidence is practically first-hand (see p. 148); but it is incomplete, since, for aught we can tell, Mrs. Smith may have had similar alarms that did not correspond with reality—which would diminish the improbability of an accidental success.

    There is a similar defect in the next piece of evidence—this time owing to the fact that M. Ollivier will not answer our letters. He probably thinks his own account sufficient, and does not see the importance, for our purposes, of fuller information. [☼]

    “Janvier 20, 1883.

    (52) “Le 10 octobre, 1881, je fus appelé pour service médical à la campagne à trois lieues de chez-moi. Cétait au milieu de la nuit, une nuit très sombre. Je m’engageai dans un petit chemin creux, dominé par des arbres venant former une voute au dessus de la route. La nuit était si noire que je ne voyais pas à conduire mon cheval. Je laissai l’animal se diriger à son instinct. Il était environ 9 heures; le sentier dans lequel je me trouvais en le moment était parsemé de grosses pierres rondes et présentait une pente très rapide. Le cheval allait au pas très lentement. Tout à coup, les pieds de devant de l’animal fléchissent et il tombe subitement, la bouche portant sur le sol. Je fus projeté naturellement par-dessus sa tête, mon épaule porta à terre, et je me fracturai une clavicule. [Translation]On October 10, 1881, I was called to a patient in the countryside three leagues from my home. It was the middle of a very dark night. I started into a small sunken road overhung by a vault of tree branches. It was so dark that I could not see to guide my horse. I let the animal have his head. It was about nine o'clock. The track I was following was very steep and covered with large round rocks. The horse was walking very slowly. Then, suddenly, his forefeet collapsed, and he fell nose-first. Naturally, I was thrown over his head. My shoulder struck the ground, and my collarbone was broken.

    {i-250}

    “En le moment même, ma femme, qui se déshabillait chez elle et se préparait à se mettre au lit, eut un pressentiment intime qu’il venait de m’arriver un accident; un tremblement nerveux la saisit, elle se mit à pleurer et appelle la bonne. ‘Venez vite, j’ai peur; il est arrivé quelque malheur; mon mari est mort ou blessé.’ Jusqu’à mon arrivée elle retint la domestique près d’elle, et ne cessa de pleurer. Elle voulait envoyer un homme à ma recherche, mais elle ne savait pas dans quel village j’étais allé. Je rentrai chez moi vers 1 heure du matin. J’appela la domestique pour m’éclairer et desseller mon cheval. ‘Je suis blessé,’ dis-je, ‘je ne puis bouger l’épaule.’ [Translation]At that very moment, my wife, who was at home undressing for bed, had a deep premonition that I had had an accident. She had a fit of the shakes, broke out in tears, and called for the maid. "Come quickly; I am frightened; something has gone wrong; my husband is dead or injured." Until my arrival, she kept the servant with her. She never stopped crying. She wanted to send someone after me, but she did not know to which village I was to go. I reached home about one o'clock in the morning. I called the servant to bring me a light and to unsaddle my horse. "I have been injured," I said. "I can't move my shoulder."

    “Le pressentiment de ma femme était confirmé. [Translation]My wife’s premonition was borne out.

    “Voilà, monsieur, les faits tels qu’ils se sont passés, et je suis très heureux de pouvoir vous les envoyer dans toute leur vérité. [Translation]Those, sir, are the completely true facts, as they happened, and I am very happy to be able to transmit them to you.

    “A. OLLIVIER,
    “Médecin à Huelgoat, Finistère.”

    I have mentioned that occasionally, where the same percipient has had several such impressions, all of them are alleged to have corresponded with a real event—or (as we may say for brevity) to have been veridical; and this special susceptibility, though often imagined or exaggerated, is more likely to have been correctly observed, if the impressions have been connected with marked incidents, befalling one or more members of the witness’s immediate circle. We found such a percipient in Mrs. Gates, of 44, Montpelier Road, Brighton, who has given us several instances of the singular sympathy existing between herself and her children, and manifesting itself by marked disquiet at moments when they are in danger or pain, although she may have no means of knowing it.

    To our inquiries whether she had ever noticed any failures, she said:—

    “I cannot recall any occasion of my experiencing ominous sensations with regard to certain of my children that have been entirely groundless; still, the results have been of less importance than my emotions presaged. For instance, on a certain evening, about three months ago, I was troubled about my son Ross. I received a letter, which he must have been writing while I was so nervous about him, and this is the postcript:—

    “‘Excuse bad writing. I am feeling downright ill to-night, cold shivers, headache, and intense thirst. I think I’m in for a fever, &c., &c.’

    “He had, however, no illness; the feverish symptoms passed away.’

    Now, this, of course, is quite unavailable as evidence; but several such inconclusive incidents could hardly be held to weaken the force of more striking ones. Here, for instance, is a case where the coincident crisis was more sudden and serious.

    “November 21st, 1882.

    “My son Ross, a fine, tall young fellow, is musical attendant at an establishment for the mentally afflicted near Bath. Sitting with my {i-251} family, on Monday afternoon, I remarked to my son-in-law, Mr. Evelyn Dering, ‘I’m so unhappy this afternoon about Ross, I can think of nothing but him. What a nuisance I am to people!’ This morning I received a letter from my son in which he says, ‘I had a narrow escape on Monday afternoon; one of our patients, named Rummell, attacked me with a chair. After a close struggle, I managed to blow my whistle, and get help from the next apartment. I was by myself with a large number of men, the other attendants being out and on duty in other places; but thank goodness I did not get hurt,’ &c., &c. This, then, was happening at the very time those singular feelings possessed me.”

    Mr. Evelyn Dering corroborates as follows:—

    “5, Hova Villas, West Brighton.

    “I write to confirm what Mrs. H. S. Gates gave you particulars of. It was certainly previous to receiving the letter from her son Ross that she expressed to me the painful anxiety she was suffering on his account.”

    The next instance is more definite still, and may be numbered as an evidential case.

    (53) “One August morning, in 1874 or 1875, at breakfast, the well-known feeling stole over me. Waiting till all had left the table excepting my second daughter, I remarked to her, ‘I am feeling so restless about one of my absent boys! It is ——; and I feel as if I was looking at blood!’”

    The son in question, in a letter received a few days later, inquired of Mrs. Gates as follows: “Write in your next if you had any presentiments during last week. We were going to —— canal, fishing, and I got up at the first sound of the bell, and taking my razor to shave, began to sharpen it on my hand, and being, I suppose, only half awake, failed to turn the razor, and cut a piece clean out of my left hand. An artery was cut in two places, and bled dreadfully.”

    The fact of Mrs. Gates’s alarm and vision of blood has been confirmed to us independently by the daughter, Mrs. Darnley, to whom she described it at the moment. The letter, which we have seen, was dated August 16th, but without the year. The full description shows that the pain was exceedingly severe, and that the writer had fainted.

    § 4. There is one interesting group of cases where the idea apparently impressed on the percipient has been simply that of the agent’s approach. But here, again, great caution is necessary. Popular opinion is extremely apt to invest presentiments of this sort with a character to which they have no claim. Every day, probably, a large number of people have a more or less strong impression, for which they can assign no distinct reason, that some particular person is near them or is coming to see them. That with some people such an impression should prove correct often enough to be remarked on, is only what we should naturally expect; and it is probable that the impression, when apparently confirmed in this way, would look to memory more {i-252}

    definite and confident than it had really been. When it is always about the same person that the impression is felt, there is more primâ facie ground for supposing that it may be telepathic. But still the circumstances may make it quite unavailable as evidence. For instance, Mr. Rowland Rowlands, of Bryncethin, Bridgend, tells us that when he was manager of the Pen-y-graig Collieries, a man who was acting under him as foreman (since dead) had constantly to come to his house on business in the middle of the night.

    “I was invariably aware of his coming, in dream, before he actually appeared, and would leave my bed and watch for him at the window. He himself noticed this, and told the other men that he never came but he found me at the window watching for him.”

    But those who are in the habit of being waked at night for a special purpose know the way in which the expectation will often haunt their dreams; and in the absence of more definite assurance that the man was never expected when he did not come, and that he never came unexpected, accident is the reasonable explanation of the coincidences. Mrs. Wheeler, of 106, High Street, Oxford, tells us that in the summer of 1869, she had a similar impression “dozens of times” with respect to the coming of a friend from Iffley, and that it never played her false. But this friend was a constant visitor, and if she came thirty times in the course of a few months, and Mrs. Wheeler had the impression on six of these occasions (which is, perhaps, a fair scientific translation of “dozens”), accident again would easily account for the case. Mrs. Stella, of Chieri, Italy, tells us how, when she was ill years ago, a son, who was quartered six miles off, got away at night on five or six occasions, against rules and at considerable risk, to inquire about her at the lodge.

    “Although unconscious and frequently delirious, I always knew when he came, and called him, showing signs of eagerness and restlessness. At first they treated it as pure raving on my part, but on inquiry they found that he had been there during the night.”

    This is a more plausible sample, since telepathic sensibility seems often heightened in illness; still, the necessary precision is wholly lacking. We have, however, stronger cases, of which a couple may be worth quoting here. The first is remarkable from the extreme improbability of the visit; the second from the number of times in succession that the impression proved correct.

    Miss M. E. Pritchard, of Tan-y-coed, Bangor, says:—

    {i-253}

    “January 30th, 1884.

    (54) “One night, at 12 o’clock, I felt a conviction that a friend of ours, Mr. Jephson, was coming to see us very shortly. I mentioned it to my sister, who merely said it was very improbable, as he must be on his way to Canada, as such was his intention when we had last seen him.

    “It was greatly to her astonishment when he actually arrived next morning at 9 a.m. When questioned as to the time of his arrival, we found it corresponded to the time of my remark, and, still more curious, he was then thinking of coming straight down to see us, but decided to wait till morning. This was in March, 1880, as far as I can remember.”

    In reply to inquiries, Miss Pritchard adds:—

    “February 7th, 1884.

    “In reply to your question as to whether any other previous impressions had not turned out true, I think, as far as I can remember, any deep impression I have ever had as to anyone calling has invariably been true.”

    The following corroboration is from Miss Pritchard’s sister:—

    “Tan-y-coed, February 8th, 1884.

    “I distinctly remember my sister telling me (at the time) of her impression that a friend was on his way to see us, which turned out to be the fact.—E. B. PRITCHARD.”

    Mr. Robert Castle, estate agent to many of the Oxford colleges, and well known to Mr. Podmore, writes as follows:—

    “Oxford, 13th October, 1883.

    (55) “In the years 1851 and 1852, when I was from 15 to 17 years of age, I was left in charge of a considerable extent of building and other estate work at Didcot, Berks, at which some 50 or 60 men were employed; and for so young a person a good deal of responsibility was put upon me, as I was only visited occasionally, about once a fortnight on an average, by one of the seniors responsible for the work.

    “Occasionally this senior was my brother Joseph, about eight years older than myself, and who had always taken, even for a brother, a very great deal of interest in my welfare, and between whom and myself a very strong sympathy existed.

    “I was very rarely apprised by letter of these visits, but almost invariably before my brother came (sometimes the day before, at other times at some previous hour on the same day) it would suddenly come into my mind as a quite clear and certain thing, how, I cannot say, that my brother was coming to see me, and would arrive about a certain hour, sometimes in the morning and sometimes in the afternoon, and I cannot remember a single occasion on which I had received one of these vivid impressions, on which he did not arrive as expected.

    “I had, without thinking particularly about it, got to act upon the faith of these impressions as much as if I had received a letter; and the singularity of the occurrence was not brought very forcibly to my own mind until one day when the foreman asked me to give him instructions as to how a portion of the work should be carried out—when I answered {i-254} him quite naturally, ‘Oh, leave it to-day, Joe will be here about 4 o’clock this afternoon, and I would rather wait and ask his advice about it.’

    “The foreman, who had access to my office, and usually knew what letters I received, said, ‘Perhaps it would be as well, but I didn’t know that you had received a letter from Oxford.’

    “I had to explain to him that I had not received a letter, and that it was merely by an impression I knew my brother was coming, and upon this I got a hearty laugh only for my credulity.

    “As my brother turned up all right at the time named, the foreman would not be convinced that I had not been playing a trick upon him, and that I had not received a letter and put it away so that he might not know of it.

    “The strangeness of the matter then induced me to arrange with the foreman always to let him know, as soon as I might have the opportunity, of the occurrence of these impressions, so that he might check them as well as myself; and he, although he gave up all attempts to explain the singularity of the thing, came afterwards to trust the certainty of their being right as much as I did myself.

    “I told my brother of them, who was very much puzzled, and could not account for so strange an occurrence; but on comparing my statements as to the time when the impressions occurred to me, in a number of cases, he said that, so far as he could check the time, it would seem to have been always at or about the time when he first received his instructions, or knew of the arrangement having been made for him to come.

    “As both the foreman and my brother have been dead for some years past, I have no means of comparing their recollections of these matters with my own.

    “Perhaps I should add that my brother was living at Oxford at the time, 10 miles or so from Didcot; and that although I was visited from time to time by other gentlemen beside my brother, I cannot remember having had these previous impressions in any case except his.

    “ROBERT CASTLE.”

    Here real pains seem to have been taken to test the phenomenon fairly; but the case is rather remote, and it is very unfortunate that no notes were taken at the time. Some further specimens will be found in the Supplement; and parallel cases where there was an actual sensory impression of the person about to arrive will be found in Chap. XIV, § 7.

    § 5. So far, the impressions that corresponded with real events have all been ideas of a more or less abstract kind; the fact was realised, but no image of the actual scene was called up in the percipient’s mind. We now come to a series of more concrete impressions—still belonging, however, to the non-sensory family; for though they have evoked sensory images with more or less distinctness, they have not suggested {i-255} to the percipient any actual affection of the senses. And they continue to present this marked point of analogy to the results of experimental thought-transference, that the images or the scene evoked before the percipient’s mind reflected (either wholly or in great part) the images or scene with which the agent’s attention was actually occupied.

    In alleged transferences of this distinct and detailed sort, it is, of course, essential to the evidence that the scene. with which the percipient is inwardly impressed should not be one that might, in the ordinary course of things, have been pictured correctly, or with sufficient correctness for the description to seem applicable. The tendency to make the most of such correspondences must here be carefully borne in mind. For instance, a lady of our acquaintance communicated the following experience. An old friend of hers in Wales had been earnestly longing to receive the Communion on a particular Sunday, but was prevented by illness. On this Sunday, our informant, who was in London, and who was unaware of her friend’s desire, and had never seen the church—

    “Had a vision of her sitting quietly in her place in the little village church, waiting to receive the rite. The church was evidently much neglected, and the floor and the matting were thickly covered with dust. On inquiry, I was assured that such was the condition of the church. The phantasm appeared as really present at the spot to which my friend’s desire had focussed her thoughts.”

    But here, it will be seen, the one detail that the narrator (who was much given to visualising) would not have been quite likely to imagine spontaneously, was the dusty condition of the church. Even that is a doubtful exception; and it is moreover a point which would be very likely to get unconsciously worked into the vision after the actual state of the case was learnt. The following cases seem to be free from these objections. The first shall be another specimen from the remarkable series of impressions which have been experienced by Mr. J. G. Keulemans (see pp. 126 and 235).

    “November, 1882.

    (56) “One morning, not long ago, while engaged with some very easy work, I saw in my mind’s eye a little wicker basket, containing five eggs, two very clean, of a more than usually elongated oval and of a yellowish hue, one very round, plain white, but smudged all over with dirt; the remaining two bore no peculiar marks. I asked myself what that insignificant but sudden image could mean. I never think of similar objects. But that basket remained fixed in my mind, and occupied it for some moments. About two hours later I went into another room for lunch. I was at once {i-256} struck with the remarkable similarity between the eggs standing in the egg-cups on the breakfast table, and those two very long ones I had in my imagination previously seen. ‘Why do you keep looking at those eggs so carefully?’ asked my wife; and it caused her great astonishment to learn from me how many eggs had been sent by her mother half an hour before. She then brought up the remaining three; there was the one with the dirt on it, and the basket, the same I had seen. On further inquiry, I found that the eggs had been kept together by my mother-in-law, that she had placed them in the basket and thought of sending them to me; and, to use her own words, ‘I did of course think of you at that moment.’ She did this at 10 in the morning, which (as I know from my regular habits) must have been just the time of my impression.

    “J. G. KEULEMANS.”

    Mrs. Keulemans tells us that she has almost forgotten the incident. “All I can say is that my husband looked at some eggs and made the remark that he had seen them before. I know he told me my mother had sent them.”

    Here the very triviality of this incident, as well as the smallness and definiteness of the object visualised, makes the resemblance to cases of experimental thought-transference specially close.1 1 Mr. Keulemans is a trained observer, and has made a careful study of his peculiar mental pictures, the subjects of which range from single objects, as in the above case, to complete scenes. He says: “They are always marked by a strange sensation. There is no attempt on my part to conjure them up—on the contrary, they come quite suddenly and unexpectedly, binding my thoughts so fixedly to the subject as to render all external influences imperceptible. Whenever I took the trouble to ascertain whether my impressions corresponded to real events, I found them invariably to do so, even in the most minute details.” But his cases naturally differ in their evidential force. He tells us, for instance, that on New Year’s Eve, 1881, he had a vivid picture of his family circle in Holland, but missed from the group his youngest sister, a child of 14, whose absence from home on such an occasion was most improbable. He wrote at once to ask if this sister was ill; but the answer was that, contrary to all precedent, she had been away from home. This may plainly have been an accidental coincidence.

    In the examples which follow, the idea of something less circumscribed than a single object, and more of the nature of a complete scene, seems to have been transmitted. I will begin with a case where the visualisation, if there was any, was extremely vague. Miss M. E. Pritchard, Tan-y-coed, Bangor, (the contributor of case 54 above,) writes:—

    “January 30th, 1884.

    (57) “Two years ago I awoke, one night, with a curious sensation of being in a sick room, and of the presence of people who were anxiously watching the bedside of some person, who was dangerously ill. It was not till some time after that we heard that one of the sisters, then living in Florida, had been very ill of a fever, and was at the time of the incident in a most critical state.

    “MAGGIE E. PRITCHARD.”

    In reply to inquiries, Miss Pritchard adds:—

    “I have never had any other experience of an impression of sickness or death.

    “The impression of sickness was not the continuation of a dream, and hardly a distinct waking impression. I woke from a heavy sleep with a {i-257} great sense of oppression, which gradually seemed to assume a distinct impression. It lasted about half an hour, that is the actual impression, but I had a great feeling of uneasiness for several days. I have never had any hallucinations or dreams of death.”

    The following corroboration is from Miss Pritchard’s sister:—

    “February 8th, 1884.

    “I recollect my sister telling me of her feeling of being in a sick room with people watching round a bedside. She did not mention it to me till the morning (it occurred during the night). It did not make much impression on me at the time—not till afterwards, when we heard of our sister’s dangerous illness.

    “E. B. PRITCHARD.

    The next instance is somewhat more definite. It is from Mr. John Hopkins, of 23, King Street, Carmarthen.

    “May 2nd, 1884.

    (58) “One evening, in the early spring of last year (1883), as I was retiring to bed, and whilst I was in the full enjoyment of good health and active senses—I distinctly saw my mother and my younger sister crying. I was here in Carmarthen, and they were away in Monmouthshire, 80 miles distant. They distinctly appeared to me to be giving way to grief, and I was at once positive that some domestic bereavement had taken place. I said to myself, ‘I shall hear something of this in the morning.’ When the morning came, the first thing which was handed to me was a letter from my father in Monmouthshire, stating that they had, on the day of writing, had intelligence that my nephew had just died. The little boy was the son of my elder sister, living in North Devon. There was no doubt but that my mother and younger sister had both given way to grief on the day of my strange illusion, and it was in some mysterious manner communicated to my mind—together with a certain presentiment that I was on the eve of intelligence of a death in the family. I thought it most probable, though, that the imaginative faculty added—in a purely local manner—the idea of speedy intelligence to the communication which the mind received in some way from Monmouthshire.

    “It was the only occurrence of the sort I have ever experienced.

    “JOHN HOPKINS.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Hopkins writes, on May 15, 1884:—

    “I, at Carmarthen, had news on the following morning, as I thoroughly expected to, of a death—that of a nephew. I had no opportunity of mentioning the circumstance to anyone before the letter came. I am sorry to say, too, that I have destroyed the letter.

    “As to the reality of the scene in my mind—speaking as correctly as I can at this distance of time from the occurrence (about a year ago)—I don’t think the affair did produce a picture on my mind more vivid than might have been summoned there by closing the eyes and putting some strain upon the imagination. It certainly did not make the outward eye fancy it saw something, as the Bishop of Carlisle has suggested may be the case in some instances. But there was this peculiarity. The scene was impressed upon my mind without closing of the eyes or any other {i-258} inducement to absent-mindedness, and without the imagination from myself, so far as I can say, going out in that direction. It was also more firmly rivetted upon my mind than any passing, or what one may term accidental, impression would be. It was fixed there. I could not get rid of it, and I felt certain it meant something, which it certainly did.

    “Although the locale was familiar to me, I don’t think there had been more wanderings of memory to it than to other places I knew, and the state of grief which my relatives were in may be said to have been the only exceptional feature.”

    In conversation with Mr. Hopkins, I learnt that his father, mother, and younger sister were the only three relatives at home; and that his impression as to the grief of the two latter resulted in apprehension about his father—led him, that is, to a wrong guess. On the other hand I am sure, from his account, that the impression itself was of a very strong and peculiar kind.

    The scene, however, sometimes makes a much more vivid impression than this. Here are a couple more cases from the rather considerable group where the event that befalls the agent is either death or a near approach to death by drowning. One example of this sort has already occurred (p. 246); and their number altogether is sufficient to suggest that this particular condition on the agent’s part is, for some unknown reason, a specially favourable one for the generation of the telepathic impulse.

    The following account is from Mrs. Paris (née Griffiths), of 33, High Street, Lowestoft.

    “April 30th, 1884.

    (59) “We were a family of eight. Twenty years ago we were all at home but one, H. This was by no arrangement, but by what seemed a series of coincidences. H. was to join us on Wednesday, August 3rd, to leave his situation, and spend a few days at home before entering on his new one. On the Sunday previous to his coming we had been to church—I for the first time after a protracted illness. My sister was too much occupied with her infant niece, and had not been with us. We met my sister’s friend, Miss J., a Russian lady, highly accomplished, and very intelligent. She walked home with us, and we insisted on her staying to our early dinner. My sister was delighted to have her to recount the precocious charms of our infantile treasure. It was a very pleasant morning,

    “I have given these details rather minutely to show that there was nothing in the surrounding circumstances to cause depression. My sister was in good health, even better than usual. Well, we had gone through the first course, the second was being placed on the table, when Miss J. asked ‘Where is Marianne?’—my sister. My mother remarked that she had left the room some minutes since, and did not seem well. I immediately went out, and after looking all through the house and not finding her, went into the garden. There I found her sitting with her head resting on her hands, looking into what was called the ‘quarry’—an unused working, {i-259} then and for years before flooded. From where she sat she could see the water looking so still and black. She was quite unaware of my presence. I put my hands on her shoulders, and asked, ‘What is the matter?’ She evidently neither felt nor heard me. I then went to her side and shall never forget the expression of her face. She looked perfectly paralysed with fear and horror. Her eyes seemed rivetted to that water, as if she was witnessing an awful scene, and could give no help. ‘What is the matter, my dear?’ She was still insensible to my presence and touch. In a few seconds she gave such a cry of suppressed agony and said,’ [sic] ‘Oh, he’s gone.’ She then seemed to become aware of my presence and turned a look of agonised entreaty on me, and yet there was a little relief. Presently she said, ‘Oh, J., do go away and leave me.’ I begged her to come in, and then as if she could bear it no longer she said,’ [sic] ‘Oh, J., he’s gone. Oh, God, he’s gone, my poor dear H.’ I begged her not to restrain herself so terribly, but to tell me what was wrong. Very slowly, as if it cost her unspeakable suffering, she said, ‘There is something terrible taking place.’ I lightly answered, ‘Of course, that is true all the year round. When is the moment but that some soul is meeting its Author?’ She shivered, and after a good deal of persuasion she returned with me into the room—she evidently not wishing to excite or trouble me. I thought no more of it. Miss J. had gone with her to her room and had insisted on her lying down, and induced her to relieve herself by telling her, Miss J., all about it. She was so much impressed with what she had heard that she left my sister, promising to return after afternoon service.

    “At about 3 o’clock that afternoon, we received the news of the death of our dear H. by drowning. He was on his way to church with the other members of the choir. Tempted by the delightful weather, and the inviting look of the water, several of them proposed a ‘dip,’ ‘just one for the last time, H.’ He complied, was first in, and had only gone into water up to his knees, when he called out that he was drowning. His companions were panic-stricken, and declared afterwards that they could not move. One at last recovered presence of mind sufficient to shout, and then to run the short distance to the church, and called out, ‘G., H. is drowning, come, quick.’ G. rushed out, undressing as he went, and throwing his clothes along the road, jumped in, and would undoubtedly have saved him, but H. clutched hold of him, and they both sank to rise no more, just a few minutes before 2 o’clock, and at the moment my sister called out, ‘He’s gone.’

    “We found her in a deep sleep, looking years older, but quite prepared for the news, for when my brother roused her, she said, ‘Have they come? They have not brought him home yet, have they?’ Miss J. came, seemingly quite prepared to hear of our sorrow. She told me afterwards that my sister had described the scene and the place, although she had certainly never been there. There was no precedent for his bathing on Sunday, nothing to suggest to her mind the possibility of his doing so.

    “Had I been the recipient of this ‘warning,’ ‘presentiment,’ ‘revelation,’ or whatever it may be called, weakness and consequent nervousness might have been urged as a predisposing cause, but it could not be urged in my sister’s case. She was twenty-seven at the time, and we have always been pronounced ‘sensible women with no nonsense about them.’”

    {i-260}

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Paris writes, on May 10, 1884:—

    “My sister and Miss J. are both dead. … In answer to your next inquiry I have written to my father to ask the questions as to the distance, &c. He thinks ‘Bo’ness,’ where the accident took place, was about 13 or 14 miles from Blackhall (where the family were then residing). I think I said 3 o’clock the news reached us. He puts it a little later. As to the character of the water, it was the Firth of Forth; but I know nothing of the place. My father says there was a steep place, caused by water running in from an engine in connection with Mr. Wilson’s works there, and that H. got into that deep pool. The time of afternoon service was from 2 till 3.30. Perhaps you know that in the Scotch churches there is only a short interval between the services. My brother was nearly 19. As to there being any special reason why my sister should have had the experience rather than myself, there are, to my mind, two. First, she was of a much more contemplative cast of mind. She was dreamy, I very active. But the second is, to my mind, the most powerful reason in this instance. You will have observed in all large families the members pair off, on the principle of like drawing to like, I suppose. She and H. paired off.

    “JANE PARIS.

    The Airdrie Advertiser for Saturday, August 6th, 1864, confirms the fact that the accident took place on the afternoon of the previous Sunday.

    In conversation, Mrs. Paris told me of another apparently veridical impression which her sister mentioned to her at the time of its occurrence, relating to the death of a cousin who was drowned at sea.

    The following case is given on the authority of the late Dr. Goodall Jones, of 6, Prince Edwin Street, Liverpool; and as he was not only made cognisant of the percipient’s impression immediately after its occurrence, but also actually saw the percipient in the state of excitement which the impression had produced, and many hours before the coincident event had been heard of, his account may be taken as on a level with first-hand evidence, and perhaps even in this particular instance as preferable to first-hand evidence. Dr. Jones wrote to us:—

    “November 28th, 1883.

    (60) “Mrs. Jones, wife of William Jones, a Liverpool pilot, living at 46, Virgil Street [since removed to 15, St. George’s Street, Everton], was confined on Saturday, February 27th, 1869. On my calling next day, Sunday, February 28th, at 3 p.m., her husband met me, saying he was just coming for me, his wife was delirious. He said that about half-an-hour before, he was reading in her room, when she suddenly woke up from a sound sleep, saying that her brother, William Roulands (also a Liverpool pilot), was drowning in the river (Mersey). Her husband tried to soothe her by telling her that Roulands was on his station outside, and could not be in the river at the time. She, however, persisted that she had seen him drowning. News arrived in the evening that about the time named, 2.30 p.m., Roulands was drowned. There was a heavy gale outside; the pilot boat was unable to put a pilot on board an inward-bound ship, and {i-261} had to lead the way in. When in the river, opposite the rock lighthouse, another attempt was made, but the small boat upset, and Roulands and another pilot were drowned. When Mrs. Jones was informed of his death she calmed down, and made a good recovery.”

    The following two cases differ from most of the preceding, in that the condition of the agent was only slightly abnormal, and the probability that the impressions of the percipients were telepathic rests entirely on the exactitude of detail in the correspondence. The first is from Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, of Wale House, Winding Road, Halifax.

    “May, 1884.

    (61) “About the year 1858, on a Sunday afternoon, as I sat with my wife by my fireside in Halifax (my brothers Tom and George having gone to Africa), in awaking from a nap, I saw my brothers in Portugal1 [☼]1 It is not meant that the idea of Portugal formed part of Mr. Wilson’s impression. in a row in the street over a dog which I saw Tom take by the tail, and, with a swing round, pitch over a bridge into the water. I told my wife what I had seen, and the impression was so strong that I wrote the particulars, together with the date, with a pencil on the cupboard door. In about a month after, I had a letter from my brothers stating that they had arrived safely in Africa, and mentioning that on their way they called at Lisbon, and there got into a row through Tom’s throwing a dog over a bridge into the water, and that they had narrowly escaped getting locked up about it. The information contained in the letter showed also that the time of the incident corresponded exactly to the time of my vision.

    “JOHN AMBLER WILSON.”

    “The foregoing statement is quite true.—SARAH ANN WILSON.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Wilson says:—

    “March 30th, 1885.

    “I did not know that my brothers were likely to go near Lisbon. I do not remember either churches or ships. I was standing on a bridge over a river, and all along, so far as I saw, were woodyards with wooden workshops. With regard to the letter in which my brother spoke of the accident, I never keep letters.”

    The following is from a daughter of Mr. Wilson:—

    “Heath Villas, Halifax.

    “April 12th, 1885.

    “I remember, when a child, seeing my father start up, open the cupboard door, and write there something which he had just related to my mother that he had seen in a vision. And I remember that a letter came from my uncles, which was said to confirm the truth of the vision. I have often heard the particulars referred to by my father since.

    “ANNIE S. OAKES.”

    The next case is much fuller of detail. The name of the narrator, Mrs. L., is only withheld from publication because her friends would {i-262} object to its appearance. She has had other similar experiences, but the following is the only one that she can accurately recall.

    “January, 1885.

    (62) “Some years ago, the writer, when recovering from an illness, had a remarkable experience of ‘second-sight.’ It was thus:—

    “A friend had been invited to dinner, whom the writer was most anxious to consult on a subject of grave anxiety. At 7 o’clock the servant came to ask, ‘If dinner should be served or not, as the guest had not arrived.’

    “The writer said at once, and without hesitation, ‘No, put off the dinner till 8 o’clock. Mr. A. will arrive at —— Station by 7.45 train; send the carriage there to meet him.’

    “The writer’s husband, surprised at this announcement, said, ‘Why did you not tell us this before, and when did Mr. A. let you know of the delay in his arrival?’

    “The writer then explained that there had been no intimation from Mr. A., but that as she had been lying there, on the couch, and anxiously hoping to see her guest, she had had a distinct vision of him, at a certain place (mentioning the name of the town); that she had seen him going over a ‘House to Let’; that, having missed the train and also the ferry, he had crossed the river in a small boat and scrambled up the steep bank, tripping in doing so, and that he had run across a ploughed field, taking up the train at a side station, which would arrive at —— a quarter to 8 p.m.

    “The writer gave all these particulars without any sort of mental effort, and felt surprised herself at the time that they should arise to her mind and tongue.

    “Presently Mr. A. arrived full of apologies, and surprised beyond measure to find his friend’s carriage awaiting him at the station. He then went on to explain that he had that morning quite suddenly taken it into his head to leave town for ——, and finding it so fresh and healthy a place, he had been tempted to look over some houses to let, hoping to be able to get one for a few weeks in the season; that he had lost time in doing this, and missed both train and ferry; that he had bribed a small boat to row him over; that in getting up the side bank, he fell, which delayed him again, but that he had just contrived to catch the train at a siding, by running breathless over a field; that he had intended to telegraph on arriving at the station, but, meeting the carriage there, he had felt bound to come on, to explain and apologise, in spite of delay, and ‘morning dress,’ &c., &c.”

    The following is a letter from Mr. A. to Mrs. L.:—

    “February 16th, 1885.

    “Dear Mrs. L.,—Anent that Indian incident, your seeing me, and what I was doing at Barrackpore one evening, you yourself being in Calcutta at the time.

    “It is now so long ago, 13 years, I think, that I cannot recall all the circumstances, but I do remember generally.

    “I left home one morning without the intention of going from Calcutta during the day, but I did go from Calcutta to Barrackpore and spent some time in looking through the bungalows to let.

    {i-263}

    “I remember I crossed in a small boat—not by the ferry, and my impression is that I did not land at the usual jetty, but, instead, at the bank opposite the houses which I wished to see.

    “I missed the train by which I would ordinarily have travelled, and consequently arrived in Calcutta considerably later than your usual dinner-hour.

    “I cannot remember distinctly that I found any gharry at the Barrackpore train, Calcutta Station, but you may probably remember whether you sent the gharry; but I do remember my astonishment that you had put back dinner against my return from Barrackpore by that particular train, you having had no previous direct knowledge of my having gone to Barrackpore at all.

    “I remember, too, your telling me generally what I had been doing at Barrackpore, and how I had missed the earlier train. And on my inquiry, ‘How on earth do you know these things?’ you said, ‘I saw you.’ Expecting me by that train, I can quite understand your having sent the carriage for me, although that particular item is not clearly on my memory.

    “I can well remember that at the time of the incident you were in a very delicate state of health.

    “Do you remember that other occasion in Calcutta, a holiday, when Mrs. —— called, I being out, and on her inquiring for me your informing her that I had gone to the bootmakers and the hatters, you having had no previous intimation from me of any such intention on my part? and our astonishment and amusement when I did a little later turn up, a new hat in my hand, and fresh from registering an order at the bootmakers?

    “These have always appeared to me very extraordinary incidents, and the first, especially, incapable of explanation in an ordinary way.”

    Mrs. L. recollects the other incident referred to, but she is not inclined to think it of much importance.

    She adds:—

    “The river crossed was the Hooghly from Serampore to Barrackpore, where the house was situated which Mr. A. looked over. The station he arrived at was in Calcutta, I think called the South Eastern, but of this I am not sure.”

    The next account is from a lady who is an active philanthropist, and as practical and unvisionary a person as could be found. She has no special interest in our work, and withholds her name on the ground that her friends would dislike or despise the subject. This is one of the ways in which the present state of thought and feeling often prevents the facts from having their legitimate force.

    “May 9th, 1883.

    (63) “It happened one Tuesday last January. I was going to start for one of my usual visits to Southampton. In the morning I received a letter from a friend saying he was going to hunt that day, and would write next day, so that I should get the letter on my return home. In the train, being tired, I put down my book and shut my eyes, and presently the {i-264} whole scene suddenly occurred before me—a hunting field and two men riding up to jump a low stone wall. My friend’s horse rushed at it, could not clear it, and blundered on to his head, throwing off his rider, and the whole scene vanished. I was wide awake the whole time. My friend is a great rider, and there was no reason why such an accident should have befallen him. Directly I arrived at Southampton I wrote to him, simply saying I knew he had had a fall, and hoped he was not hurt. On my return late on Wednesday night, not finding the promised letter, I wrote a few lines, merely saying I should expect to hear all about his spill next day, and I mentioned to two people that evening on my return what I had seen; also that Tuesday evening, dining with friends, I spoke of what had happened in the train, and they all promptly laughed at me. On Thursday morning I received a letter from my friend, telling me he had had a fall, riding at a low stone wall, that the horse had not been able to clear it, and had blundered on to his head, that he was not much hurt, and had later on remounted. He had not, when he wrote, received either of my letters, as my Tuesday one only arrived in Scotland on Thursday morning, and my Wednesday one on Friday. When he received my letters, he only declared I must have been asleep. Nothing of the sort ever happened to me before or since. It all seemed very natural and did not alarm me.

    “H. G. B.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. B. adds:—

    “My friend, who is a hard-headed Scotchman, declined to say another word about it. All I know is that there were two horsemen riding up to the same spot.”

    In a personal interview, Mrs. B. told the present writer that her vision took place about 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and that she had heard from her friend that his accident took place “after lunch.” She had no idea of disaster, and felt sure he was not much hurt. She cannot say whether her eyes were open or shut, but is certain that the experience was an altogether unique one.

    Very similar to this incident is the following, which seems to take us up to the very furthest point where the experience can still be described as a mental picture. The percipient herself might have been puzzled to say afterwards whether the vision had or had not seemed to engage her bodily eye. (Compare the parallel quasi-auditory impression above, case 49.) The account is in Sir —— L.’s own words. His reason for withholding his name is Lady L.’s dislike of the subject.

    (64) “Some time ago Mr. and Mrs. [now Sir — and Lady] L. were at his father’s country house at S., where they generally spent the autumn. Mrs. L. was not feeling well, and lay on the sofa or bed all the day.

    “About 11 o’clock Mr. L. told her he was going to drive in the dog-cart to the neighbouring town, about nine miles off. This was not an unusual thing, and he left her to go. Some four or five hours afterwards, on his return home, he went straight up to her room to see how she was, and found her greatly disturbed. She said, ‘Oh, I am so glad to see you back; {i-265} I have had such a horrid fright, a sort of dream, or rather vision, for I was not asleep. I thought I saw you run away with; but it was quite absurd, for I knew you were in the dog-cart, and I fancied I saw two horses.’ Mr. L. inquired when she saw it, and she said about an hour ago.

    “Now the facts were these: On leaving Mrs. L. about 11 that morning, Mr. L.’s father said he would accompany him, and Mr. L. accordingly counter-ordered the dog-cart and ordered a phaeton and pair, but naturally he did not think of telling Mrs. L. of the change of plan. Coming out of the town, Mr. L. was driving, and they were run away with, one of the horses having bolted, and for about 200 yards or more it was found impossible to stop the horses, when an intervening hill gave them the opportunity. The time when this happened, as nearly as possible, coincided with the time when Mrs. L. saw what she described as a vision, not a dream, and the detail as to the two horses is remarkable, because Mrs. L. was ignorant of the change of plan.”

    In answer to inquiries, Sir —L. adds:—

    “September 15th, 1884.

    “The narrative has often been told by me in my wife’s presence, and there can be no discrepancy or doubt. It is a true and circumstantial account of what happened, about 1866 or 1867, I think.”

    We received the next account through the kindness of Mr. J. Bradley Dyne, of 2, New Square, Lincoln’s Inn. The incident took place in his house at Highgate, and the narrator is his sister-in-law. The case brings us again to the very verge of actual sensory hallucination. It seems also to be an extreme instance of a deferred or a latent telepathic impression—the death of the agent (allowing for longitude) having preceded the percipient’s experience by about 10 hours. This feature does not seem specially surprising, when we remember how actual impressions of sense may pass unnoted, and yet emerge into consciousness hours afterwards, either in dream or in some moment of silence or recueillement.reflection (See above, pp. 201–2.)

    “1883.

    (65) “I had known Mr. —— as a medical man, under whose treatment I had been for some years, and at whose hands I had experienced great kindness. He had ceased to attend me for considerably more than a year at the time of his death. I was aware that he had given up practice, but beyond that I knew nothing of his proceedings, or of the state of his health. At the time I last saw him, he appeared particularly well, and even made some remark himself as to the amount of vigour and work left in him.

    “On Thursday, the 16th day of December, 1875, I had been for some little time on a visit at my brother-in-law’s and sister’s house near London. I was in good health, but from the morning and throughout the day I felt unaccountably depressed and out of spirits, which I attributed to the gloominess of the weather. A short time after lunch, about 2 o’clock, I thought I would go up to the nursery to amuse myself with the children, and try to recover my spirits. The attempt failed, and I returned to the {i-266} dining-room, where I sat by myself, my sister being engaged elsewhere. The thought of Mr. —— came into my mind, and suddenly, with my eyes open, as I believe, for I was not feeling sleepy, I seemed to be in a room in which a man was lying dead in a small bed. I recognised the face at once as that of Mr. ——, and felt no doubt that he was dead, and not asleep only. The room appeared to be bare and without carpet or furniture. I cannot say how long the appearance lasted. I did not mention the appearance to my sister or brother-in-law at the time. I tried to argue with myself that there could be nothing in what I had seen, chiefly on the ground that from what I knew of Mr. ——’s circumstances it was most improbable that, if dead, he would be in a room in so bare and unfurnished a state. Two days afterwards, on December 18th, I left my sister’s house for home. About a week after my arrival, another of my sisters read out of the daily papers the announcement of Mr. ——’s death, which had taken place abroad, and on December 16th, the day on which I had seen the appearance.

    “I have since been informed that Mr. —— had died in a small village hospital in a warm foreign climate, having been suddenly attacked with illness whilst on his travels.”

    In answer to an inquiry Mr. Dyne says:—

    “My sister-in-law tells me that the occasion which I mentioned to you is absolutely the only one on which she has seen any vision of the kind.”

    We learn from Mr. ——’s widow that the room in which he died fairly corresponded with the above description, and that the hour of death was 3.30 a.m.

    These latter narratives might suggest a sort of incipient clairvoyance.1 1 As regards the appearance of the agent’s own figure in the scene, see the remarks on some parallel dream-cases, Chap. viii., Part ii, end of §5. But in the present state of our knowledge, it would be rash to ascribe any phenomenon to independent clairvoyance, which could by any possibility be regarded as telepathic; for the simple reason that the phenomena on record which (if correctly reported) must beyond doubt have been due to independent clairvoyance, are extremely rare in comparison with those which, if correctly reported, can be accounted for by thought-transference. Thus in the last example—granting the possibility of deferred impressions—there is no difficulty in connecting the idea of the room, and even the idea of actual death, with the perceptions and thoughts of the dying man. It would be inconvenient, however, to refuse the term clairvoyance to cases where telepathic action reaches such a pitch that the percipient seems actually to be using the senses of some person or persons at the distant scene. And it will perhaps suffice to save confusion, if I note at once the difference between clairvoyance of this extreme telepathic type (which is still fairly {i-267} within the scope of this book), and any supposed extension, for which no conditioning “agency” can be assigned, of the percipient’s own senses.

    Among the cases to be here quoted, none perhaps strains the hypothesis of a conditioning “agency” more than the following. It is from a Fellow of the College of Physicians, who fears professional injury if he were “supposed to defend opinions at variance with general scientific belief,” and does not therefore allow his name to appear. He is candid enough to admit that if every one argued as he does, “progress would be impossible.”

    “May 20th, 1884.

    (66) “Twenty years ago [abroad] I had a patient, wife of a parson. She had a peculiar kind of delirium which did not belong to her disease, and perplexed me. The house in which she lived was closed at midnight, that is, the outer door had no bell. One night I saw her at 9. When I came home I said to my wife, ‘I don’t understand that case; I wish I could get into the house late.’ We went to bed rather early. At about 1 o’clock I got up. She said, ‘What are you about; are you not well?’ I said, ‘Perfectly so.’ ‘Then why get up?’ ‘Because I can get into that house.’ ‘How, if it is shut up?’ ‘I see the proprietor standing under the lamp-post this side of the bridge, with another man.’ ‘You have been dreaming.’ ‘No, I have been wide awake; but dreaming or waking, I mean to try.’ I started with the firm conviction that I should find the individual in question. Sure enough there he was under the lamp-post, talking to a friend. I asked him if he was going home. (I knew him very well.) He said he was, so I told him I was going to see a patient, and would accompany him. I was positively ashamed to explain matters; it seemed so absurd that I knew he would not believe me. On arriving at the house I said, ‘Now I am here, I will drop in and see my patient.’ On entering the room I found the maid giving her a tumbler of strong grog. The case was clear; it was as I suspected—delirium from drink. The next day I delicately spoke to the husband about it. He denied it, and in the afternoon I received a note requesting me not to repeat the visits. Three weeks ago I was recounting the story and mentioned the name. A lady present said: ‘That is the name of the clergyman in my parish, at B., and his wife is in a lunatic asylum from drink!’”

    In conversation with the present writer, the narrator explained that the vision—though giving an impression of externality and seen, as he believes, with open eyes—was not definitely located in space. He had never encountered the proprietor on the spot where he saw him, and it was not a likely thing that he should be standing talking in the streets at so late an hour.

    This is certainly a perplexing incident. But if we regard it as more than an accidental coincidence, we can hardly help supposing that the connection between the proprietor of the house and the desire with which the physician was preoccupied was at any rate one of the {i-268} conditions which enabled the proximity of the former to affect the latter; so that we may still be within the limits of telepathic communication between mind and mind.

    I had hoped to conclude this chapter with a case showing how a special condition of the percipient’s mind may open the door (so to speak) to a telepathic impression, and also exemplifying the occurrence of a series of these vivid mental pictures to a single percipient. On the occasions referred to, a deliberate effort on the percipient’s part seems to have been involved in receiving, or rather in obtaining, a true impression of the aspect and surroundings of absent persons; but unless we would assert (which we have no grounds for doing) that the continued existence of those persons, and their pre-established relation to the percipient, were not necessary conditions for the impression, we must still hold them to have been technically the agents. One of these agents, however—a medical man—while unable to resist the proofs which he has received of this sort of telepathic invasion, has so invincible a dread and dislike of the subject that for the present, in deference to his wishes, the account is withheld from publication. To “believe and tremble” is not a very scientific state of mind, and it is one for which we trust that there will be less and less excuse, as psychical research is gradually redeemed from supernatural and superstitious associations. Meanwhile, we must treat it with indulgence; merely noting how the very qualities which have so often operated to swell lists of spurious marvels may equally operate to hamper the record and recognition of facts.

    {i-269}

    CHAPTER VII.

    EMOTIONAL AND MOTOR EFFECTS.

    § 1. WE come next to a class of cases which are characterised not so much by the distinctness of the idea as by the strength of the emotion produced in the percipient. In some of these the emotion has depended on a definite idea, and has been connected with a sense of calamity to a particular individual, or a particular household: in others it has not had reference to any definite idea, and has seemed at the time quite causeless and unreasonable. Sometimes, again, the analogy with experimental cases, in the direct reflection of experience from mind to mind, is distinctly retained,1 1 The emotional class of impressions is, of course, a field peculiarly ill-adapted for deliberate experiment. Strong emotion cannot be summoned up at will by an experimenter even in his own mind; while, if it exists, it probably betrays itself in ways beyond his control. Cases are, indeed, alleged where a secret grief or anxiety on a mesmeriser’s part has been reflected in the demeanour of his “subject.” But this would not necessarily prove more than that the “subject” was, so to speak, hyperæsthetic to slight physical signs of mental disturbance—which would be quite in accordance with the one-sided concentration of his mind that is shown in other ways, e.g., in his frequent deafness to any other voice than that of his operator. I may quote for what they are worth the following observations of Mr. H. S. Thompson {Zoist, v. 257): “One patient who was highly sensitive, and whom I mesmerised for a nervous disorder, could, when awake, point out immediately whatever part of my head was touched by a third person. If I mesmerised her when I was in spirits, she was in spirits also; if I was grave, she was grave; and I never dared mesmerise her when I was suffering from any annoyance. I did not find that she often had distinct thoughts corresponding with my own, even when I tried to impress her by will with them. But she has experienced and shown a feeling corresponding with the thoughts I had.”

    the experience of the percipient seeming actually to reproduce that of a relative or friend who is in some physical or mental crisis at a distance; while in other cases a peculiar distress on the one side is so strikingly contemporaneous with a unique condition on the other, that we cannot refuse to consider the hypothesis of a causal connection.

    From the point of view of evidence, this class of emotional impressions clearly requires the most careful treatment. There is all the difference between a sensory impression, and even between the more distinct “mental pictures” of the last chapter, and a mere mood. We have no grounds for assuming that the news (for instance) of a {i-270} friend’s death will incite a man of sense and honesty to say that he saw, heard, felt, or strongly pictured, something unusual at or near the time of its occurrence, unless he really did so; but it is easy to suppose that, having chanced to be slightly out of spirits at the time, he afterwards seems to remember that he was very much depressed indeed, and even filled with a boding of some impending calamity. Nay, since a person who is oppressed by gloom and apprehension will often embrace in mental glances the small group of persons with whom his emotional connection is strongest, he may recall, when one of these persons proves actually to have been passing through a crisis at the time, that this particular one was present to his mind, and may easily glide on into thinking that it was with him that the sense of apprehension was specially connected. In these cases, then, it is of prime importance that the percipient’s impression shall be mentioned or otherwise noted by him in an unmistakeable way, before the receipt of news as to the supposed agent’s condition. And even when we have clear proof that the emotion was really of a strongly-marked character, it is necessary further to obtain some assurance that such moods are not of common occurrence in the percipient’s experience. Failing this, it is safest to regard any unusual character that may afterwards be attributed to the emotion as the result of its being afterwards dwelt on in connection with the coincident event.

    It need hardly be added that all cases must be rejected where there has been any appreciable cause for anxiety, however unmistakeable and unique the impression may be shown to have been. Thus it cannot be regarded as usual for a lady who is at a friend’s house, and intending to remain there for a week or two, to find herself suddenly and irrationally impelled, by the certainty of a domestic calamity, to pack her boxes and sit waiting for a telegram—which (to borrow the phrase of a business-like informant) was shortly delivered “as per presentiment.” But the surmise which was thus confirmed related to a baby grandchild at home; and though she had not heard that it was ailing, those who watch over the health of young children are often, of course, in a more or less chronic state of nervousness.

    § 2. I will first quote a case where the emotional impression had a certain definiteness of embodiment. The narrator unfortunately does not allow the publication of his complete name; but he impressed Professor Sidgwick, who examined him personally, as a sensible and trustworthy witness.

    {i-271}

    “Edinburgh.

    “December 27th, 1883.

    (67) “In January, 1871, I was living in the West Indies. On the 7th of that month I got up with a strange feeling that there was something happening at my old home in Scotland. At 7 a.m. I mentioned to my sister-in-law my strange dread, and said that even at that hour what I dreaded was taking place.

    “By the next mail I got word that at 11 a.m. on the 7th January my sister died. The island I lived in was St. Kitts, and the death took place in Edinburgh. Please note the hours and allow for difference in time, and you will notice at least a remarkable coincidence. I may add I never knew of her illness.

    “ANDREW C——N.”

    The longitude of St. Kitts is about 62°—which makes 4 hours and a few minutes difference of time.

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. C——n adds:—

    “January 8th, 1884.

    “I never at any other times had a feeling in any way resembling the particular time I wrote about.

    “It would be very difficult to get the note from my sister-in-law, as she now lives in Cincinnati, Ohio, and I seldom hear of her.

    “At the time I wrote about I was in perfect health, and in every way in comfortable circumstances.”

    [We have, of course, repeatedly urged our informant to apply, or to allow us to apply, for his sister-in-law’s recollection of this incident; but without success.]

    The next case, from our friend the Hon. Mrs. Fox Powys, is still more indefinite, and would not be worth quoting but for our own well-grounded assurance that the account is free from exaggeration.

    “Milford Lodge, Godalming.

    “February 16th, 1884.

    (68) “About 3 months ago as I was sitting, quietly thinking, between 5 and 7 p.m., I experienced a very curious sensation. I can only describe it as like a cloud of calamity gradually wrapping me round. It was almost a physical feeling, so strong was it; and I seemed to be certain, in some inexplicable way, of disaster to some one of my relations or friends, though I could not in the least fix upon anybody in particular, and there was no one about whom I was anxious at the time. I do not remember ever experiencing such a thing before. I should say it lasted about half-an-hour. This happened on a Saturday, and on Monday I got a letter from my sister, written on the Saturday evening to go by the post which leaves at 7 p.m., in which she told me she had received a telegram, an hour or so ago, informing her of the dangerous illness of her brother-in-law, at which she was greatly upset. This appeared to be a very probable explanation of my extraordinary presentiment, and I wrote and told her all about it at once.

    “A. C. POWYS.”

    [Mrs. Powys tells us that she mentioned her impression at the time to her husband; but he cannot recall the fact.]

    {i-272}

    A single impression of so vague a kind as this cannot, of course, go for much. And though it is so far against the hypothesis of accidental coincidence that the narrator states—and we believe, accurately—that the experience was unique, yet this very uniqueness involves a certain difficulty. For if she could be once telepathically impressed by an agent whose emotional excitement at the time, though considerable, was clearly not extreme, we cannot but wonder that so remarkable a sensibility should have found no other occasion to manifest itself. There is more evidential force in the occurrence of several such impressions to the same person—provided, of course, that they have all corresponded with facts. Such seems to have been the experience of Mr. J. D. Harry, whom we do not know personally, but who has been described to us by two common acquaintances as an acute man of the world. He wrote to us as follows, in 1882, from The Palms, St. Julian’s, Malta:—

    (69) “I lost my brother in Cornwall, and my uncle in Devonshire. Neither of them had been ill more than three days, and no communication whatever had taken place with me from the time they were first attacked until their deaths; nevertheless I felt so depressed on each occasion, from the time they were taken ill, that I could scarcely perform the duties of my office, the peculiar feeling lasting until the announcements in each case were made. It was nearly the same feeling of depression previous to my mother’s death, whose illness was likewise very sudden and unknown to me.

    “JOHN D. HARRY.”

    In answer to the question whether he had ever had similar depressions which had not had any correspondence with reality, Mr. Harry replied:—

    “You ask if I ever felt similarly depressed. You have my assurance that I never experienced a like feeling, except in the three instances named; indeed, all those who know me well would tell you that in their belief I am the last person to become so affected. During the three or four serious illnesses I have undergone, when the hopes of my family and friends were despaired of, I was still cheery.”

    [Here we have to depend entirely on the narrator’s memory; and the case does not conform to the rule that the marked character of the experience shall be en évidence before the news is known.]

    In the next example there can no doubt as to the striking nature of the percipient’s experience; which, indeed, was so distinctly physical in character as to suggest the actual sensory transference of which Mrs. Severn’s case (p. 188) was our most precise example. The narrator is Mrs. Reay, of 99, Holland Road, Kensington.

    {i-273}

    “August 14th, 1884.

    (70) “I will endeavour to write you an account of the incident, related for you by my friend, Mr. E. Moon. His sister was staying with me at the time. It was in February, but I don’t remember what year. We were sitting chatting over our 5 o’clock tea; I was perfectly well at the time, and much amused with her conversation. As I had several notes to write before dinner, I asked her to leave me alone, or I feared I should not get them finished. She did so, and I went to the writing-table and began to write.

    “All at once a dreadful feeling of illness and faintness came over me, and I felt that I was dying. I had no power to get up to ring the bell for assistance, but sat with my head in my hands utterly helpless.

    “My maid came into the room for the tea things. I thought I would keep her with me, but felt better while she was there, so did not mention my illness to her, thinking it had passed away. However, as soon as I lost the sound of her footsteps, it all came back upon me worse than ever. In vain I tried to get up and ring the bell or call for help; I could not move, and thought I was certainly dying.

    “When the dressing bell rang it roused me again, and I made a great effort to rise and go to my room, which I did; but when my maid came in I was standing by the fire, leaning upon the mantelpiece, trembling all over. She at once came to me and asked what was the matter. I said I did not know, but that I felt very ill indeed.

    “The dinner-hour had arrived, and my husband had not come home. Then, for the first time, it flashed upon my mind that something had happened to him when I was taken ill at the writing-table. This was the first time I had thought about him, so that it was no anxiety on my part about him that had caused my illness. The next half-hour was spent in great suspense; then he arrived home with his messenger with him; he was almost in an unconscious state, and remained so for about 24 hours. When he was well enough for me to ask him about his illness, he said he had been very well indeed all day, but just as he was preparing to leave his office he became suddenly very ill (just the same time that I was taken ill at the writing-table), and his messenger had to get a cab and come home with him; he was quite unable to be left by himself.

    “EMILY REAY.”

    Mr. Reay, Secretary of the London and North-Western Railway, confirms as follows:—

    “September 18th, 1884.

    “I perfectly well recollect, on the evening of my severe and sudden attack of illness, my wife asking me some questions about it, when, after hearing what I had to say, she told me that almost at the same instant of time (soon after 5 p.m.), when writing, she was seized with a fit of trembling and nervous depression, as if she were dying. She went to her room and remained there in the same state until the dinner hour, and as I did not arrive by that time she instinctively felt that something had happened to me, and was on the point of sending to the office to inquire when I left, when I was brought home in a cab. At the time of my seizure I was writing, and it was with much difficulty that I was enabled to finish the letter.

    “S. REAY.”

    {i-274}

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Reay adds:—

    “I never at any other time in my life had the slightest approach to the sensations I experienced when the sudden illness came over me, under the circumstances mentioned to you. I never in my life fainted, nor have I any tendency that way. The feeling which came over me was a dreadful trembling, with prostration, and a feeling that I was going to die; and I had no power to rise from the writing-table to ring for assistance. I have never had the same feeling since, and never before that time.”

    The uniqueness of the experience may be readily accepted as stated, in a case where its physical character was so distinct as this. But even in judging of more doubtful cases, an inference which the percipient’s description might hardly warrant may sometimes be fairly drawn from the permanent effect made on his mind. The following account, for instance, is very likely to provoke a smile, and is in itself wholly inconclusive; yet the impression was at any rate sufficiently marked to force the reality of sympathetic transferences on the mind of a scientific witness, who candidly records it in a book largely devoted to the exposure of spurious “psychical” marvels. Dr. E. L. Fischer, of Würzburg, in his Der Sogenannte Lebens-Magnetismus oder Hypnotismus (Mainz, 1883), says that as a student at the University he enjoyed extremely good spirits, but was one morning oppressed by an extraordinary gloom, which his companions noticed.

    (71) “During the whole afternoon I remained in this state of dismal wretchedness. All at once a telegram arrived from home, informing me that my grandmother was taken very ill, and that she was earnestly longing for me. There I had the solution of the riddle. Nevertheless from that hour my melancholy gradually decreased, and in spite of the telegram it completely disappeared in the course of the afternoon. In the evening I received a second message, to the effect that the danger was over. In this way the second phenomenon, the rapid decrease of my wretchedness—a circumstance which in itself was surprising, inasmuch as the melancholy should naturally rather have increased after the receipt of the first news—received its explanation. For the afternoon was just the time when the change in the patient’s condition for the better took place; and the danger to her life once over, her yearning for my presence had decreased; while simultaneously my anxiety was dispelled.”

    Dr. Fischer was, I think, wrong in accepting this incident, (and a very few more like it), as sufficient evidence for the fact of telepathy; but right in placing it on record for what it is worth.

    In the majority of the emotional cases, the natural bond between the two persons concerned has been of the closest. And, ceteris {i-275} paribus,other things being equal the nearer tie of blood increases the probability of the telepathic explanation, wherever the hypothesis of natural anxiety for a beloved relative is excluded by the fact that the emotion is connected with no special person. We received the following case from Mrs. Bull, of Mossley Vicarage, Congleton.

    “January 3rd, 1885.

    (72) “On the evening of January 28th, 1863, I had met several old friends at dinner at a friend’s house near Manchester, in which neighbourhood I had been paying visits. My return home to my father’s house was fixed for the next afternoon. I ought to say that between that father and me, his first-born child, a more than common bond of affection and sympathy existed, arising from circumstances I need not mention, and I was looking forward to my return with earnest longing. The evening had been bright and happy, surrounded by friends I valued. When I was about to leave, my hostess pressed me to play for her a very favourite old march. I declined, on account of the lateness of the hour, and keeping horses standing. She said, ‘It is not yet 12, and I have sent the carriage away for a quarter of an hour.’ I sat down laughing, and before I played many bars, such an indescribable feeling came over me, intense sadness heralded a complete break down, and I was led away from the piano in hysterics. By 10 o’clock the next morning I got a telegram, to say my father had gone to bed in his usual health, and at a quarter to 12 the night before had passed away in an epileptic fit, having previously said to my sister how glad he was to think of seeing me so soon, and when she bid him good-night, praying God to give them both a quiet night and sleep.

    “A. M. BULL.”

    The Chester Courant for February 4th, 1863, says that the death of the Rev. J. Jackson took place on January 28th, very suddenly. He had preached on the Sunday, and had been out on the Tuesday preceding the Wednesday night when his fatal fit attacked him.

    In reply to inquiries, Mrs. Bull says:—

    “Since reading your letter last night, I have carefully gone over the guests of that dinner party, and find them all gone but one, Frank Ashton, Esq., The Laurels, Twickenham, and he is too ill to read or to answer a letter. At the time I speak of, I was the widow of the Rev. J. Lowthian, vicar of Wharton. My father was the Rev. John Jackson, vicar of Over. I never experienced a similar feeling. I am not at all naturally inclined to depression, and am perfectly free from what is commonly understood by superstition.”

    In conversation, Mrs. Bull told me that she has never in her life had a fit of hysterics, or of unaccountable weeping, except on this occasion.

    The writer of the following narrative is the editor of a well-known northern newspaper, and was formerly special foreign correspondent of a London paper. A few weeks before the occurrence here described, he had a curious impression corresponding with the death of a friend, which is narrated in the following chapter (case 103).

    {i-276}

    “December 11th, 1884.

    (73) “On the 3rd of May in the same spring [1882], my wife, while taking tea with my daughter, was suddenly seized with an epileptic fit, and fell heavily to the floor, striking her forehead on the fender; she was never conscious again, but died the next day. This accident happened between 3 and 4 o’clock in the afternoon. For nearly 5 years my wife had intermittently suffered from epilepsy, but for some 3 months before her death seemed to have completely recovered, which apparent fact had caused much joy in our little family circle, as the poor dear had been a great sufferer. I set this down to show that her death or serious illness was not at all expected at the time it happened.

    “On the morning of the 3rd of May I left for the City, and as my wife kissed her hand to me at the window, I thought how remarkably well and ‘like her old self’ she appeared. I went to business in ‘high spirits,’ and left her in the same; but somewhere about the time she fell—neither my daughter nor I have been able to fix the time within an hour—I suddenly fell into such a fit of gloom that I was powerless to go on with my work, and could only sit with my face between my hands, scarcely able to speak to my colleagues in the same office, who became alarmed as they had never seen me in any but a cheerful mood. I was at the time editing England, and as friend after friend dropped into my room, and wanted to know what ailed me, I could only explain my sensation in a phrase (which they and I well remember) which I kept repeating, namely, ‘I have a horrible sense of some impending calamity.’ So far as I am aware, my thoughts never once turned to my home. If they had, I think I should not have accepted, as I did, an invitation to dine with a friend at a restaurant in the Strand, pressed on me for the express purpose of ‘cheering me up.’

    “I was telegraphed for to our office in the Strand, but by an accident it was not forwarded to me to Whitefriars Street at my editorial room: so that I never saw my wife until after 12 at night, when my 8 or 9 hours of fearful depression of spirits (as it instantly struck me) were accounted for. I may add that I am naturally of a buoyant temperament, in fact I may say far above the average of people in that respect, and I was never to my knowledge ever so suddenly or similarly depressed before. My wife, in this case, you will observe, was not dead but simply unconscious when my fit of low spirits set in.

    “There are several witnesses who can testify to these facts, for when it became known at the office that my wife was dead the strong coincidence of my suddenly ‘turning so queer’ was a topic of conversation there. I have nothing to add but that we (my wife and I) had been married for 25 years, and were extremely fond of each other, and we were both, I should say, of a sympathetic temperament, perhaps more than ordinarily so.”

    Mr. Podmore writes on Sept. 1, 1885:—

    “I called to-day at Mr. ——’s house. He was out of town, but his son and daughter were at home.1 1 Our informant has since this date removed to the North of England, where a personal interview with him might easily have been obtained, but was lately missed through an accident.

    [A full vivâ voce account of the incident has been given by the narrator to our friend and helper, Mr. A. G. Leonard.]

    “As regards Mr. ——’s depression on the day of his wife’s fatal attack, {i-277} they both assured me that he spoke of this immediately after his return home on the evening of that day, and has frequently mentioned it since The son has also heard one of his father’s colleagues, Mr. Green, describe the circumstance as something quite remarkable. Mr. Green told him that both himself and others present in the office did all they could to rally Mr. —— but failed.”

    Mr. Green writes:—

    “Netherworton House, Steeple Aston, Oxon.

    “December 16th, 1885.

    “DEAR SIR,—My friend, Mr.——, of England, has asked me to corroborate the fact that he suffered from a singular depression all the day of his wife’s fatal seizure. I was in his company most of the day, and can fully corroborate his statement.—Yours truly,

    “C. E. GREEN.”

    The next case is from a lady who is willing that her name should be given to any one genuinely interested in this case. She is known to the present writer as a sensible and clear-headed witness, as far from sentimentality or superstition as can well be conceived.

    “October 27th, 1885.

    (74) “On the Saturday before Easter, 1881, my husband left London for Paris. On the Saturday or Sunday evening he was taken ill, at the hotel, with congestion of the brain, and wandered about the place delirious. Subsequently he was put in a room, and although a man was in attendance, he was, in regard to medical advice, &c., quite neglected. He remained there some days, and by looking in his papers his name was discovered, and his family were communicated with.

    “On the afternoon of Easter Monday, my sons and my daughter had gone out, leaving me at home. I fell into an altogether extraordinary state of depression and restlessness. I tried in vain to distract myself with work and books. I went upstairs and felt beside myself with distress, for what reason I could not tell; I argued with myself, but the feeling increased. I even had a violent fit of weeping—a thing absolutely alien to my character. I then put on my things, and, in the hope of ridding myself of the uncomfortable feeling, took a hansom cab, and drove about Hyde Park for about three hours—a thing which I should have considered myself stark mad for doing at any other time. I should have been the last person to spend eight shillings on cab fare for nothing. On receiving the news I went over to Paris, where I arrived on the Thursday, and my husband just knew me. The nurse engaged to nurse him told me that she was asked by the waiter if my Christian name was M. [ Mrs. S.’s name, and a not very common one], as that was the name that my husband was constantly calling out during his delirium. He died some days afterwards.

    “M. S.”

    I learn from both Mrs. S. and her son that she mentioned her remarkable experience to her family on the Monday evening. Her son writes as follows:—

    {i-278}

    “I beg to corroborate my mother’s account of the circumstances mentioned. Her distress and the circumstances of the cab drive are entirely foreign to her character. My father was in delicate health, although seldom actually ill.

    “E. S.”

    In answer to some questions addressed to Mrs. S., Mr. E. S., replies:—

    “My mother had no particular anxiety about my father’s health. He left on the Saturday for Paris, and was then in his usual health, and she did not particularly connect her feelings with him.”

    [I suggested a difficulty as to the driving about Hyde Park, since it is only in a restricted portion of that park that cabs are permitted to pass. But Mrs. S. adheres to the word.]

    In the following case a very marked depression of spirits was followed by a vivid dream. The latter may of course be easily accounted for as following naturally on the former; but the emotional depression, which coincided in time with the fatal turn in the illness of a near relative, seems to have been a unique experience in the life of a person of strong mental and physical health. The narrator, a physician, refuses permission to publish his name on the ground that he is a “confirmed unbeliever”; though in conversation with him I was unable to learn what exactly his unbelief was of, and in what exactly its confirmation had consisted.

    “March 7th, 1885.

    (75) “When a boy about 14 years of age, I was in school in Edinburgh, my home being in the West of Scotland. A thoughtless boy, free from all care or anxiety, in the ‘Eleven’ of my school, and popular with my companions, I had nothing to worry or annoy me. I boarded with two old ladies, now both dead.

    “One afternoon—on the day previous to a most important cricket match in which I was to take part—I was overwhelmed with a most unusual sense of depression and melancholy. I shunned my friends and got ‘chaffed’ for my most unusual dulness and sulkiness. I felt utterly miserable, and even to this day I have a most vivid recollection of my misery that afternoon.

    “I knew that my father suffered from a most dangerous disease in the stomach—a gastric ulcer—and that he was always more or less in danger, but I knew that he was in his usual bad health, and that nothing exceptional ailed him.

    “That same night I had a dream. I was engaged in the cricket match. I saw a telegram being brought to me while batting, and it told me that my father was dying, and telling me to come home at once. I told the ladies with whom I boarded what my dream had been, and told them how real the impression was. I went to the ground, and was engaged in the game, batting, and making a score. I saw a telegram being brought out, read it, and fainted. I at once left for home, and found my father had just died when I reached the house. The ulcer {i-279} in the stomach had suddenly burst about 4 o’clock on the previous day, and it was about that hour that I had experienced the most unusual depression I have described. The sensations I had on that afternoon have left a most clear and distinct impression on my mind, and now, after the lapse of 15 years, I well remember my miserable feelings.

    “J. D., M.D.”

    In reply to inquiries, Dr. D. says:—

    “I most certainly never had a similar experience of depression, or such a vivid dream as the one I tried in my letter to explain. Both the depression and the dream were quite exceptional, and have left a most clear impression on my memory.

    “I fear I cannot name any individual schoolfellow who noticed my most unwonted silence and quietness on that afternoon, but I distinctly remember their chaffing me for not joining as usual in the afternoon’s practice.”

    § 3. On the supposition that a close natural bond between two persons is a favourable condition for telepathic influence, there is one group of persons among whom we might expect to find a disproportionate number of instances—namely, twins. As a matter of fact, we have a certain number of twin cases, which, though actually small, is indisputably disproportionate, if we remember what an infinitesimally small proportion of the population twins form. I will quote here the three examples which properly belong to this chapter. It may be of interest to compare them with the cases given by Mr. F. Galton (Inquiries into Human Faculty, pp. 226–31), of consentaneous thought and action on the part of twins. Mr. Galton attributes the coincidences to a specially close similarity of constitution. The pair may be roughly compared to two watches, which begin to go at the same hour, and keep parallel with one another in their advance through life. This theory seems fairly to account for the occurrence of special physiological or pathological crises at the same point of the two lives. The twins, though separated, have their croup or their whooping-cough simultaneously. The explanation, however, seems a little strained when applied to the simultaneous purchase in different towns of two sets of champagne-glasses of similar pattern, owing to a sudden impulse on the part of each of the twins to surprise the other with a present. If it were possible—which it can hardly be—to make sure that there had been no previous mention of the subject between the brothers, and that the idea was really and completely impromptu, one might hint that the coincidence here was telepathic. And, at any rate, the cases to be now quoted seem outside {i-280} the range of a pre-established physiological harmony; with them, the alternative is between telepathy and accident.

    The first account is from the Rev. J. M. Wilson, head-master of Clifton College, a Senior Wrangler and well-known mathematician.

    “Clifton College.

    “January 5th, 1884.

    (76) “The facts were these, as nearly as I can remember.

    “I was at Cambridge at the end of my second term, in full health, boating, football-playing and the like, and by no means subject to hallucinations or morbid fancies. One evening I felt extremely ill, trembling, with no apparent cause whatever; nor did it seem to me at the time to be a physical illness, a chill of any kind. I was frightened. I was totally unable to overcome it. I remember a sort of struggle with myself, resolving that I would go on with my mathematics, but it was in vain: I became convinced that I was dying.

    “I went down to the rooms of my friend, W. E. Mullins, who was on the same staircase, and I remember that he exclaimed at me before I spoke. He put away his books, pulled out a whisky bottle and a backgammon board, but I could not face it. We sat over the fire for a bit, and then he fetched some one else (Mr. E. G. Peckover), to have a look at me. I was in a strange discomfort, but with no symptoms I can recall, except mental discomfort, and the conviction that I should die that night.

    “Towards 11, after some 3 hours of this, I got better, and went upstairs and got to bed, and after a time to sleep, and next morning was quite well.

    “In the afternoon came a letter to say that my twin brother had died the evening before in Lincolnshire. I am quite clear of the fact that I never once thought of him, nor was his presence with me even dimly imagined. He had been long ill of consumption; but I had not heard of him for some days, and there was nothing to make me think that his death was near. It took me altogether by surprise.

    “JAMES M. WILSON.”

    We have applied to Mr. Mullins, but he cannot now recall the incident.

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Wilson says:—

    “I never experienced any similar nervous depression. It was a sort of panic fear, the chill of approaching death that was on me. The hours did not exactly coincide; my brother died some 4 hours before I was so seized.”

    If we are right in regarding this incident as probably telepathic, it is one of the numerous cases where the impression has lain latent for a considerable time before affecting consciousness. Mr. Wilson’s description of his experience strongly recalls case 22, where the percipient, it will be remembered, “became quite cold, and had a firm presentiment that she was dying”; and compare also case 70.

    {i-281}

    The next case is from Mr. James Carroll, who, when he wrote, was in attendance on an invalid, under the care of Dr. Wood, The Priory, Roehampton. I have had a long interview with him, as well as a good deal of correspondence; and I have no doubt whatever that the facts are correctly recorded.

    “July, 1884.

    (77) “I beg to forward my experience of about six years ago, while living in the employment of Colonel Turbervill, near Bridgend, Glamorgan, and a twin brother in the same capacity with a lady at Chobham Place, Bagshot, Surrey.

    “I may mention that my brother and I were devotedly attached from children, and our resemblance to each other so remarkable that only one or two of our family then living, and oldest friends, could distinguish any difference between us. Up to June 17th, 1878, I had not known my brother to have one day’s illness, and in consequence of having about this time recovered heavy financial loss, there was this and other unusual cause for cheerfulness. But on the morning of the date given, about half-past 11, I experienced a strange sadness and depression. Unable to account for it, I turned to my desk, thinking of my brother. I looked at his last letter to see the date, and tried to detect if there was anything unusual in it but failed. I wrote off to my brother, closed my desk, and felt compelled to exclaim quite aloud, ‘My brother or I will break down.’ This I afterwards found was the first day of his fatal illness.

    “I wrote again to him, but in consequence of his being ill I received no reply. We usually wrote twice a-week. I tried to persuade myself his silence was due to being busy. On the following Saturday, the 22nd, while speaking to Mr. Turbervill, a sudden depression, which I had never before realised, and which I feel impossible to describe, came over me. I felt strange and unwell. I retired as soon as possible, thankful my state of mind had not been noticed. I would have gone to my room, but felt it might be noticed, and felt frightened too, as if something might suddenly happen to me.

    “I went, instead, into the footman’s pantry, where they were cleaning the plate, and sat down, suppressed my feelings, but alluded to a dulness and concern for my brother. I was speaking, when a messenger entered with a telegram to announce my brother’s dangerous state, and requesting my immediate presence. He died on the following Monday morning. It is clearly proved that at the time I felt the melancholy described he was speaking of me in great distress. We were never considered superstitious, and I was never apt to feelings of melancholy.

    “My brother and I were well known to Dr. Young, of 30, West-bourne Square, Paddington; and to Mr. Trollope, Solicitor, 31, Abingdon Street, Westminster.

    “JAMES CARROLL.”

    In reply to inquiries Mr. Carroll says:—

    “August 8th, 1884.

    “I find it difficult now, after the lapse of time and many changes, to get the memory of friends to recall the subjects of our correspondence. I left South Wales on the death of my brother, and have been moving about {i-282} among strangers ever since; circumstances on this part of the matter are singularly against me.

    “You asked in your previous letter, was the impression of distress and apprehension which I described, rare to me in my experience? I never before felt anything like it, except in a milder form, before the death of my mother, about 14 years ago, while I was at Lord Robarts’ seat in Arnhill, and my mother in London. The sensation then was about two or three days previous to her death. I have always been an opponent to ghost theory, and till my brother’s death I never thought to entertain the idea that there could be any unseen power in the thought of apparitions.

    “My brother’s death was from a cold neglected, and inflammation rapidly setting in. We were twins, his age at time of death 39 about. From our extraordinary resemblance we were well known. I may mention my brother being the only near relation left.

    “I sent to Ireland for signatures to a distant relative, who was with me as an adopted son shortly after my brother’s death, for about two years. He is about 18 years of age; his name, too, is James Carroll. His corroboration comes very close to the time.

    “An old friend, of 25 years, 30 I think, holding a good position in one of our chief banking houses, also promised to corroborate, a day or two ago. I enclose now a note from him, just received. He remembers the subject. I often, just after my brother’s death, spoke of it to him.

    “J. C.”

    A nephew and namesake of Mr. Carroll’s writes as follows:—

    “Clonmel, Ireland.

    “August 10th, 1884.

    “I hereby certify that Mr. Carroll frequently, during the early part of my residence with him, about 5 years ago, spoke of the presentiment he describes in a letter written to you, a copy of which he has sent me.

    “JAMES CARROLL.”

    The following is a letter to Mr. Carroll from Mr. James Martin, of 1, Oak Villa, Avenue Road, Acton.

    “August 16th, 1884.

    “DEAR JAMES,—From the time of your brother’s death till the present, I have spent much time in your society. I remember well the account you gave me of the dreadful depression of mind you passed through just previous to his death. It was singular, but true.

    “JAMES MARTIN.”

    Mr. Carroll showed me a letter written by Mrs. Benyan, his brother’s employer, at the time when the brother was dangerously ill. The letter is to a solicitor, and expresses a desire that he, James Carroll, should be informed of the illness. It proves that the illness was sudden and that Mr. Carroll was unaware of it.

    The following case is less striking, but is worth giving in connection with the others. We received it from Mr. (now the Rev.) A. J. Maclean, of Tewkesbury.

    {i-283}

    “Clergy School, Leeds.

    “June 8th, 1884.

    (78) “About three years ago my twin brother was yachting off Norway for six weeks. One Sunday I (who was then at college) felt certain that there was something wrong with my brother and spoke of it freely (I cannot remember to whom). When I saw my brother I mentioned this circumstance. My brother had kept a diary, and on the day in question they had encountered a storm, in which the masts were injured and things washed away. They gave up all for lost.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Maclean says:—

    “June, 1884.

    “I could not say whether my brother had any thoughts about me on the day he was in danger of being shipwrecked, but I certainly had a vivid impression that he was in danger the same day on which it happened. He was yachting at the time, and was off the coast of Norway. He is not the sort of man to experience anything in the way of hallucination, and if he did think of me at the time he would take no notice of it, or even forget it altogether the next minute. I feel sure I should get very little information bearing on the subject from him. I only know that he was in actual danger, and furthermore that I myself was convinced at the time that something was happening to him, and mentioned the fact to several friends at the time—being at Oxford—though I cannot possibly remember to whom I expressed my fears. He is a twin brother.

    “ARTHUR J. MACLEAN.”

    In answer to further inquiries, especially as to whether he had ever had similar impressions which had not corresponded with reality, Mr. Maclean says:—

    “June 20th, 1884.

    “My impression with regard to my brother’s danger is the only one I ever remember having.

    “I am afraid I cannot possibly remember to whom I mentioned my fears at the time, as I was at college, and there were so many I might have told.”

    § 4. We may now pass to a group of these cases in which the primary element of the emotional impression is a sense of being wanted—an impulse to go somewhere or do something.

    The first example is from the Rev. E. D. Banister, of Whitechapel Vicarage, Preston.

    “November 12th, 1885.

    (79) “My father on the day of his death had gone out of the house about 2.30 p.m., to have his usual afternoon stroll in the garden and fields. He had not been absent more than 7 or 8 minutes when, as I was talking to my wife and sister, I was seized with a very urgent desire to go to him. (The conversation related to a visit which we proposed to pay that afternoon to a neighbour, and no allusion was made to my father.) The feeling that I ought to go and see him came upon me with irresistible force. I insisted upon all in the house going out to find my father. I was remonstrated with—my very anxiety seeming so unreasonable. My father’s afternoon stroll was a regular habit of life in fine {i-284} weather, and I had no reason to give why on that particular occasion I must insist on his being found. Search was made, and it was my sad lot to find him dead in the field, in a place which, according to the route he ordinarily adopted, he would have reached about 7 or 8 minutes after leaving the house.

    “My idea is that when he felt the stroke of death coming upon him he earnestly desired to see me, and that, by the operation of certain psychical laws, the desire was communicated to me.

    “E. D. BANISTER.”

    In reply to inquiries Mr. Banister adds:—

    “In reply to your letter I have to state:—

    “1. Vivid impressions of the kind I have related are utterly unknown to me; the one related is unique in my experience.

    “2. There was not the least cause for anxiety owing to the absence of my father. It only seemed a short time since he had gone out of the room, and on this account my urgency was deemed unreasonable.

    “3. The date was January 9th, 1883.”

    We have confirmed this date by the obituary notice in the Preston Chronicle.

    Mr. Banister’s wife and sister supply the following corroboration:—

    “We have seen the statement which Mr. Banister has forwarded to the Psychical Research Society, relating to the strong impression by which he was irresistibly urged in search of his father on the afternoon of January 9th, 1883, and we are able to confirm all details given in that statement.

    “MARY BANISTER.

    “AGNES BANISTER.”

    In conversation Mr. Banister informed me that his father was a remarkably hale old man, and there had never been the slightest anxiety about his being out alone. He further mentioned that the compulsion seemed to come to him “from outside.”

    The following instance is from Mrs. C., of 11, Upper Hamilton Terrace, N.W.

    “December 17th, 1883.

    (80) “On December 2nd, 1877, I was at church. My children wished to remain to a christening. I said, ‘I cannot, somebody seems calling me; something is the matter.’ I returned home to find nothing; but next morning two telegrams summoned me to the deathbed of my husband, from whom I had had a cheerful letter on the Saturday, and who left me in excellent spirits the Thursday before. I only arrived in time to see him die.”

    The following is the sons’ corroboration:—

    “We remember, perfectly, our mother leaving the church, saying she felt she was wanted, someone was calling her. The next day our father died, December 3rd, 1877.

    “GEORGE C.

    “JOHN A. C.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. C. says:—

    “February 19th, 1884.

    (1) “I cannot say that the experience of some one calling me was {i-285} unique. I have often had strong impressions of things occurring, and such things have happened, but not having set down the dates, I could not be sufficiently certain to satisfy myself.1 1 One of these cases, however, seems to have been quite precise, and will be found below (No. 204).

    (2) “My husband wrote me a cheerful letter on the Friday, November 30th, and on the Saturday, December 1st, only mentioning that he was a little bilious, but that he was going to Leicester that afternoon. He was, however, so much worse that afternoon that he went to bed. In the night he was found by a gentleman to be out of bed, and unable to get in, and he mistook the gentleman for me. All Sunday he was dying, and my friends could not telegraph, and there was no train. On Monday I received two telegrams, early in the morning. As soon as I read your letter my sons both said they remembered the circumstance quite well and signed the enclosed. George was 10 years old, John 12 years.”

    Asked whether she would have been certain to stay for the christening under ordinary circumstances, Mrs. C. replied in the affirmative; and that the boys were disappointed. She is without any theory on these matters; and simply reports an undoubted experience.

    The following case is very similar. The narrator is Mr. A. Skirving, foreman at Winchester Cathedral.

    “Cathedral Yard, Winchester.

    “January 31st, 1884.

    (81) “I respectfully beg to offer you a short statement of my experience on a subject which I do not understand. Let me premise that I am not a scholar, as I left school when 12 years of age in 1827, and I therefore hope you will forgive all sins against composition and grammar. I am a working foreman of masons at Winchester Cathedral, and have been for the last 9 years a resident in this city. I am a native of Edinburgh.

    “It is now more than 30 years ago that I was living in London, very near where the Great Western Railway now stands, but which was not then built. I was working in the Regent’s Park for Messrs. Mowlem, Burt, and Freeman, who at that time had the Government contract for 3 years for the masons’ work of the capital, and who yet carry on a mighty business at Millbank, Westminster. I think it was Gloucester Gate, if I mistake not. At all events, it was that gate of Regent’s Park to the eastward of the Zoological Gardens, at the north-east corner of the park. The distance from my home was too great for me to get home to meals, so I carried my food with me, and therefore had no call to leave the work all day. On a certain day, however, I suddenly felt an intense desire to go home, but as I had no business there I tried to suppress it,—but it was not possible to do so. Every minute the desire to go home increased. It was 10 in the morning, and I could not think of anything to call me away from the work at such a time. I got fidgety and uneasy, and felt as if I must go, even at the risk of being ridiculed by my wife, as I could give no reason why I should leave my work and lose 6d. an hour for nonsense. However, I could not stay, and I set off for home under an impulse which I could not resist.

    {i-286}

    “When I reached my own door and knocked, the door was opened by my wife’s sister, a married woman, who lived a few streets off. She looked surprised, and said, ‘Why, Skirving, how did you know?’ ‘Know what?’ I said. ‘Why, about Mary Ann.’ I said, ‘I don’t know anything about Mary Ann’ (my wife). ‘Then what brought you home at present?’ I said, ‘I can hardly tell you. I seemed to want to come home. But what is wrong?’ I asked. She told me that my wife had been run over by a cab, and been most seriously injured about an hour ago, and she had called for me ever since, but was now in fits, and had several in succession. I went upstairs, and though very ill she recognised me, and stretched forth her arms, and took me round the neck and pulled my head down into her bosom. The fits passed away directly, and my presence seemed to tranquillise her, so that she got into sleep, and did well. Her sister told me that she had uttered the most piteous cries for me to come to her, although there was not the least likelihood of my coming. This short narrative has only one merit; it is strictly true.

    “ALEXANDER SKIRVING.”

    In answer to the question whether the time of the accident corresponded with the time when he felt a desire to go home, Mr. Skirving says:—

    “I asked my wife’s sister what time the accident occurred, and she said, ‘An hour and a-half ago’—that is from the time I came home. Now, that was exactly coincident with the time I wanted to leave work. It took me an hour to walk home; and I was quite half-an-hour struggling in my mind to overcome the wish to leave work before I did so.”

    He adds: “You ask me if I ever had a similar impression on any other occasion. I never had. It was quite a single and unique experience.”

    Mr. Skirving’s wife is dead. His sister-in-law, Mrs. Vye, is in New Zealand. Her husband, writing from Otago on July 1st, 1885, says that she cannot now give particulars of the occurrence, though she remembers the accident very well.

    In the next case—from Mrs. Wirgman, of 121, Dawson Place, Westbourne Park, W.—the percipient’s line of action was still more abnormal.

    (82) “In 1845 I had moved from Germany to a small town in Belgium; on my arrival an English lady called on me to offer her aid in finding a house. While talking to her I suddenly exclaimed, ‘I must go to England.’ I then and there started in order to catch the boat from Antwerp. On reaching London I remarked the numerous persons I saw in mourning.1 1 This is merely intended to mark the gradually increasing definiteness of the alarm. I drove to my parents’ lodgings at the West End, and on my cousin coming to the cab door, I inquired who it was, my father or my mother. I found my mother well, my father dying; his last conscious words had been, ‘Fan will be here on Thursday,’ and so I was, to the intense surprise of my relations, some of whom had written, not anticipating immediate danger, and had it not been for the inexplicable {i-287} impulse, I certainly should not have reached London in time to see my father again.”

    In conversation Mrs. Wirgman described to Mr. Myers the extreme inconvenience, and apparent folly, of her return to England, which she undertook without any definite notion as to its object, and, as it were, in spite of herself.

    In the next case—from Mr. Pae, of 30, Gordon Street, Gateshead-on-Tyne—there may have been a certain amount of latent anxiety on the narrator’s part respecting his father’s condition of health. On the other hand his impression seems to have reached the pitch of actual physical discomfort, and certainly affected his actions in an unexpected way.

    (83) “I dreamt that my father died before I got his portrait painted. This dream I told so often when my father was in good health that it became a standing jest. Three months before he died he took a slight pain in his shoulder, and I said to myself, ‘Is he going to die?’ So I did begin to paint his portrait, but next day he was all right again, so the portrait did not make headway. Three months after, Isabella (my wife) and I had arranged to go to the theatre one night. It was arranged that I would get tea in Newcastle, and meet Isabella at the High Level Bridge end (she had to come in from the Low Fell, where we lived). All went well. I got to the High Level. As I was standing waiting for her, I felt all of a sudden that if I could wish myself anywhere in the world at that moment it would be in our kitchen at the Low Fell. I tried to shake the feeling off, but it got worse and worse. When Isabella came, I didn’t make any movement in the direction of the theatre. She saw something was the matter. I explained the feeling. She said, ‘Try and shake it off.’ But no! I couldn’t. She said, ‘Then let us go home.’ When we got home to the kitchen we found my father in an apoplectic fit—-quite powerless. He had remained to take care of the children. He died the next day. He never spoke; and of course the portrait was never finished.

    “WILLIAM PAE.”

    “I distinctly remember my husband’s concern when I met him at the High Level, and confirm all he relates about his father’s death.

    “ISABELLA PAE.”

    [Our active helper, Mr. E. T. Nisbet, of 51, Eldon Street, Newcastle-on-Tyne, mentions that “Mr. Pae, when describing the feeling that came over him while waiting at the High Level, put his hands on his chest and pressed them against it at short intervals, saying, ‘Just like that.’”]

    The late Mr. Cromwell F. Varley, F.RS., the well-known electrician, records an experience in which, as he believed, he made a deliberate and successful attempt to impress his wife’s mind, not, however, by way of experiment, but in a crisis of great danger (Report of {i-288} a Committee of the Dialectical Society on Spiritualism, p. 162). He had been in the habit of inhaling chloroform to relieve constriction of the throat, and one day fell back on his bed, powerless to move, with the sponge on his mouth. Mrs. Varley was in the room above, nursing a sick child.

    (84) “I made, of my will, a distinct impression on her brain that I was in danger. Thus aroused, she came down, and immediately removed the sponge, and was greatly alarmed. I then used my body to speak to her, and I said, ‘I shall forget all about it, and how this came to pass, unless you remind me in the morning, but be sure to tell me what made you come down, and I shall then be able to recall the circumstances.’ The following morning she did so, but I could not remember anything about it; I tried hard all the day, however, and at length I succeeded in remembering, first a part, and ultimately the whole.”

    With so much forcing of the memory, however, the evidence here cannot be ranked as much better than second-hand; and Mrs. Varley’s account of the incident has not, I believe, been placed on record.1 1 I should mention that Mr. Varley’s own view of this occurrence, and of another which will be quoted later (case 305), is different from that here adopted. But telepathy seems quite adequate to cover the facts. The sense of being “out of the body,” which is what appears most powerfully to have impressed him, is a known form of pathologic experience, or—as I should regard it—of hallucination. (See p. 555, note.)

    The next case involves a less momentous experience, but perhaps a more improbable coincidence. Still, it is scarcely too much to say that cases of this character, in whatever number accumulated, could never decisively exclude the hypothesis of accident. The narrator is Bt. Major Kobbé, U.S. Army.

    “Mt. Vernon Barracks, Ala.

    “July 31st, 1884.

    (85) “In 1858 or 1859, while at home in New York city, I one day felt a desire to visit Greenwood Cemetery some six or seven miles distant, on Long Island, where my family owned a vault, &c.

    “When I arrived there I found my father standing uncovered at an open grave, in which he had just had placed the remains of an infant son, who had died before my birth; he had had the remains removed from the vault and placed in the grave for final interment, and the workmen were on the point of putting in the first spadeful of earth as I came up.

    “When we left the cemetery together I remarked on the singular coincidence which had brought me there at the nick of time; it quickly and naturally came out that my father had left a message at home for me to meet him there at the time I really did do so. This message I never received, for the simple reason that I had not gone home.

    “The ‘coincidence’ is remarkable because—

    “1. In those days the cemetery was not pleasant or convenient of access.

    {i-289}

    “2. Neither my father, myself, nor other members of the family ever went there, or for that matter ever spoke of the place. With the exception of two infant children who had died many years before, none of our relatives were buried there, and, as far as I know, no one of the family had been there for many years. Most of them had never been there.

    “3. There was and had been no reason why I should ever think of the place, and I had never had any intention or desire to visit it.

    “4. Had I been a few minutes earlier or later (say half-an-hour at the most) I would not have met my father, and it is probable would never have heard of the matter. His messenger would have reported to him that I had not received his message, and he would probably not have mentioned it to me.

    “To put the matter in a nutshell, a message was left for me to be at a certain undesirable and unfrequented place, inconvenient of access and taking some hours to reach by boat and other conveyance. I do not receive the message, but obey it implicitly to the minute.

    “WILLIAM A. KOBBÉ.”

    In answer to inquiries, Major Kobbé says:—

    “My father died about 4 years ago. Since my very remarkable meeting with him in the cemetery I have been at home at long intervals only, and for short periods of time, and for this reason, I suppose, never had occasion to mention the matter to him, or to any other member of the family. I have, since his death, spoken of it to others. I am now, and always have been, entirely free from superstition of any kind, and have, in common with all of my relatives and race, uncommonly strong nerves, unexcitable temperament, and an aversion to ‘isms’ of all kinds. Nothing of a similar nature ever happened to me before or since, and I never had any premonition or impression of any kind that I could not and did not carefully and easily trace to its source.”

    We requested Major Kobbé to find out if his mother remembered the incident. He finds that she does not remember it, adding, “The part my mother played in the matter, while all-important as evidence, was a matter of slight moment to her at the time.”

    It is necessary, of course, to be sure that the line of action adopted by the percipient was really an unlikely one. It may look so, without really having been so. For instance, Miss Lindsay, of 58, Lloyd Street, Greenheys, Manchester, has given us an account of an unusually long walk which she suddenly undertook against advice, with the view of seeing an aunt who was almost a stranger to her.

    “The day was very unsuitable for a walk of a number of miles. It threatened to rain, and began before I had got far on my way. I took a wrong turning, too, in a brown study, and returned in a loop to the same road, so that I found myself, late in the afternoon, again near the tram terminus, by which I might have gone home, instead of near my destination. By this time my thin print dress was soaked through by the rain, for I had {i-290} no cloak, yet I never thought of turning homewards. After walking some 14 miles, I arrived at the house, to find that my aunt had died suddenly of acute rheumatism that morning.

    “Now, looking back on the matter, I see that native obstinacy might account for my starting in spite of counsel and weather, but it would not account for my visiting a relation I did not know well, and whom I did know to be particular about appearances, in a dripping dress. What I am particularly sure about is that it never once struck me that my proceeding was odd; which, to my mind, proves conclusively that the initial impulse must have been stronger than an every-day freak.”

    Still, it may have been a freak, though not an “every-day” one. Miss Lindsay had just returned from the seaside “in excellent health, though in circumstances of considerable worry.” Thus an excuse for a long walk may have been readily caught at, and the “native obstinacy” may have done the rest. The case, moreover, lacks the important evidential point which marked those that preceded it—the desire on the part of the supposed agent for the other person’s presence. We have another case where a walk was suddenly taken, and pursued in torrents of rain, in spite of two attempts to return, under an idea that an acquaintance was on the point of death. She died the same evening. But she had been for some years an object of care to the person who visited her, and though the latter says, “I had not seen her for some weeks, possibly months before, and I did not know she was ill or likely to die,” the case is one which we can hardly include.

    The doubt as to what can be considered unlikely conduct on the percipient’s part has relegated several alleged cases of this class to the Supplement. Among these are two of considerable interest. One of them is from Mr. Frederick Morgan, of Nugent Hill, Bristol, who records how he once made a sudden and unaccountable exit in the middle of a lecture, and walked home, unconscious of having done anything unusual, to find his house in imminent danger from fire, and his mother strongly desiring his presence. We have Mr. Morgan’s assurance that he was thoroughly interested in the discourse, and had even noticed a friend with whom he had planned to walk home when it was over; otherwise the impulse to leave a lecture-room might not seem the best possible specimen of an abnormal experience. The second case is from the Dr. Fischer quoted a few pages back; who went to a jubilee dinner, and “had not been at table

    more than an hour,” when he was forced to go out by an overpowering conviction that some one was in need of his assistance. This heroic step, taken {i-291} on a comparatively empty stomach, was (as it turned out) fully justified. But we must remember that an impression of being wanted is a very deep and abiding element of a medical man’s experience.

    The following case is better worth quotation, for the very reason that the percipient was not a doctor. We received it from Mr. Rowlands, of Bryncethin, near Bridgend, mentioned above (p. 252).

    “July 2nd, 1884.

    (86) “There was a Calvinistic Methodist minister, named Thomas Howell, Kinffig Hill, near Bridgend. He was preaching at Pen-y-graig, and resided not far from my house. I was disturbed in my mind about him about 12 or 1 o’clock in the morning. I rose from bed, and put my clothes on, went to his lodgings and knocked at his door, and told them that I was disturbed about the minister. I went in and up to his bedroom, and found him sitting down on the side of the bed, sweating, and as ill and as painful as could be. This happened about 6 years ago. You can write to Mr. Howell if you wish.

    “ROWLAND ROWLANDS.”

    Mr. Howell writes to us as follows:—

    “Longlands, Wyle.

    “July 16th, 1884.

    “I beg to inform you that the contents of the enclosed letter, which I received from you, sent to you from Mr. Rowland Rowlands, are quite true, and more than is stated in his letter. The night it took place, August 10th, 1879, I shall never forget, for, I believe, had it not been that some unknown agency sent me assistance, that I would have realised the mysteries of another world in a short time.

    “The narrative is simply this. I was preaching at Pen-y-graig, the Sabbath referred to. I slept in a house near the chapel. After the service a few friends sat awhile with me conversing. After they left, about 10 o’clock, I took a little food, a cup of tea and a small bit of bread and butter, and retired to sleep about half-past 10, quite healthy, feeling no pain or uneasiness whatever. Somewhere between 12 and 1 o’clock I awoke with a severe attack of pain in the stomach,—remained a little in bed, but thinking death had struck me, I turned out on the bedside and attempted to call the landlady, but failed to do so. I could not move any further nor speak. In a few minutes I heard a voice at the door, outside, calling the landlady, who was in bed. He succeeded in awaking her and she replied from the landing—‘Who is there?’ To which Mr. Rowlands replied, ‘Open the door at once; I have been disturbed in bed; there is something the matter with the preacher.’ To which she replied, ‘I don’t think so; he has not called.’ I heard Mr. Rowlands speak again: ‘Make haste, Mrs. Phillips,’ which time I believe, Mrs. Phillips, the landlady, was dressing herself, and ran downstairs and opened the door. Mr. Rowlands and herself came to my bedroom at once and knocked at my door. Receiving no answer, Mr. Rowlands opened the door, and found me in the position mentioned in his letter to you. He asked me, ‘What is the matter with you, Mr. Howell?’ to which I could not reply. I was by this time speechless. He told me again, ‘I was disturbed in my bed {i-292} about you; shall we have a doctor?’ to which I shook my head, meaning ‘No.’ I thought everything was almost over. A few moments again I was unconscious and for hours after knew nothing. When I came to myself, I saw Mr. Rowlands and Mrs. Phillips in the room. They remained with me till the morning. I gradually got better, and when Mr. Rowlands left me between 7 and 8 o’clock he remarked to me, ‘I really thought you were going to die. How strange, was it not, that I was disturbed so! Can you account for it?’ I replied ‘No, if it was not that the Almighty had sent you to save me.’

    “I have no more to say nor explain, but I know the facts are true.

    “THOS. HOWELL.”

    Another letter of Mr. Howell’s explains that the illness consisted in painful spasms, from which he had occasionally suffered, and that Mr. Rowlands “held him quiet.” It is not clear that Mr. Rowlands’ presence had anything to do with his recovery, though it was a great support to him. But as the illness and pain seem to have been extremely sudden, the coincidence is striking.

    And here I may recall what was said above (p. 92) on the subject of will in relation to telepathy. The remarks which were made à propos of experimental cases derive strong confirmation from the more recent evidence. It is clear, I think, that in the cases last considered the telepathic influence should be interpreted as primarily emotional, rather than controlling or directive. In none of them should I regard the determination of the percipient’s motor-impulse as at all directly due to the strong desire of the agent that he should act in that particular manner. I doubt if any amount of the most determined “willing,” on the part of the strongest-minded friend or relative, would have brought Mr. Skirving from his work, Mr. Rowlands from his bed, or Dr. Fischer from his dinner. But we may quite conceive that Mrs. Skirving’s distress and agitation might set up in her husband’s mind a disturbance associated with the idea that he was needed; and this might naturally affect his behaviour in the same way as an actual knowledge of the circumstances would have done, without the slightest abrogation of his normal power of choice. In Mr. Morgan’s case the transferred impression (if it was one) did not reach the level of an idea at all, nor did the disturbance even take the form of distress, but only made itself felt in the complete distraction of his mind from its obvious and normal activities. But such distraction implies a genuine disturbance; and since the idea of the locality—home—would naturally have a permanent place at the background of his mind, it is not hard to see how the disturbance {i-293} might be attracted into this obvious channel, and might thus transform itself into a motor-impulse by a process which quite eluded consciousness.

    I will illustrate this view by a final and extreme case, where the movements produced in the percipient were not such as the agent can have desired, or even thought of. The narrator is Dr. Liébeault, of 4, Rue Bellevue, Nancy.

    “4 Septembre, 1885.

    (87) “Je m’empresse de vous écrire au sujet du fait de communication de pensée dont je vous ai parlé, lorsque vous m‘avez fait l’honneur d’assister à mes séances hypnotiques à Nancy. Ce fait se passa dans une famille française de la Nouvelle-Orléans, et qui était venue habiter quelque temps Nancy, pour y liquider une affaire d’intérêt. J’avais fait connaissance de cette famille parceque son chef, M. G, m’avait amené sa niéce, Mile. B., pour que je la traitasse par les procédés hypnotiques. Elle était atteinte d’une anémie légère et d’une toux nerveuse contractées à Coblentz, dans une maison d’éducation où elle était professeur. Je parvins facilement à la mettre en somnambulisme, et elle fut guérie en deux seances. La production de cet état de sommeil ayant démontré à la famille G. et à Mile. B. qu’elle pourrait facilement devenir medium (Mme. G. était médium spirite), cette demoiselle s’exerça à evoquer, à l’aide de la plume, les esprits, auxquels elle croyait sincérement, et au bout de deux mois elle fut un remarquable medium écrivante. C’est elle que j’ai vue de mes yeux tracer rapidement des pages d’écriture qu’elle appelait des messages, et cela en des termes choisis et sans aucune rature, en même temps qu’elle tenait conversations avec les personnes qui l’entouraient. Chose curieuse, elle n’avait nullement conscience de ce qu’elle écrivait; ‘aussi,’ disait-elle, ‘ce ne peut être qu’un esprit qui dirige ma main, ce n’est pas moi.’1

    1 I need hardly point out the fallacy of this argument. See the discussion and examples of automatic writing in Chap. ii, § 12. [Translation]I hasten to write you concerning the case of thought transmission of which I spoke to you when you honored me with your presence at my hypnotism sessions in Nancy. This event took place in a French family from New Orleans, living for a time in Nancy in order to deal with a matter of business. I had gotten to know this family because its head, M. G., had brought his niece, Mlle. B. to me for hypnotic treatments. She suffered from a minor anemia and a nervous cough, which had come on when she was teaching in an educational establishment in Koblenz. I had no difficulty putting her under, and she was cured in two sessions. The production of this sleeping state showed the family and Mlle B. that she could become a medium without difficulty (Mme G. was a spirit medium herself). The young lady went to work, contacting spirits by means of writing, for she believed in them sincerely. After two months' time, she had become a remarkable automatic writer. With my own eyes, I have seen her write page after page of what she called "messages," writing fluently and without any corrections, while simultaneously carrying on conversations with the people around her. Curiously, she had no idea what she was writing, "and so," she would say, "it must be a spirit guiding my hand; it is not I."

    “Un jour—c’était, je crois, le 7 Février, 1868—vers 8 heures du matin, au moment de se mettre à table pour déjeûner, elle sentit un besoin, un quelque chose qui la poussait a écrire (c’était ce qu’elle appelait une trance)—et elle courut immédiatement vers son grand cahier, où elle traça fébrilement, au crayon, des caractères indéchiffrables. Elle retraça les mêmes caractères sur les pages suivantes, et enfin l’excitation de son esprit se calmant, on put lire qu’une personne nommée Marguérite lui annonçait sa mort. On supposa aussitôt qu’une demoiselle de ce nom qui était son amie, et habitait, comme professeur, le même pensionnat de Coblentz où elle avait exercé les même fonctions, venait d’y mourir. Toute la famille G., compris Mlle. B., vinrent immédiatement chez moi, et nous decidâmes de vérifier, le jour même, si ce fait de mort avait réellement eu lieu. Mlle. B. écrivit à une demoiselle anglaise de ses amis, qui exerçait aussi les mêmes fonctions d’institutrice dans le pensionnat en question; elle prétexta un motif, ayant bien soin de ne pas reveler le motif vrai. Poste pour poste, nous reçimes une réponse en anglais, dont on me copia la partie essentielle—réponse que j’ai retrouvée dans une portefeuille il y {i-294} a à peine quinze jours, et égarée denouveau. Elle exprimait l’etonnement de cette demoiselle anglaise au sujet de la lettre de Mlle. B., lettre qu’elle n’attendait pas sitôt, vu que le but ne lui en paraissait pas assez motive. Mais en même temps, l’amie anglaise se hâtait d’annoncer à notre médium que leur amie commune, Marguérite, était morte le 7 Février vers les 8 heures du matin. En outre, un petit carré de papier imprimé était interré dans la lettre; c’était un billet de mort et de faire part. Inutile de vous dire que je vérifiai l’enveloppe de la lettre, et que la lettre me parut venir réellement de Coblentz. [Translation]One day-I believe it was February 7, 1868-at about eight o'clock in the morning, as she was sitting down for breakfast, she felt a need, something that was urging her to write (she called this a trance). She rushed to her large notebook, where she wrote feverishly, in pencil, a set of indecipherable letters. She repeated the same signs on the following pages. Finally, once she had grown calmer, it was possible to read that a person named Marguérite was telling her she had died. We assumed immediately that a young lady with that name, a friend of hers, and like her a teacher living in the same boarding school in Koblenz, had just died there. The whole G. family, including Mlle. B., came to see me at once, and we decided to determine, that very day, whether or not the death had indeed taken place. Mlle B. wrote to an English friend of hers who also worked as a teacher in the boarding school in question. She was careful not to reveal her true motivation for writing, but made up some excuse. By return mail, we received an answer in English, the key part of which was copied out for me. I found this answer in a file barely two weeks ago, and have now misplaced it again. It spoke of the young Englishwoman’s surprise at Mlle B.’s letter, which she was not expecting, and which did not seem to her to have been written for adequate reason. But at the same time, the English friend hastened to inform our medium that their common friend, Marguérite, had died on February 7, about eight o'clock in the morning. In addition, a small square piece of paper was enclosed in this letter; it was printed announcement of the death. I need not tell you that I checked the envelope in which the letter had arrived, and that to all appearances it had really come from Koblenz.

    “Seulement j’ai eu depuis des regrets. C’est de n’avoir pas, dans l’intérêt de la science, demandé à la famille G. d’aller avec eux vérifier au bureau télégraphique si, réellement, ils n’auraient pas reçu une dépêche télégraphique dans la matinee du 7 Février. La science ne doit pas avoir de pudeur; la verité ne craint pas d’être vue. Je n’ai comme preuve de la véracité du fait qu’une preuve morale: c’est l’honorabilité‘de la famille G., qui m’ a paru toujours au dessus de tout soupçon. [Translation]Nevertheless, I have had some second thoughts since. I am sorry that in the interests of science, I did not ask the G. family to come with me to the telegraph office to verify that they had not received a telegram on the morning of February 7. Science must not be bashful; truth has no fear of being observed. My only proof of the veracity of this event is a moral proof: it lies in the honorable character of the G. family, who have always appeared to me to be beyond any suspicion.

    “A. A. LIÉBEAULT.”

    [Apart from the improbability that the whole family would join in a conspiracy to deceive their friend, the nature of the answer received from Coblentz shows that the writer of it cannot have been aware that any telegraphic announcement had been sent. And it is in itself unlikely that the authorities of the school would have felt it necessary instantly to communicate the news to Mdlle. B.]

    This example, it will be seen, differs from the preceding in the distinctness of the idea which—albeit latent in the percipient’s mind—we must hold to have been transferred. Its chief interest, however, lies in the completeness and complexity of the automatism evolved. It exhibits a spontaneous telepathic impulse taking effect through the motor-system of the percipient in the very way that M. Richet’s or our own deliberate efforts took effect on the “medium” (pp. 72–8). The parallel could not well be closer; and our view of the essential continuity of experimental and spontaneous telepathy1 1 See above, pp. 171–2. could hardly receive stronger support.

    {i-295}

    CHAPTER VIII.

    DREAMS.

    PART I.—THE RELATION OF DREAMS TO THE ARGUMENT FOR TELEPATHY.

    § 1. THE inward impressions of distant events with which I have so far dealt have all been waking impressions. They have visited the percipient in the midst of his daily employments, and have often caused emotions that seemed quite incongruous with the normal current of life in which they mingled. But there is another department of experience which we are accustomed to consider as par excellence the domain of inward impressions, and from which the normal current of life is altogether shut off—the department of dreams. And this department, where inward ideas and images dominate unchecked, is also one which covers so large a period of human existence as to make it à priori probable that a considerable number of “transferred impressions” (supposing such things to exist) would fall within it. It would naturally, therefore, suggest itself as our next field of inquiry.

    But dreams not only fall in naturally at this point; they are a means of advance. They comprise in themselves the whole range of transition from ideal and emotional to distinctly sensory affections; and they thus supply a most convenient link between the vaguer sort of transferred impressions and the more concrete and definitely embodied sort. The telepathic communications of the last two chapters, even where connected with recognisable images of persons and things, did not affect sight or hearing in such a way as to suggest the physical presence of the objects. Now many dreams are of just this impalpable kind. The material objects which figure in them are often the very vaguest of images, not localised in any particular spot. It is the general idea, the generalised form, of a person that presents itself, not a figure in a special attitude or clad in a special dress; events pass through the mind clothed in the faintly represented imagery in which a waking train of memory or of {i-296} reverie will embody its contents. Such a dream only differs from a waking reverie in that it has not to compete, on the field of attention, with any objective facts; it is not contrasted with the immediate experience which the external world forces at every moment on the waking senses; and it is, therefore, itself accepted as immediate experience. With some persons it is rare for their dreams ever to emerge into more concrete actuality than this; and telepathy often seems to act in dreams of just such a veiled and abstract kind. From this lowest stage the transition is a gradual one up to the most vivid and detailed dream-imagery, the features of which are engraved on the memory as sharply as those of a striking scene in waking life;1 1 Those whose dreams are habitually of the more ideal and impalpable sort have sometimes a difficulty in realising the extreme sensory vividness of dreams at the other end of the scale, dreamt often by persons who have no exceptional power of visualising when awake. I myself lately dreamt that, meeting a stranger in Bond Street, I was arrested by a certain familiarity in the face, which I continued to scrutinise with puzzled eagerness, till I at last identified it with a portrait in the Grosvenor Gallery of the preceding year. Awake, I can scarcely recall the portrait at all. I have also heard it asserted that (apart from actual external sounds) the sense of hearing is never distinctly exercised in dreams. I never had a more vivid dream than one of a few nights back, where some rifle-shooting, in the midst of which I found myself, caused me again and again precisely the same dread before the sound came, and the same intense irritation when it came, as I associate with the firing of a pistol on the stage. I could distinctly trace this dream to a similar (though less acute) irritation which I had suffered from the cracking of whips in a foreign city on the previous day. and at every step of the transition we find evidence (how far conclusive will be seen later) to the action of telepathy.

    It is only, however, when we come to the most distinctly sensory class of all, that the full theoretic importance of dreams can be realised. To make this clear, I must ask a moment’s indulgence for a statement of some very obvious facts. Vivid dreams present themselves to us in two very different aspects. There is first the standpoint which we occupy when we are dreaming them. From that standpoint, the world with which they present us is often as external as the real one; and our perceptions in that world are perceptions of outward and abiding things, among which we live and move with as much sense of reality as if we had never known the disillusion of waking. To the dreamer, his more vivid and concrete images are actual percepts, calling his senses (in physiological language his sensory centres) into play just as external reality would. But there is of course a totally different standpoint from which to regard dreams, namely, the external and critical one that we habitually assume during waking life. We then think of them merely as that floating phantasmagoria whose transience and unreality have been the theme of philosophers and poets; which has very singular relations to time, and no real relations {i-297} at all to our familiar space—unless, indeed, we loosely identify it with its physical conditions, and localise it in the brain. Dreams, then, have this peculiarity: they are distinct affections of the senses, which yet, in reflecting on them, we rarely or never confound with objective facts; waking hallucinations, on the other hand—spectral illusions or ghostly visitants—are often so confounded. The sleeping experiences are marked off from external reality in the minds of all of us by the very fact that we wake from them; our change of condition makes their vanishing seem natural; and thus looked back on, they will often seem to have been mere vague representations, i.e., something less than affections of the senses. The waking experiences cannot be woke from; their vanishing seems unconnected with the percipient and therefore unnatural; and thus looked back on, they will often seem to have been independent realities, i.e., something more than affections of the senses.

    Now it is as affections of the senses, and not as independent realities, that our Class A, the externalised sort of “phantasms of the living,” are treated in this book. In the theory that the percipient is impressed from a distance, and in the very word phantasm, it is implied that what he sees or hears has no objective basis or existence in that part of the external world where his body is situated; and whether he be asleep or awake, his relation to what he perceives, and of this to reality, is the same. But I shall be proceeding by the easiest route if (so far as the evidence will allow) I first trace the occurrence of the telepathic phantasms in the region of experience where sensory phantasms of some sort are normal and familiar, and are habitually judged of rightly as affections of the inner sense,1 1 This term implies that sensation, from a physical point of view, is inverted; that the initial stimulation takes place in the higher tracts of the brain, and that the stimulation of the special sensory apparatus is produced by a downward centrifugal current. The point will be further noticed in connection with waking hallucinations (see pp. 487–8). before passing to the region where phantasms of any sort are abnormal and unfamiliar, and are perpetually judged of wrongly as affections of the outer sense. The rapprochement which will thus be established between the sleeping and the waking cases will receive further and interesting illustration in certain intermediate stages which we shall encounter on the way. We shall find that one set of phenomena merges into the other by gradual steps, and that this “borderland” is itself a region specially rich in the telepathic impressions.

    {i-298}

    § 2. But though dreams thus present a logical point of departure, they also form in many ways the most assailable part of our case. They are placed almost in a separate category by their intimate connection with the lowest physical, as well as the highest psychical, operations. The grotesque medley which constantly throng through the gate of ivory thrust into discredit our rarer visitants through the gate of horn. And before proceeding further, it will be well to examine with some care the general evidential value of dreams, in relation to a theory of transferred impressions. The field may seem a fair one enough, as long as we keep to general expectations; if telepathy is a reality, here is a probable scene of telepathic events. But what opportunities does it afford for confirming these expectations by accurate and convincing evidence? This is a question which may rapidly convert our hopes into doubts.

    The first objection to dreams, as evidence for transferred impressions of distant conditions or events, is this—that dreams being often somewhat dim and shapeless things, subsequent knowledge of the conditions or events may easily have the effect of giving body and definiteness to the recollection of a dream. When the actual facts are learnt, a faint amount of resemblance may often suggest a past dream, and set the mind on the track of trying accurately to recall it. This very act involves a search for details, for something tangible and distinct; and the real features and definite incidents which are now present in the mind, in close association with some general scene or fact which actually figured in the dream, will be apt to be unconsciously read back into the dream. They make part of the original, of which the mind conceives the dream to have been a picture; and the picture, when evoked in memory, will only too probably include details drawn from the original. After we have once realised the matter in its full distinctness, it becomes almost impossible to recall with due indistinctness the distant and shadowy suggestion of it.1 1 The possibilities referred to may be illustrated by the

    following cases. Mr. R. O’Shaughnessy, M.P., writes to us:— House of Commons, April 20th, 1883. “One night, when I was in my teens, I dreamt that I was passing by the house of Mr. J., who lived near us; that I saw his nursery maid coming down the steps, carrying a baby in her arms, and preceded by a boy five or six years old; that I asked her if this boy was Mr. J.’s eldest son; that she said ‘Yes,’ and that I then said, ‘Well, he’s not a beauty, but he promises to be a fine fellow. He is very like his father.’ Such was my dream. A few minutes after I awoke, my father, in whose room I slept, told me, without my having made any allusion to Mr. J., that he had on the previous day passed by Mr. J .’s house; had seen the nurse and baby coming out, and the boy preceding them; had addressed to the nurse the very questions and remarks I had dreamt I addressed to her, and received the answer I had dreamt she made me.” In a case like this, one realises how a vague dream, excited, perhaps, by some remark heard over night, may have fallen into definite shape as the details of the real scene were one by one recounted. Mrs. Nind, of Midleton House, Westcombe Park, Blackheath, tells us how, when about 20 years of age, she saw in a dream a brother, of whose whereabouts his family had long been ignorant, “lying on the deck of a ship, greatly exhausted. I saw in my dream the name of the ship, ‘Zenobia.’ A few days after, in the morning paper, I read the ‘Zenobia’ was picked up at sea waterlogged, near the south coast of Ireland, the crew and passengers suffering from great exhaustion, having been many hours working at the pumps, exactly as I had dreamt. I told it at once, and was impressed by the facts coming true in the course of a few days.” The brother was actually on that ship. But the whole pith of the statement is that the name of the ship was correctly seen; and this is just a point where unsupported memory cannot be relied on. The name might so easily seem to have been seen, when once it became associated with the reality; and a coincidence which is striking to begin with is all the more likely to become perfect in memory. (It is fair, however, to mention that the same lady has had at least two other dreams which strikingly corresponded with reality, and were mentioned by her before the reality was known; one of the bursting of a gun on board the “Viper,” of which her brother was master; the other of her sister “lying faint in someone’s arms,” at a time when the sister had fallen and severely sprained her ankle.) Again, Mrs. Liddell, of 18, Brae Street, Liverpool, tells us that in November, 1882, her brother, an engineer employed on a steamer, appeared to her in a dream, looking a good deal knocked about, and with some teeth out, and said, “It is all for the best”; and her husband testifies to her immediate mention of the dream. The brother had actually been wrecked at the time: “when he arrived home he had lost some of his teeth, and had been well knocked about.” But everything depends on the detail of the teeth, which the husband does not mention. They were lost in reality; were they lost in the dream? In the absence of notes or corroborative testimony, we cannot be sure. This list could be easily extended. Dreams in this way resemble objects seen in the dusk; which begin by puzzling the eye, but which, when once we {i-299} know or think we know what they are, seem quite unmistakeable and even full of familiar detail. For our purposes, therefore, it is of prime importance that the dream shall be told in detail to some one on whose memory we can rely; or, better still, written down, or in some way acted on, at the time, and before the confirmation arrives. Nearly all the evidence to be brought forward has, at any rate, this mark of accuracy.

    But there is a more general and sweeping objection. Millions of people are dreaming every night; and in dreams, if anywhere, the range of possibilities seems infinite; can any positive conclusion be drawn from such a chaos of meaningless and fragmentary impressions? Must not we admit the force of the obvious à priori argument, that among the countless multitude of dreams, one here and there is likely to correspond in time with an actual occurrence resembling the one dreamed of; and that when a dream thus “comes true,” unscientific minds are sure to note and store up the fact as something extraordinary, without taking the trouble to reflect whether such incidents occur oftener than pure chance would allow? Can the chances be at all estimated? Are any valid means at hand for distinguishing between a transferred impression and a lucky coincidence? What degree of exactitude of date and circumstance {i-300} must be reached, before we consider even a striking correspondence as worth attention? And what proportion of striking correspondences are we to demand, before we consider that the hypothesis of chance is strained in accounting for them?

    In the first place, it is to be noted that there has, so far, been a complete lack of the statistics which alone could form the basis for an answer to these questions. It has never been known with any certainty what proportion of people habitually dream, what proportion of dreams are remembered at all, in what proportion of these remembered dreams the memory is evanescent, and in what proportion it is profound and durable. This latter point may be specially hard to establish satisfactorily in a particular case, as it is affected by the question whether a person’s attention is habitually directed to his dreams, and also by the question whether he has happened to recount a particular dream to others, and so to stamp it on his own memory. By making inquiries on a large scale, however, a considerable approximation to certainty may be attained on these and various other points of importance. A good deal has been done in this way during the last three years; and though I cannot say that the results are such as would allow us to base a theory of telepathy upon the facts of dreams alone, I think that they do much to diminish the à priori plausibility of the theory of chance, as a sufficient explanation of all cases of marked correspondence between a dream and an external event.

    § 3. The points to be considered have to do both with the intensity and with the content of the dream; let us consider them in order.

    First as to intensity. An exceedingly small proportion of dreams are remembered with distinctness several hours after waking. Even of the dreams which dwell in the memory, an exceedingly small proportion produce any appreciable amount of distress or excitement. And of these more impressive dreams, an exceedingly small proportion prove their intensity by being in any way acted on. What I have termed intensity may be indicated in another way, by the rapid repetition of a distinct dream two or three times on the same night; and this, too, when there is no apparent cause to prompt the dream, seems to be a comparatively rare occurrence (see p. 357). The dreams to be cited in this book will nearly all, I think, be distinguishable by one or other of these tests of exceptional intensity. And in proportion {i-301} as the dreams which coincide with the event dreamed of are thus found to be in some other way exceptional—in proportion as the class to which they belong is found to form a small and sparse minority among the swarming multitude of unmarked dreams—in that proportion does it clearly become unreasonable to argue that the coincidences are sufficiently accounted for by the law of chances. The argument which might seem effective so long as we had the whole multitude of dreams to range over—that multitude seeming sufficient to give the law of chances ample scope—assumes quite a different aspect when we find ourselves limited to the comparatively small group of intense dreams.

    Next as to content. Before we can give weight to a dream-coincidence as pointing to anything beyond the operation of chance, we should inquire whether the event dreamed of is distinct, unexpected, and unusual. If it combine all three characteristics in a high degree, its evidential value may be very considerable; in proportion as the degree falls short, or the combination fails, the evidential value sinks; and none of the characteristics taken alone, even though present in a high degree, would lead us to include a dream in the present collection. Thus, the dream-content must be neither a vague impression of calamity nor of happiness; nor a catastrophe on which the sleeper’s mind is already fixed; nor some such ordinary event as has frequently occurred in waking experience. It may, indeed, be not the less significant for being trivial; but in that case it must be of a bizarre or unlikely kind.1 1 It is not easy to draw the line here. How, for instance, ought the following case to be regarded? We received the account through the kindness of Mr. James Sime; the narrator is Mrs. Bell, of Windmill Road, Hamilton. “July 21st, 1884.

    “In the autumn of 1875, my father and I left home for Perthshire, giving the use of our Hamilton house to an uncle. On Wednesday night previous to our return home, I dreamt that my cousin had broken the handle of a vegetable-dish, and said to her sister, ‘Don’t tell, for I see the soup-tureen handle has been mended, and I shall mend this too.’ I told this dream to my father at breakfast on Thursday morning. He laughed, and begged me not to speak of it to my cousins, lest they should say I had been thinking evil of them. However, when we got home on Friday, just as my friends were leaving, I said in joke, ‘Oh! you didn’t tell me you had broken the handle of the vegetable-dish.’ “My cousin at once turned to her sister, and said, ‘Did you tell?’ I was amazed, and said, ‘You don’t mean to say you broke it.’ She said, ‘Yes, I did, on Wednesday, and I told my sister to say nothing about it to you, and I would mend it like the soup-tureen.’ “AGNES J. BELL. In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Bell says:— “I have to state that I am not a great dreamer, but the dream in question struck me as so exceptional that I repeated it in detail to my father in the morning.” Mrs. Bell’s father corroborates as follows:— “Auchingramont Road, Hamilton. “August 2nd, 1884. “I recollect, in the autumn of 1875, while at Comrie, my daughter telling me one morning of a dream she had about one of her cousins breaking a vegetable-dish. “On returning to Hamilton we found the dream verified. “DANIEL CLARKE.” Another informant tells us—and her statement is corroborated—how she announced to her family one morning, on the strength of a dream, that a cousin of theirs had been in bed with a quinsey, but would come to see them that day. He came, and said he had been kept away by a quinsey, a malady from which he had never suffered before. But on inquiry we find that quinsey was a familiar idea in the dreamer’s family, as a governess had frequently had it; and the coincidence thus seems too clearly within the range of chance. Then again, amount of detail, and the number of connected events, are of immense importance, as each subsequently verified detail tells with ever-mounting strength against the hypothesis of accidental coincidence. Once more, dream-content must be considered to some extent in relation to the dream-habits of the particular dreamer. Before estimating the value of the fact that a person has dreamt of the sudden death of a friend on the night when the death took place, we should have to ascertain that that {i-302} person is not in the habit of dreaming of distressing or horrible events.1 1 For example, we have not admitted the following case, which was sent to us by the Rev. T. C. Skeggs, of 14, Fitzwarren Street, Pendleton, Manchester. “June 17th, 1884. “In the year 1872 I was in China. I dreamed that a lady friend in England was in great trouble. For about two days I could not rid myself of the thought of her distress. The nature of her trouble was not at all defined to my own mind, only that she was prostrate with grief. About six weeks later the mail brought me news of her father’s death, of whom she was passionately fond, and of course she was proportionately distressed. The painful impression caused by my dream led me to note the date at which it occurred, and when I compared it with the news contained in my letter, I found it tallied with the date of her father’s death. “The lady was an intimate friend, 12 years older than myself, and we had many interests in common with each other; these formed a bond of sympathy. “T. C. SKEGGS.” In another letter Mr. Skeggs adds:—“I do not often dream of personal friends. One point connected with that dream was exceptional, viz., the duration of the impression.” The mere fact of the friend’s distress, however, hardly affords a definite enough coincidence for the case materially to help the telepathic argument; and inquiry brought out a “dream-habit” which still further lowers its value in this connection. “Am I a great dreamer? I am. I frequently dream of horrors that are so vivid to my mind as to leave me quite exhausted in the morning.” In respect of these various points, the instances to be cited, here and in the Supplement, are the sifted survival of many less definite coincidences in which the popular imagination would find a marvel. And in the case of this residue, where we have complete fulfilment of some of the above conditions, over and above the close proximity in time, or (it may be) absolute synchronism, of the event and the dream, the question as to a causal connection between the two is, at any rate, not to be swept out of court by a mere general appeal to the doctrine of chances.

    But there is a further point in the content of the dreams that correspond with real events—true dreams, as we may for brevity call {i-303} them—which cannot but strike the attention as soon as we begin to examine actual specimens. It is that, among true dreams, by very far the largest class is the class where the truth is deathi.e., where the event dreamt of as happening to another is of that most restricted kind which can only happen once in each individual’s experience. Out of the 149 coincident dreams which are included in this book—as at least clearly finding in telepathy, if it exists, their most natural explanation—no less than 79 have represented or suggested death. This, it will be seen, is entirely in accordance with a theory of causal connection between event and dream, where the abnormal state of the person dreamt of is regarded as part of the cause; but it is not at all in accordance with what we should expect accident to bring about. Nor could this argument well be met by the assumption that it is only in the case of a very grave event that the accidental correspondence attracts attention and gets recorded. For this would mean that the dreams of death which happen to correspond with reality are one specially-remembered class among the total number of accidentally-true dreams. Now it will be admitted that dreams of death constitute a minute proportion of all dreams; it would follow, then, on the above assumption, that accidentally-true dreams of death constitute a similarly minute proportion of all accidentally-true dreams. But at this rate the total number of “true dreams”—in other words, the number of coincidences which the doctrine of chances will have to cover—swells to a most prodigious and unmanageable figure. It is just because a “true dream” is a very exceptional occurrence, that it was possible even to attempt to account for it as an accident; if the “accident” is for ever “coming off,” so much the worse for that attempt.

    § 4. But the fact that a singular and marked event, such as death, is in so large a proportion of cases the central feature of the “true” dreams, supplies more than a general argument; it supplies the means for an actual numerical estimate whereby the adequacy of the chance-hypothesis may be tested. For dreams of so definite a character, and which admit of being so clearly and briefly described, are quite a fit subject for statistics; there is a possibility of finding out approximately what the actual frequency of a dream of this sort is; and we shall then have the first necessary datum for deciding whether the frequency of the cases where it coincides with reality, is, or is not, greater than chance would fairly allow. If it turned out that {i-304} all of us about once a week had a marked and distressing dream of the death of some friend or other, then, since people who are somebody’s friends are perpetually dying, the coincidence of such a dream with the real event might be expected to occur by pure accident in a large number of cases. But if only a small minority of us could recall ever having had such a dream at all, the case would be reversed. The object, then, is to ascertain from a number of people, large enough and promiscuous enough to be accepted as a fair specimen of the whole population, what percentage of them have had the experience in question. With this view, efforts have been made, dating from the winter of 1883, to obtain a large number of answers to the following question:—

    Since January 1st, 1874, have you ever had a dream of the death of some person known to you, which dream you marked as an exceptionally vivid one, and of which the distressing impression lasted for as long as an hour after you rose in the morning?

    This question has been put to 5360 persons, as to whom it was not known beforehand whether their answer would be “Yes” or “No.” Of

    these persons, 173 answered “Yes.” Excluding 7 of these cases, in which the dreamer was at the time in a state of distinct anxiety as to the person whose death was dreamt of, we have a remainder of 166. These include a good many cases where it proved, on further inquiry, that the terms of the question had not been exactly met, as the impression had not endured in any vivid or distressing way. They also include 3 cases where the mind of the dreamer had been exceptionally directed to the person dreamt of; and 3 cases where the person dreamt of was in the same room as the dreamer, which may have had some tendency to produce the dream—one gentleman expressly stating his suspicion that his dream was caused by some sound made by his companion. We may, therefore, accept the 166 as a liberal estimate. But 18 of these persons professed to have had a dream of the sort inquired about more than once. It will be again a liberal estimate if we suppose each of these to have experienced 3 distinct examples within the specified time; and the most convenient way of taking account of these repetitions will be to add 36 to the 166, making 202. With this substitution,  26 of the whole number of persons asked may be taken to have given an affirmative answer.[☼] Now, the persons asked were a quite promiscuous body, and a body large enough to be safely regarded as a fair average {i-305} sample of the population; just as a similar number of persons, taken at random, would be accepted as a fair sample for purposes of statistics on short sight, or colour-blindness. We may conclude, then, that the number of persons who can recall having had—during the twelve years 1874–1885, and without special assignable cause—the experience named in the question, amount to about 1 in 26 of the population of this country.

    The question next occurs, ought we, in making our calculation, to assign any limit to the area of acquaintances from whom the person dreamt of may be drawn, and of whom a certain proportion will, in the natural course of things, die within a period of 12 years? On general grounds it may fairly be argued that the slightness of connection between two persons would diminish the chance that one would dream accidentally, no less than the chance that he would dream telepathically, of the death of the other;1 1 It is not always easy to find out, from a brief description, the strength of the bond that has existed between two persons. But I think I am safe in saying that the dreams of death in which the person dreamt of is not linked to the dreamer by a rather close tie of kinship or affection, do not amount to 10 per cent. of the whole number. In other respects the dreams do not seem to follow any line of à priori likelihood—e.g., they concern the death of young persons quite as much as of old ones. I may point out that a different estimate would have to be made for dreams dreamt by several dreamers about the same person: e.g., an accidental coincidence of dream and death is less improbable than usual where the person dreamt of is a prominent public character, because he is (so to speak) within the dream-horizon of an immense number of people. But the proviso has no practical importance, as no cases of the kind occur in my statistics. and that therefore a vivid dream of the death of a stranger, or of a slight acquaintance, when it coincides with the death, tells neither more nor less in favour of the action of something beyond chance than a similarly vivid and coincident dream of the death of a near relative. It will be seen, moreover, that, as far as the numerical estimate goes, it is unimportant how large or how small we take the area to be; because whatever number of persons we include, on the average the same proportion of the number will die within any given time. Thus assuming this proportion who die to be one-fourth of the whole number, then, if we took a very large circle of acquaintances, say 400—the death of any of whom, if dreamt of when it occurred, would count as one of our coincidences—we should have to reckon that 100 of them actually die in the course of the time; and if we took a very small circle of just the immediate relatives of the dreamer, say 4, we should have to reckon that 1 of them dies in the course of the time. And the chance of an accidental coincidence in the specified period between the single dream of death and the death itself is practically {i-306} the same in both these cases. For though there will be, on the one hand, much less chance of its being the right individual that is dreamt of when the choice is among 400 than when it is among 4, on the other hand the 100 deaths will give 100 (or nearly 100) nights on which the coincident dream will have its chance of being dreamt, instead of only 1 night. Logically, therefore, there is no necessity for limiting the area in question. Let the number of any one’s acquaintance be called x. Then, whether x be large or small, all that concerns us is the proportion of the x persons who die within the specified period of 12 years; and this proportion, since the death-rate per year is about ·022, may be taken as ·264, or a little more than one-fourth.

    The estimate from the above data is as follows. The probability that a person, taken at random, will have a vivid dream of death in the course of 12 years is  26; the probability that any assigned member of the general population, and therefore that any particular dreamt-of person, will die within 12 hours of an assigned point of time is 22  1000 ×  365; hence the probability that, in the course of 12 years, a vivid dream of death[☼] and the death of the person dreamt of will fall within 12 hours of one another is  26 × 22  1000 ×  365 =  431,363. (If x, the number of the dreamer’s circle of friends, be taken into account, we then have, as the probability that any one of the dreamer’s circle should die within the particular 24 hours defined by the dream, x ×  27 × 22  1000 ×  365;[☼] and as the probability that, if some one of the dreamer’s circle dies within the particular 24 hours, it should be the particular one dreamt of,  x; whence the probability of this double event =  x × x ×  27 × 22  1000 ×  365, i.e., the result is unaltered.) That is to say, each group of 481,363 persons in the population of the United Kingdom will[☼] produce one such coincidence in the given time. Now let it be supposed for a moment that our appeal for evidence has effectively reached as large a section of the population as this: let it be supposed, that is to say, that the number of persons from whom we should, directly or indirectly, have received examples of such coincidences, if they had had them to communicate, amount to 431,363. In that case, then, the number of such coincidences which we ought, by the doctrine of chances, to have encountered is 1. The number which we have actually encountered, of vivid dreams of death, narrated to us at first-hand,1 1 In three cases the evidence, though not actually from the dreamer, is of the sort described in Vol. i., p. 148, as on a par with first-hand. dreamt since January 1st, 1874, by persons free from anxiety, and falling within 12 hours of the death of the person dreamt {i-307} of1 1 With 5 possible exceptions, where the 12 hours’ limit may not have been nearly reached, but where it may have been exceeded. In 2 of these cases, the death took place in the afternoon and the dream followed the same night; in the 3 others, the death was either on the night of the dream or on a day contiguous to that night, but its hour is not known. Two dreams are excluded which are known to have followed the death by a very little more than 12 hours, the death not having been heard of in the interval.—is 24: that is, a number 24

    times larger than the doctrine of chances would have allowed us to expect.2 2 Nos. 23, 114, 116, 118, 126, 127, 134, 141, 283, 309, 423, 426, 427, 428, 443, 448, 450, 452, 454, 455, 456, 458, 459, 702. No. 23 is included, though not literally a dream of death, on account of the very strong impression that it produced of the death of the person represented in it. No. 138 (p. 376) is excluded for the reason stated in “Additions and Corrections.”[☼] I am excluding 6 cases where some ground for anxiety as to the condition of the person dreamed of existed, even though no special anxiety is remembered to have been felt; the person who died, in one of these cases, was old and infirm; in another was known to be slightly unwell; and in two others was at sea. Another dream is excluded which was not literally of death, though interpreted as such by the dreamer; and yet another where the fact of the coincidence of the dream with a sudden death was stated, but the witness found the subject too painful to give details. Of the 24 included dreams, 10 were of the deaths of near relatives; and 4 or 5 concerned persons who were outside the circle of intimate acquaintance. And this number is very much below what we are justified in assuming. For while my colleagues and I are probably disposed rather to overrate than to underrate the extent to which the world is acquainted with our proceedings, we cannot suppose that the actual number of persons from whose collective experiences our examples are drawn really approaches half a million, as above supposed. (In Chap. XIII., I shall show grounds for thinking that a quarter of the number assumed would still probably be much above the mark.) Moreover, 7 of the 24 coincidences are represented as having been extremely close; in 3 other cases the interval was at any rate not more than 4 hours, and in another was from 3 to 6 hours; while in 9 more, where death and dream are merely stated to have fallen on the same night, the coincidence may have been exact, and is not likely to have been inexact to the extent of anything like 12 hours. Again, dreams are excluded where the actual fact of death was not in some way presented, even though the dying person was dreamt of in a remarkable way.3 3 I would draw special attention to this point. For when we come to deal with the waking cases, where a phantasm of a person is seen or heard at the time of his death, they may seem to present a marked difference from the dreams that will be quoted as having coincided with death,—these last being distinctly dreams of death, whereas it is only in a minority of the waking cases that any idea of death was conveyed. The waking percipient may have surmised the death, from the fact that he had seen or heard the phantasm; but the phantasm itself, more often than not, was simply the natural-looking appearance or natural-sounding voice of the “agent.” We must remember, then, that for aught we know, telepathically caused dreams of just this type may occur; but unless they present specially remarkable features (as in case 23, p. 199 above,) we should not cite them as having even a primâ facie claim to be considered telepathic, just because of the immense scope for chance-coincidence that dreams afford. We demand more of a dream—that it shall suggest the right event, and not merely the right person—before we think it worth considering; and the dreams to be quoted correspond with the rarer type of waking cases, where the phantasmal representation has in some way distinctly suggested death. But most markedly have I understated the case in this respect, that I {i-308} have introduced nothing but the bare fact of death, and have neglected the points of detail which in some instances add indefinitely to the difficulty of regarding the coincidence as a chance.

    The above is a tolerably clear computation; and its validity could only be rebutted in two ways—(1) by impugning, on evidential grounds, the cases of coincidence that are alleged; (2) by impugning the approximate accuracy of the initial datum—that within the last 12 years not more than 1 person in 26 has, without clear cause, had a markedly distressing and haunting dream of the death of an acquaintance.

    The evidential value of the alleged coincidences will be better estimated when we consider some of the actual specimens. But as regards the initial datum, on which the calculation depends, there are objections the force of which must be at once admitted. Dreams in general, it may be said, fade away from our memory because there is nothing to stamp them there; but if it happens that some real event recalls a recent dream, then, by the principle of association, this dream will obtain a more permanent lodgment in our mind. Now the death of relatives or friends is the sort of real event which it is practically certain that we shall hear of very soon after it occurs. A dream of such an occurrence is therefore practically certain to get stamped in the way described, if it has been at all synchronous with the fact. And it is thus allowable to suppose that a large number of such dreams may occur which lapse unnoted from the mind, but any one of which, had news of the real event been received immediately afterwards, would have been recalled and associated with it, and would have then added a case to the list of “remarkable coincidences.”

    This argument is to a considerable degree met by the terms of the question. What is asked is not merely whether people have had a dream of death; but whether they have had one which has haunted them for at least an hour after rising in the morning; and it will not be maintained that an experience of that sort is so likely to vanish utterly from the memory as an ordinary dream. But it might, no doubt, be rejoined that perhaps a good many of the coincident dreams were not marked at the time by any special vividness or impressiveness; and that the dreamer came to imagine this peculiarity of character in his dream, after it had come to assume importance in his eyes from the discovery that it had coincided with the reality. And I most fully recognise that when the argument begins to turn on such a point as the degree of vividness which a dreamer, looking back {i-309} to a dream through the medium of subsequent impressions, can swear that it possessed, anything like positive proof becomes impossible. A dream so looked back to may get charged with an emotional character, just as we saw above that it might get filled in with a precision of detail, which it did not really possess. But I must here draw special attention to the safeguards already mentioned. Our collection includes a remarkably high proportion of cases where the coincident dream was marked as exceptional in character—at the time, and before the real event was known—by being immediately narrated as such to someone else, (who, if accessible, has of course been questioned as to his memory of the fact); or by being noted in writing; or by being in some way acted on. Of the 107 dream-examples recorded in this book on the first-hand testimony of the dreamer, 72 are alleged to have been described, 11 more to have been recorded in writing (in one instance by a relative of the dreamer’s), and 9 more to have been in some marked way acted on, before the corresponding event was known; and in 46 of the 72 cases where the dream was at once described, we have also the independent testimony of the person to whom it was described. In 18 other cases, we have the testimony of the person to whom the dream was described before the corresponding event was known, but not the dreamer’s own account. Of the 24 dreams used in my numerical estimate, 3 were noted in writing, and 20 (including 2 of the previous 3) are alleged to have been mentioned, before the fact of the death was known; and in 15 of these 20 cases, we have independent testimony to this mention from the person to whom it was made. And I must further point out that, in order to explain away the result of the above computation in the way suggested, it would have to be assumed not only that a great many dreams of death pass unnoted and leave no impression, while still of such a nature that a vivid impression of them would revive if news corresponding to them were subsequently heard; it would have to be assumed that such an experience befalls very nearly every adult in the country at least once within the twelve years. For our conclusion was that coincident dreams of death in this country were 24 times as numerous as the law of chances—according to the datum which the census gave us—would allow. Therefore to make the law of

    chances applicable as an explanation, we must multiply our initial datum by 24; that is, instead of assuming 1 person out of every 26 to have had the required dream, we must assume 24 out of every 26—that is nearly every one—to have had it; nay, on the more probable estimate of {i-310} our area of inquiry (p. 307), we must assume that on the average every one has had it as many as four times within the given period; though 96 per cent. of them forget all about it.1 1 If it be objected that such an extreme assumption would not be required, as persons who have the dream may have it repeatedly, I can reply that hardly any of the persons from whom we have received accounts of “coincidental” dreams of death recall having dreamt of death except on that one occasion; and it would be even odder that many of them should have completely forgotten a number of such vivid experiences than that they should have completely forgotten one. A good many of my readers will, I think, altogether repudiate such a supposition in their own case. I believe, indeed, that a perfectly impartial census would have given a decidedly smaller proportion than 1 in 26. For it is practically impossible to carry out a census of the sort required without getting an unfair proportion of Yeses. Persons who have only No to say in answer to such a question as was propounded, are apt to think that there is no good in saying it; and if they receive a printed form, instead of writing their answer on it and returning it, they are apt to consign it to the waste-paper basket—probably often with a vague notion that what was wanted was a Yes, and that sensible people, who do not have exceptional experiences, ought not to encourage the superstitions of those who do.2 2 A further account of the census of which the above inquiry formed part will be found in Chapter xiii.

    § 5. As pointed out above, it is only where the coincident dream exhibits some sort of unique event, such as death, that we can obtain the statistical basis necessary for an arithmetical estimate of chances. A very few remarks, however, seem worth making on dreams which offer less hope of a definite conclusion.

    Certain other marked events, such as unexpected dangers and accidents, are comparable to death, though standing much below it, in the two main points—the comparative infrequency of their forming the subject of a markedly distressing dream, and the comparatively large proportion (though absolutely, of course, a very small proportion) of cases in which such a dream, when it does occur, coincides with reality. And even when we come down to unusual events of a more commonplace type, or to a detailed nexus of more or less familiar incidents—where it is, of course, out of the question to get any sort of numerical basis for computation—the same sort of argument may still be cautiously applied. It is true that the coincidences do not now occur among any comparatively small group of dreamers, such as the dreamers of death—the order of dream which is now in question being common to all who dream at all; {i-311} but they still occur among a comparatively small group of dreams. In the cases which form a considerable proportion of our collection, where the dream was at once narrated as an exceptionally odd or vivid one, the proof of its exceptional oddness or vividness is at once supplied. And further, an immensely large class, the purely fantastic dreams, to which no real event could possibly be recognised as corresponding, are excluded; as also are the commonest class of all where the dreamer is not the spectator but the hero of the dream, and no unusual incident or precise series of incidents is presented as occurring independently to others—who, if present, merely make a necessary background, or take their share of speech and action in conjunction with the dreamer. The distant event, or series of events, with which the dream corresponds, must both be possible (for it actually occurs), and must centre round some one other than the dreamer; and the consequent necessity that the marked point or points of the dream shall both be possible and shall centre round some one other than the dreamer, immensely reduces the list of dreams which come into the reckoning; and to the same extent reduces the primâ facie plausibility of the hypothesis that the coincidence is due to chance. No doubt, after all deductions, the number of dreams which remain to be taken into account, before we can decide as to the chances of accidental coincidences with reality, is here many times larger than our former restricted class, which was concerned with a single unique event: it may conceivably be many thousands of times larger. But, whatever the multiple, it is hard to believe that the number of events—even of more or less curious events—which it is possible to dream of as occurring to other people, does not bear an even larger ratio to the single event of death. For what limit can we so much as conceive to the sum of the details of circumstance which the whole dreaming population of the country can connect in imagination with the various members of their respective acquaintance?

    Such considerations do not, of course, amount to an argument for telepathic correspondences on this wider ground—the data are far too indefinite for that. But they at least suggest that the adequacy of the chance-theory is not quite so obvious as is sometimes assumed.

    This preliminary sketch of the evidential aspect of dreams may, perhaps, prevent misunderstanding. Among considerations so complex and data so uncertain, it is not easy to sum up a view in very precise terms; but our general position has been made sufficiently clear by my {i-312} statement that we should not, with our present evidence, have undertaken to make out a case for telepathy on the ground of dreams alone. The question whether a case could be completely made out on that ground, though it may be worth debating, seems incapable of final settlement, until a very large section of the population takes to keeping a daily record of their dream-experiences. A much larger number of examples is needed for which, even taken in isolation, a high evidential rank could be claimed—whether from the amount of detail in the coincidence, as in cases 134, 138, and 142, or from some such exceptional features as marked Mr. Wingfield’s case (p. 199). But meanwhile an argument of a quite different sort can be imported from the department of evidence on which we mainly rely—the evidence of telepathic impressions of distant events received in the waking state. The probabilities of some real causal connection between event and impression in the less conclusive cases cannot be fairly weighed without regard to the existence of the more conclusive; and that dreams form, on the whole, the less evidentially conclusive class can be no ground for tabooing them, unless we can assign special reasons why sleep should be a condition adverse to telepathic influence. In the conception of telepathy which it is hoped that the reader will by degrees come to share, no such reasons appear; while the resemblances and the transition-cases, already referred to, between the sleeping and the waking phenomena, make it practically impossible to reject in the one class an explanation which we admit in the other. The examples which I shall proceed to give require no further justification. They are not needed to prove our theory; but many of them almost inevitably fall under it as soon as it is proved; and we have no right to disregard any light which they may throw on it.

    {i-313}

    PART II.—EXAMPLES OF DREAMS WHICH MAY BE REASONABLY REGARDED AS TELEPATHIC.

    § 1. On surveying a large number of cases where a dream has corresponded in time with the real occurrence of the event or events which it represented, in such a way as strongly to suggest that it had its source in a telepathic impulse, we find that they at once fall into distinct classes. In the first class, the agent is in a normal state, or is himself also dreaming: the external event here is simply the occurrence to the agent of a particular thought or dream; and the percipient’s impression is concerned simply with the content of that thought or dream, not with the agent himself. In all other classes the agent is in some condition or situation which is more or less abnormal; and the percipient has an impression of the agent as in this situation, but an impression which may take various forms. Not infrequently the central fact is dreamt of merely as a fact—as something the dreamer hears of, or becomes aware of, as having occurred, without himself in any way coming into contact with it. In another class of cases, he perceives the principal actor in the matter dreamt of—the dying person, if death is the occasion—in such a manner as to suggest the actual catastrophe; this suggestion being often connected with some special imagery or symbolism. And in yet another

    class, he seems himself transported into the actual scene—to be an actual spectator of the event.

    I will begin then with some specimens of the first class, where the dream has close relation to something that is in the agent’s mind, but the agent’s own personality does not specially figure in it.1 1 We must insist on the fulfilment of at least one of two conditions: either the thought, or the personality, of the agent must be distinctly represented in the dream. This is, of course, a mere evidential rule; but, owing to the immense scope for accidental coincidences that dreams afford, it must be strictly applied. For example, Mrs. Sidney Smith, of 7, The Terrace, Barnes, tells us of an extraordinary and indescribable horror which she experienced in sleep, on the night of a brother’s very tragic death; but as she did not connect the impression with her brother till she heard that he was missing, the case cannot be even provisionally admitted. These are, of course, the cases which come nearest to experimental thought-transference; and an additional point of resemblance is that they are especially apt to occur when the agent and percipient are in tolerably close proximity. One marked group of these cases is the simultaneous occurrence of the same dream to two persons. Such an occurrence would not be likely to be heard of except when the two dreamers {i-314} were nearly related or were living in the same house; indeed, unless the correspondence were extraordinarily close and detailed, it is only the fact of the dreamers’ belonging to a narrowly restricted circle that could justify one in attaching the slightest importance to it. In a wider circle, coincidences of the sort might obviously happen, and perhaps often do happen, by pure accident. But relationship or habitual propinquity involves, of course, the chance that some item of joint waking experience has been the independent source of both dreams; and no case would be admissible where any recent cause of this sort could be traced.1 1 For example, we have a quite recent case where a brother and sister (Mr. and Miss Dawson, of Richmond Cottage, Worthing) dreamt, on the same night, and, apparently, at the same hour, 3 a.m., that their dog bit the brother in the foot. The brother’s dream was a very vivid one, as he woke with a scream, which was heard by his mother; and both dreams were independently described next morning. The dog had never bitten anyone before, and had been perfectly friendly with Mr. Dawson, and no mention had been made of any risk connected with him; so that the coincidence seemed a striking one. But on making more precise inquiries, we found that soon afterwards he did actually bite Mr. Dawson, who had since been “unable to approach him.” It is possible, therefore, to suppose that the idea of risk may have been latent in the family. One of the strongest evidential features would be the repetition of the occurrence with the same two persons; as recorded, for instance, in a communication read to the Psychological Society on February 15th, 1877, Mr. Serjeant Cox presiding.

    (88) “Mr. E. P. Toy stated that he and his wife were in the habit of dreaming upon the same subject at the same time; this did not arise from mere coincidence, or in consequence of certain matters being naturally uppermost in their minds, for trifling things were dreamt of which had not been in their thoughts previously. One night he dreamt that he had been charged by a bull, and so did she; on another occasion he dreamt that he was at the funeral of a favourite child, and he did not grieve, although he liked the child very much; his wife dreamt the same thing; and they often had similar experiences.”

    Mr. Toy wrote to us, from Littlehampton, in November, 1883:—

    “The circumstances occurred some 8 or 10 years ago and the particulars have faded from my memory, as also from Mrs. Toy’s. I can only confirm the general facts as related in my note to Serjeant Cox.

    “While writing, I may mention a still more extraordinary dream. I dreamed that for some reason or other I had poisoned a woman, and the same night Mrs. Toy had a very vivid dream, in which she thought I was going to be tried for having committed a murder. I do not think I am of a blood-thirsty disposition, and do not remember to have been reading anything to have suggested the dream, so the coincidence was, to say the least, very striking.

    “EDMUND TOY.”

    [The force of these coincidences is diminished but not destroyed by the fact, which Mr. Podmore elicited in conversation, that both Mr. and Mrs. Toy have frequent and vivid dreams.]

    {i-315}

    The following case is from the Rev. J. Page Hopps, of Lea Hurst, Leicester.

    “September 15th, 1884.

    (89) “Last week I dreamt of a ‘dead’ friend, and of this friend doing an exceedingly strange thing. It impressed me very much, but I said not a word concerning it to any one. Next morning, at breakfast, my wife hastened to tell me that she had dreamt a singular dream (a very unusual thing for her to say anything about), and then she staggered me by telling me what she had dreamt. It was the very thing that I had dreamed. We slept in different rooms, she having to attend to a sick child, and I not being very well. I do not care to tell you the dream; but the special action in both dreams was something extremely curious and monstrously improbable. My wife ended her description by saying, ‘Then she tried to say something, but I could not make it out.’ I heard and remembered what was said, and that was the only difference in our dreams. We had not been in any way talking about our ‘dead’ friend.

    “J. PAGE HOPPS.

    “MARY HOPPS.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Hopps says:—

    “I would rather not go into details, especially in writing, though I think Mr. Gurney is right in wishing for them. Some day I may give them, but what I told him in my first letter is literally true. The dream was an intensely improbable one. One curious thing about it was that, while looking at the appearance, I knew perfectly well I was lying in the particular bed I was in, and on the left-hand side, with my head towards the door. When I awoke, I was in precisely that position.”

    Mrs. Fielding, of Yarlington Rectory, near Bath, writes:—

    “November 1885.

    (90) “The other night my husband and I dreamt at the same hour, the same dream—a subject which neither of us had been thinking of for months. It was a dream of wandering about our first home, and in it looking at the same spot.

    “JANE E. FIELDING.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Fielding adds:—

    “I do not remember anything more about the dream I spoke of. It was 17 years since we left Linacre Court, near Dover, the place my husband and I dreamt of at the same hour. We both dreamt of walking about the old place—and the old woodman—just before we awoke; and we had not been either of us thinking of it in the least.

    “My husband laughs at all such things as having any import, but to please me wrote the enclosed.”

    The enclosure was:—

    “I remember awaking one morning about three weeks ago, and my wife telling me she had had a long dream about our first married home. I said ‘How strange, as I have been dreaming the same just before I awoke.’

    “J. M. FIELDING.”

    Asked as to the detail of the woodman, Mrs. Fielding replies, “We both saw the woodman in our dream.”

    {i-316}

    Mr. Merrifield, of 24, Vernon Terrace, Brighton, tells us that, about 1865, he had a most distressing dream (with one exception totally unlike any other that he can recall), in which his death was foretold to him as about to happen within 24 hours. The impression was so painfully acute that he could not shake it off during the following day; and he actually had an irrational feeling of relief when he woke on the second morning, and realised that the 24 hours were over. He then told the whole story to his wife.

    (91) “She immediately said, ‘I noticed that you woke up the night before last, and I had awakened from the same cause. I had dreamed most vividly that I was a widow, and the pillow was actually wet with tears. I never had such a vivid dream before, and it has troubled me ever since. I would not tell you, but it was a relief to me when I saw you coming home to dinner last night.’”

    Mrs. Merrifield adds:—

    “I saw myself dressed in weeds.—M. A. M.”

    In answer to inquiries, she says that she dreams a great deal, but that her dreams “are almost always of a pleasant nature. I never had any dream which was as vivid and the remembrance of which lasted as did that one. My pillow

    was quite wet with the tears I had shed.”

    The following example—from Mrs. Willmore, of 33, Castellain Road, Maida Hill, W.—is curiously similar, but depends on a single memory.

    “1884.

    (92) “The dream you ask me to narrate took place in 1856, at Neuilly, near Paris. I had a vivid impression that I was dying, and awoke with a start to hear my husband sobbing so painfully that I aroused him to ask what was the matter, upon which he said that he had dreamt that I was just on the point of dying. These two dreams must have occurred to both of us simultaneously, and seem to me to be a curious instance of thought-transference. I may add that there was such great sympathy between my husband and myself that, one day not long before his death, I well remember his saying that we should soon not need the communication of speech.

    The next example is peculiar in that the percipient’s impression seems due to a dream of the agent’s of which the latter retained no memory. It will be seen that the amount of information conveyed exceeds what we can reasonably account for by the agent’s having talked in his sleep. It is from our friend Mr. F. Corder, of 46, Charlwood Street, S. W., a gentleman of very high reputation in the musical world. He was at one time in the habit of hypnotising his wife for her health; and “at the time,” he says, “she gave me repeated proofs that she was able to ransack my mind and memory {i-317} far better than I myself could; but this was when desired to do so”—whereas the case to be cited was spontaneous.

    (93) Extract from Mr. Corder’s diary, August 19th, 1882:—

    “Health symptoms much the same. Put her (Mrs. Corder) to sleep before she got up, in order to know the exact hours at which restoratives were to be given. She first said, ‘I can’t attend yet to those things; I am thinking out your thought.’ I requested an explanation. ‘About Jimmy B.; it is so strange, because I never saw him in my life; but you were thinking about him.’ I was ready to swear that I had not been thinking of my old schoolfellow for many a long day, and was about to say so when she went on: ‘You were dreaming of him last night, and said, “Poor Jimmy” in your sleep, so I was obliged to follow out your thought this morning.’ She then went on to remind me how the said Jimmy had gone to a party with my brothers, sisters and self (this was at Christmas, 1865, long before I knew her); how he drank too much, and was ill for several days at our house, my mother nursing him. Not only had I absolutely no remembrance of the dream (nor indeed of having dreamed at all), but the incident itself had so completely faded from my mind that it was only by the greatest effort of memory that I could recall it.”

    Mr. Corder further says:—

    “On questioning my eldest sister some weeks later, all these details, which I had absolutely forgotten, were corroborated. It is impossible, of course, that my wife can, even in casual talk, have ever heard of this trivial incident of my boyhood, any more than of other matters connected with the same event which she also detailed. But more curious than anything is the fact—for fact I suppose it is—that I could have dreamed of these entirely forgotten matters, that they should again have passed away, leaving no trace, and that yet she should read them in my mind the next morning!”

    In another communication Mr. Corder adds:—

    “March 19th, 1884.

    “I may say that I was absolutely incredulous both as to the truth of the dream-incident, and my having dreamed it; but the moment I asked my sister about J. B. having been ill in our house, she (whose memory for youthful scenes is very strong) said unhesitatingly, ‘Of course; don’t you remember it was at the Mc——s’ ball? He drank too much wine and came home in our cab. M. and C. carried him up to bed.’ Those are nearly my sister’s very words. There was no discrepancy whatever between her account of the matter and my wife’s, but I cannot now remember whether the latter related it with especial minuteness of detail. Certainly the least discrepancy in the two accounts would have struck me, as—the incident being so entirely forgotten by myself—I applied every word uttered by both to my mind, to revive the dormant recollection.”

    Miss Corder corroborates as follows, in a letter to her brother:—

    “The Rocks, East Bedfont, near Feltham, Middlesex.

    “April 4th, 1885.

    “As you ask me to give you an account of the incident so strangely {i-318} referred to by Pauline, I will put down what I remember. One night when we were living either at Haddo or Canterbury Villas (the latter, I think) the boys went to a party at the Mc——s’, and there, it appeared, our young friend Jimmy B. took too much refreshment. I forget if he was still with the Rev. G. M. or in rooms; but at all events they were afraid to take him home, and brought him to our place. I and R. were awakened by the noise the boys made in conveying J. up to C.’s room on the floor above us; so we listened, and became aware of the proceedings, which we did not then fully understand. Next day J. had to keep in bed, and the mother went up and waited on him. He was very unwell, and if I remember rightly only got up at tea-time, when he took a cup of tea with us, and then returned to his place. I have an impression that the mother sent for Dr. Burton, who administered something. As to the notion that I or R. could ever have told Pauline this story in any of our former talks, I am certain that we have never done so. J. left England so long before we met Pauline that he was only mentioned once or twice, as the chief instigator of our dramatic performances in early days. Moreover, this story is not at all what I should relate about a friend; and I can safely swear that it was never mentioned to anyone.

    “This is all I remember, and it is quite distinct in my remembrance now.

    “CHARLOTTE CORDER.

    [In spite of what Miss Corder says, it is, of course, within the range of possibility that the incident had been described in Mrs. Corder’s presence; but it would then be extremely odd that, on its recurring to her, it should not have recurred as a thing previously heard of, but should have seemed to her like entirely new information. We have, moreover, in Mr. Corder’s exclamation, “Poor Jimmy,” a considerable presumption that his dreaming thoughts did actually revert to his old friend. The case, however, would hardly have been included, had we not felt able to rely on Mr. Corder’s statement as to the peculiar rapport which at that time existed between himself and his wife.]

    The next case is perhaps best regarded as one of simultaneous dreams, though the one of the two parties who would most naturally be regarded as the percipient feels positive that she was awake. It belongs in one respect to a later class, since the agent’s personality and presence distinctly figured in the percipient’s experience.

    Miss Constance S. Bevan, of 74, Lancaster Gate, W., says:—

    “February 18th, 1884.

    (94) “On June 10th, 1883, I had the following dream. Someone told me that Miss Elliott was dead. I instantly, in my dream, rushed to her room, entered it, went to her bedside and pulled the clothes from off her face. She was quite cold; her eyes were wide open and staring at the ceiling. This so frightened me that I dropped at the foot of her bed, and knew no more until I was half out of bed in my own room and wide awake. The time was 5 o’clock a.m. Before leaving my room I told this dream to my sister, as it had been such an unpleasant one.

    “CONSTANCE S. BEVAN.

    {i-319}

    Miss Elliott says:—

    “February, 1884.

    “I awoke on the morning of June 10th, and was lying on my back with my eyes fixed on the ceiling, when I heard the door open and felt some one come in and bend over me, but not far enough to come between my eyes and the ceiling; knowing it was only C, I did not move, but instead of kissing me she suddenly drew back, and going towards the foot of the bed, crouched down there. Thinking this very strange, I closed and opened my eyes several times, to convince myself that I was really awake, and then turned my head to see if she had left the door open, but found it still shut. Upon this a sort of horror came over me, and I dared not look towards the figure, which was crouching in the same position, gently moving the bed-clothes from my feet. I tried to call to the occupant of the next room, but my voice failed. At this moment she touched my bare foot, and a cold chill ran all over me and I knew nothing more till I found myself out of bed looking for C., who must, I felt, be still in the room. I never doubted that she had really been there until I saw both doors fastened on the inside. On looking at my watch it was a few minutes past 5.

    “E. ELLIOTT.”

    The following corroboration is from Miss C. S. Bevan’s sisters:—

    “Before leaving our room, my sister Constance told

    all about the dream she had had in the early morning.

    “C. ELSIE BEVAN.”

    “The first thing in the morning, Miss Elliott told me all about her unpleasant dream, before speaking to anyone else.

    “ANTONIA BEVAN.”

    In answer to inquiries, Miss C. S. Bevan says:—

    “This is the first experience I have ever had of the kind, and I have not walked in my sleep more than three times in my life; the last time was about a year ago; on no occasion have I left the room. I do not have startling or vivid dreams as a rule. I did not look at my watch after waking, but the clock struck 5 o’clock.”

    In answer to inquiries, Miss Elliott says:—

    “Although I am accustomed to have very vivid dreams, I have never had one of this kind before. When I found my friend was not in the room, and that the doors were securely fastened on the inside, I looked at my watch; it was a few minutes past 5.

    “I have never, I believe, walked in my sleep. There are two doors to my bedroom. One was locked on the inside; the handle was broken off the other on the outside. Thus it was impossible for anyone to open it except from the inside.”

    [No one, probably, will regard this as an accidental coincidence; but the hypothesis of sleep-walking had to be carefully considered. I have seen the rooms, and examined the door of which the handle is described as having been broken off. Miss Bevan had been (as was often the case) in {i-320} Miss Elliott’s room over-night, and on her shutting the door at her departure, the outside handle fell off. She remembers its doing so; and Miss Elliott heard it fall, and saw it on the floor outside when she left her room in the morning. Miss Elliott says that it remained unscrewed, and so liable to be shaken off every time the door closed, for about two months that summer. I unscrewed it, and tried to move the latch by turning the stump, but found it utterly impossible; and to fit the handle on again without pushing the stump inwards, and so losing all chance of opening the door, was a work of very considerable care. But even on the violent supposition that Miss Bevan left her room noiselessly in her sleep, picked up the handle, deftly adjusted it, turned it, and entered—there remains an additional difficulty. For, in departing, she must have shut the door after her in such a way as to jerk the handle off again. This would make a loud sound; yet it was not heard by Miss Elliott, who, on the hypothesis in question, was awake; nor did it wake Miss Bevan herself, nor an aunt of hers who was sleeping in a room with which Miss Elliott’s communicated. It seems almost incredible that she should have shut the door carefully after her, taken off the handle, and deposited it on the floor. Both the door of communication between Miss Elliott’s and the aunt’s rooms, and the free door of the latter room were locked, the former on Miss Elliott’s side. Miss Bevan has never left her room, or anything like it, on the three occasions on which she has walked in her sleep. Moreover, she was sleeping in the same room as a sister who is a very light sleeper, and she considers that it is absolutely impossible that she should have left her room without waking this sister. Her room is separated from Miss Elliott’s by a passage and a long staircase. Miss Bevan is not a “dreamer,” and very rarely has a dream which she thinks it worth while to mention.]

    Two points in this case deserve special notice. In the first place, whatever we call Miss Elliott’s experience, it was wholly unlike an ordinary dream; it was in itself as unusual in character as a “spectral illusion,” or distinct waking hallucination of vision. Evidentially, this is very important; for it at once renders irrelevant the theory of accidental coincidence, so far as that theory depends on the scope for accident which the vast number of dreams affords. The second point is the possibility, at any rate, that the two experiences were not only simultaneous but reciprocal; that is to say, that Miss Bevan’s dream may not have been simply the independent source of Miss Elliott’s impression, but may have itself been modified by that impression.

    § 2. Passing now to examples where the supposed agent was awake, but in a perfectly ordinary and unexcited state, we must still, of course, reject cases where any normal cause for the dream can be plausibly assigned. Thus Mr. F. J. Jones, of Heath Bank, {i-321} Mossley Road, Ashton-under-Lyne, tells us how his little daughter astonished him by starting up from her sleep, saying, “Something has gone wrong with the ‘Gogo’s’ boilers.” The “Gogo” belonged to a firm with which Mr. Jones was connected, and it was afterwards discovered that the boilers had at that very time suffered an accident in the Bay of Biscay. The coincidence remains, therefore, an odd one; but we should certainly be inclined to refer the child’s dream to some scrap of grown-up conversation that had been forgotten. Mr. E. W. P., of Barton End Grange, Nailsworth, describes how in a half-wakeful state he had been imagining himself to be reading “The Book of Days,” till it seemed to become too dark to see—when all at once his wife said in her sleep, “You should not read in bed, it is so bad for the eyes.” On inquiry, we find that Mrs. P. is not in the habit of talking in her sleep; but we find also that Mr. P. has often read in bed, and that his wife has often remonstrated with him about it. The following cases seem free from such objections.

    Mrs. Crellin, of 62, Hilldrop Crescent, N., says:—

    “January, 1884.

    (95) “My husband and I often find our thoughts occupied by the same subject, though there has been no apparent direction given to our thoughts by surrounding circumstances, and the subject of our thoughts may be distant in time and place. This rather curious incident occurred 12 years ago. In the middle of the night I awoke, and remaining awake I tried to recall one of Tennyson’s poems, but was puzzled as to the first word. Was it ‘Home they brought,’ or ‘Back they brought her warrior dead’? My husband had been soundly asleep, but suddenly turned round, and on my saying ‘Are you awake?’ he replied, ‘Yes, and I awoke with the words on my lips, ‘“Home they brought her warrior dead.”’ As we had not been reading the poem together, it seemed a curious occurrence of sympathy. I am quite sure that I had not uttered a word of the poem aloud, for I was very anxious not to disturb my husband’s rest in his then rather delicate state of health.”

    Mr. Crellin corroborates as follows:—

    “January 19th, 1884.

    “I have a distinct recollection of the incident, reported to you by my wife, referring to Tennyson’s lines. ‘Home they brought her warrior dead.’

    “On my awaking from sleep she asked me, ‘Are you awake?’ I replied, ‘Yes, and with these words on my lips, “Home,”’ &c. She said, ‘Those are the very words I want to be sure about. I have been trying to recollect whether “Home” or “Back” is the word with which the poem begins.’

    {i-322}

    “I had not recently been reading Tennyson, and cannot account for what I have just narrated.

    “PHILIP CRELLIN.”

    [It is, no doubt, possible to suppose that Mrs. Crellin unconsciously recited the line aloud; but not only is she certain that she did not, but she had at the time a special reason for silence.]

    The next incident concerns the same two persons; but here possibly it was the dreamer who was the agent. Mrs. Crellin says:—

    “August, 1884.

    (96) “I mentioned to you my husband’s awaking from sleep and repeating the line from Tennyson which I had been trying to remember. That seemed to me a brain-wave, and it was immediate in its action; but what of a deferred brain-wave? Thus, three weeks ago, I was unable to sleep during the early hours of the night. I thought, amongst other things, of a rather comic piece of poetry which my husband used to repeat years ago. I stuck at one line and could not recall it. However, I fell asleep, and three or four hours after awoke, to find it was time to rise. My husband, after a good night’s rest—undisturbed by poetry or prose—awoke also; he stretched out his hand towards me, and repeated the line I had failed to remember in the night, and which did not occupy my thoughts when I awoke in the morning. This seemed a strange delay in giving the response.”1 1 We need not regard it as specially strange. See pp. 201–2.

    Mr. Crellin says:—

    “62, Hilldrop Crescent, N.

    “August 20th, 1884.

    “My wife has told you of an incident which I am able to confirm. I awoke one morning recently, and immediately said to her, ‘And his skin, like a lady’s loose gown, hung about him’—this being a line of some humorous verses learnt by me when a youth, and which I have occasionally recited for the amusement of my friends, but which I had not repeated or thought of for a long period. My wife at once said that whilst lying awake during the night (I being asleep) she had been trying to recall this very line. I know of nothing that can have brought the line to my mind and lips at the moment.

    “PHILIP CRELLIN

    § 3. We come now to cases where the agent’s mind was in a more or less disturbed state. The following account is from our friend Miss Mason, of Morton Hall, Retford, Notts. It was first printed in connection with a record of some thought-transference experiments, in Macmillan’s Magazine for October, 1882.

    (97) “The most remarkable case I have ever come across was an accidental one, where I had no intention of experimenting. During the summer of 1878 I happened to be staying at Oban, and on the 1st of August went to see the Falls of Lora, so well-known that I shall not {i-323} undertake a long description of them. Loch Etive, which is a branch of the larger Loch Linnhe, is on a lower level. This difference in level occurs at its mouth, and is so abrupt that, when the tide is out, it leaves an irregular waterfall between the two. The mass of sea-water rushes from Loch Linnhe into Loch Etive, shaped into all kinds of cataracts and hollow whirlpools, and is approached either by standing on rocks of some height above the Falls, or on lower ones, almost on a level with the eddies below them.

    “It is natural, on looking into such whirlpools and watching how irresistibly anything thrown into them is sucked down, to wonder whether anyone who fell in could possibly be saved. I was at the time in extreme anxiety about some friends of mine who were in great trouble, of which I alone knew, and might not tell; and without intending it, I applied the picture metaphorically to the case, fancying my friends in the whirlpools and myself trying to save them. The picture impressed me so forcibly in this state of mind, that for the rest of the day I never got rid of it. Soon after I returned to a place where I had left my maid, more than 120 miles from Oban, and on the 7th of the same month something brought my anxiety and its accompanying picture before me even more vividly than before. I could think of nothing else the whole evening. To speak absurdly, I felt possessed by that scene to my fingers’ ends. All night long I never closed my eyes, but lay awake, seeing my friends in the whirlpools and trying to pull them out. My maid, who slept in a room above mine, had undressed me as usual, but I hardly spoke to her, for I could not tell her of my anxiety, and had not another idea in my head to talk about. When she called me in the morning, she at once began to say that she had never passed so strange a night, for every time she fell asleep she awoke dreaming of the same place—‘Water rushing over rocks, and the most dreadful whirlpools,’ and that she was ‘standing on high rocks, trying to save people out of them with ropes.’ ‘And,’ she said, ‘it was not a waterfall of a river, it was a waterfall of the sea.

    “This expression is remarkable, for there is perhaps hardly a place in the world, except the Falls of Lora, to which it would exactly apply. Without telling her why, I questioned her in detail as to all the features of the place she had dreamed of, and anyone who wishes for the full and minute description she gave me has only to look at that given by any local guide-book of the Falls of Lora. The only part of her dream which did not reflect my thoughts was that the persons whom she was trying to save from drowning were not the same that I was thinking of. It was not until she had told me all she could, that I gave her my reason for wishing to know so much about her dream, and said I had been thinking of the place she had described. Now she had never been to Oban, and had never heard or read anything about the Falls. I had never so much as mentioned them to her, and she had seen no one else at any time who had been there, nor had she ever seen a picture or a photograph of the place. Of this, both she and I were absolutely certain. If, therefore, the picture was not impressed by my mind directly upon hers, the only possible alternative is that of coincidence; and the coincidence of her dreaming of such an unusual scene and circumstances at the same time that I was thinking of them so intently, would be doubly extraordinary, because it was not a single dream, but one repeated {i-324} throughout the night, her anxiety to save the drowning persons waking her again and again. The maid is a matter-of-fact, middle-aged woman, who has lived nearly all her life in my family, and was my nurse. Though a Welshwoman, she has none of the imagination supposed to be an endowment of her race, and has displayed no talent for thought-reading; her position enables her to dispense with ceremonies, and she refuses to ‘be bothered with such nonsense.’ She still lives with us, is in the house at this moment, and wishes she did not remember the circumstances. I am not trusting to memory alone, for I not only entered the facts in my diary, but wrote a full account of them the next day in a letter to a friend, and, having told the story at the time, have other witnesses to prove that I do not exaggerate.”

    The dreamer says:—

    “This account of the circumstances is correct. I had never heard Miss Mason mention her trouble. But I have forgotten many of the details of the dream.1 1 With regard to these words, Miss Mason says:— “April 12th, 1885. “My old nurse has such a dislike to the subject of thought-transference, which she considers ‘nonsense,’ that she would never have told me of her dream if she had known that it afforded an instance. And when I told her afterwards how her dream had answered to my thoughts, she was so angry at having unconsciously supplied me with an instance, that she always refused to talk of it again, though I have often tried to make her do so. It is, therefore, not surprising that she should have forgotten some of the details of a dream nearly 7 years ago.”

    “MARGARET HERBERT.”

    Miss Mason’s mother says:—

    “I have heard both my daughter and my maid speak of the occurrence and describe it.

    “M. MASON.”

    To pass from water to fire—the evidential force of the following case is not easy to estimate, without knowing how frequent dreams of conflagrations are; but this particular dreamer, at any rate, can recall no similar experience, and has never in his life made a written note of a dream except on this occasion. Mr. D. B. W. Sladen, of 26, Campden Grove, Kensington, W., writes:—

    “January 4th, 1886.

    (98) “In December, 1881, we were living at 6, George Street, (East) Melbourne, Victoria. My father resided then, as he does now, at Phillimore Lodge, Kensington, W. In those days I always went to bed about midnight. I awoke suddenly, tremendously startled by a dream that my father’s house was on fire. The dream impressed me so vividly that I felt convinced that a fire had actually happened there, and, striking a light, I walked across the room to the dressing-table, on which my diary lay (I used generally to jot down the events of the day just before turning in), and made a brief entry of it, there and then, first looking at my watch in order to be able to set down the time, which I found to be 1 a.m. I had, therefore, been in bed less than an hour, which of itself seems to add an extraordinary feature to the case (I refer to my sinking to sleep, dreaming, {i-325} and waking up, as after a long sleep, in so short a space of time). The entry in my diary is, as it was likely to be when standing out of bed, very brief: ‘At night I dreamt that the kitchen in my father’s house was on fire. I awoke and found that it was 1 a.m.’ I kept my diary in a plain paper book; and the entry comes below what I did up to midnight on December 22nd. What I further still remember distinctly of the vision is this—that in it, the servants’ bedrooms (which are really at the top of my father’s house, while the kitchen, &c., are at the bottom) were adjoining the kitchen suite, all on one floor, and that the smoke and blaze seemed general. Further, I remember distinctly, though I just made a bare entry in my diary and hurried back to bed, that two of my father’s maids, named Coombes and Caroline respectively, were the only persons except myself present in the vision, and that I seemed to have no impulses and no power of moving, but was merely a spectator; nor did the idea of any risk to myself form part of the impression.

    “Six or seven weeks afterwards (mail contract between London and Melbourne is 42 days) I received a letter from my father, dated December 22nd, 1881. He wrote, ‘We had a fire on Sunday evening while we were at church. Coombes went with a wax-taper to tidy her room, and, I suppose, blew it out and put it down with sparks. Very soon after she left, a ring at the bell that the attic was on fire put Caroline on her mettle, while the other lost her head. She dashed it out with water before the window-frame was burnt through, and subdued it. Fifteen pounds will repair the damage—two chests of drawers much burnt, wearing apparel, &c. I gave her a sovereign for her pluck, as the roof would have been on fire in another five minutes.’

    “Now I wish to draw your attention to what has attracted my attention most. The Sunday before December 22nd, 1881, was December 18th. I had the communication, therefore, in my sleep, not on the actual day of the fire, but on the day on which my father wrote the letter. At Kensington, where my father was writing, Australian letters have to be posted in the branch offices about 5 p.m. My dream was at 1 a.m. Time in Victoria is 9½ hours ahead of English time. When I was having the communication, therefore, it was about 3.30 p.m. in Kensington. Now with the mail going out at 5 p.m., 3.30 would have been a very natural—I think I may say a most natural time for my father to be finishing a letter to me. [Mr. Sladen, sen., confirms this.] I, therefore, had my magnetic communication when he was at once focussing his mind on me, and focussing his mind on the fire, in order to tell me about it.

    “I have asked my wife, and she remembers perfectly my waking her up, and telling her that I had dreamt that my father’s house was on fire, and was so convinced of its betokening an actual occurrence that I should make a note of it in my diary there and then.”

    “DOUGLAS B. W. SLADEN.”

    [Mr. Sladen has kindly allowed me to inspect the diary and letter.]

    In the next example the correspondence is of a more distinct kind. Mrs. Walsh, of the Priory, Lincoln, writes:—

    “February, 1884.

    (99) “The gentleman who teaches music in my house tells me that {i-326} if anything sad or terrible happens to anyone he loves, he always has an intimation of it.

    “I am very fond of him, and I know he looks on me as a very true old friend, and one of my sons, now in India, is the dearest friend he has.

    “I went out one morning about 9 o’clock, carrying books for the library, and being very busy, took the short way to town. On some flags in a very steep part of the road, some boys had made a slide. Both my feet flew away at the same moment that the back of my head resounded on the flags. A policeman picked me up, saw I was hurt, and rang at the Nurses’ Home close by, to get me looked to. My head was cut, and while they were washing the blood away, I was worrying myself that I should be ill, and how should I manage my school till the end of the term. I told no one in my house but my daughter, and no one but the policeman had seen me fall. I asked my daughter to tell no one. I had a miserable nervous feeling, but I pretended to her it was nothing. The next morning after a sleepless night, I could not get up. It was my habit to sit in the drawing-room while the music lessons were given, so my daughter went in to tell Mr.—— that I had had a bad night, and was not yet up. He said, ‘I had a wretched night, too, and all through a most vivid dream.’ ‘What was it?’ she asked. ‘I dreamed I was walking by the Nurses’ Home, and I came on a slide, both my feet slipped, and I fell on the back of my head. I was helped to the Home, and while my head was being bathed I was worrying myself how I should manage my lessons till the end of the term, and the worrying feeling would not go.’”

    The percipient, Mr. T. J. Hoare, writes:—

    “12, St. Nicholas Square, Lincoln.

    “March 3rd, 1884.

    “I shall be very pleased to relate the account of a dream, as described by Mrs. Walsh most accurately, which took place on a Tuesday evening early in November, 1882. The dream consisted of this: I supposed I was going down the Greystone Stairs, when I had a fall at the first flight, was picked up, and helped by a policeman to the Nurses’ Institute, about 20 yards from the imaginary fall, being there attended by a nurse. I was much perplexed as to how I should manage to finish my work during the term. This was followed the next morning by a severe headache in the region of the imaginary blow.

    “On seeing Miss Walsh the following morning, I was told by her that Mrs. Walsh was unwell, but not the cause. I replied I too felt unwell and accounted for it through the dream. Mrs. Walsh related to me the same evening her own adventure, which in every detail exactly coincided with my dream as happening to myself. I in no way knew of Mrs. Walsh’s mishap till the evening after, when told by herself.

    “In another instance, whilst staying in Devonshire, I received an impression, or felt a conviction, that something had happened to Mrs. Walsh. I think I wanted to write, so confident was I of something having taken place, but desisted because I had left Lincoln through an outbreak of small-pox in the house next my rooms, only the previous week, so was unwilling to correspond. On my return here, I found out {i-327} that both my day [i.e., the day of the impression] and the accident—a fall—were true.

    “In many other instances have I received similar experiences, and so confident have I been always of their accuracy that I have written to the persons and places, and always received confirmation of my impressions. I have had, I think, 10 or 12 impressions. They are quite unlike fits of low spirits and indigestion, and I can easily distinguish them from such, as in every case I have been most conscious of outside action.

    “T. J. HOARE.”

    In conversation Mr. Hoare stated that he undoubtedly had a positive pain at the back of his head, as if from a blow, on the day following this experience.

    The following case is an interesting dream-parallel to the waking cases of the last chapter where the impression on the percipient’s mind was of being wanted. (See especially Mr. Rowlands’ case, p. 291.) The account is from Mr. Joseph Albree, of 40, Wood Street, Pittsburgh, Pa., U.S.A.

    “September 25th, 1884.

    (100) “In the winter of 1863–4, a captain in the regular army of the United States came to P—— on recruiting service, accompanied by a second lieutenant. Very soon after his arrival the captain was taken sick with inflammation of the lungs. As I had known him intimately since his boyhood, he sent for me. I had him removed to a private house, and cared for him until he died, two days after. His companion, the lieutenant, remained in the city for 10 days after the captain’s death, awaiting orders. He was a man of unusually reticent disposition; and being an entire stranger in the city, and knowing no one but the person who had been at the death of his associate officer, he spent much time in my company. At length he received orders to proceed at once to a distant point. I bade him good-bye one evening, he intending to take an early train on the following morning, and I never expecting to see him again.

    “Three nights after that, on Saturday, I awakened suddenly with the idea that some person was calling me, and that I was wanted immediately. I was conscious of having had a very vivid dream, but could not recall any part of it. There was present in my mind the very uncomfortable feeling that I was wanted at once. While sitting up in bed, endeavouring to collect my thoughts, the city bell struck midnight. After looking into the rooms where the children were, and finding them all asleep, I lay down again, striving unsuccessfully to recall a single incident of the dream. All Sunday and Monday I was impressed with a consciousness of some duty unperformed.

    “On Tuesday evening, on my way home, an almost irresistible impulse came over me to turn aside from my direct way, down a little street leading in another direction. Standing a moment on the street corner at the parting of ways, I turned off, walked a few blocks, and came to the hotel where the lieutenant had lodged. I went into the office, and having no business or object in going there, I asked the clerk when Lieutenant O. left. The clerk said, ‘There he sits, in the reading-room.’ After a very brief greeting he asked me to go to his room. Following him up the {i-328} stairway, the corner of a panel on the landing seemed to bring clearly to my mind the full details of my Saturday night’s dream. From that point the stairs, hall ways, the room into which he led me, the furniture and general appearance, all were strangely familiar, although I had never been there before. The lieutenant’s first words on closing the door were ‘J., did you ever faint?’ He then told me that his transportation order not having arrived, he had not been able to leave at the time fixed; that on the preceding Saturday, while reading in the reading-room, he glanced at the clock, and

    noticing it was 5 minutes of 12 o’clock, took a light, went immediately to his room, placed the lamp on the table, fell on the bed, losing consciousness and knowing nothing until broad daylight on the Sunday winter morning, when he found himself dressed, lying across the bed, suffering intense pain in his forehead. His last conscious thought had been, ‘If J. was here he could help me.’ All that he told me was just what I had dreamed on the preceding Saturday night—the exact hour of the occurrence with the lieutenant, and the vivid dream with me, being fixed at midnight.

    “I have seen or heard nothing of the lieutenant since that evening.

    “JOSEPH ALBREE.”

    [As the details of the dream were not independently remembered, we should not be justified in attaching any importance to the apparent recognition of the scene when the percipient actually saw it.]

    In reply to inquiries, Mr. Albree writes, on Oct. 20, 1884:—“In reply to your favour of the 7th inst., I can only say that my experience was such that no person could aid me, and I probably did not mention it to any one but my wife. While she fully recalls what I told her after my return from the hotel, she does not remember that I spoke to her before I saw the lieutenant. And yet I can scarcely think it probable that I did not, in the morning, speak of my troubled feelings, of my arising, turning up the gas, and going into the children’s room. I have never seen or heard of the lieutenant since. The circumstances of our acquaintance were so peculiar and touching, and our relations so intimate for three weeks, that failing to hear from him I long since concluded that he fell in the active service to which he had been ordered.

    “You ask if I have ever had an experience that was not similarly confirmed. Only once. I very seldom dream, but when I do the dreams are vivid. Once I dreamed that a lady friend had been murdered. The time, place, circumstances, and persons concerned were strongly marked. But the lady had been in no danger, and is still living.”

    The next example—from Mrs. Montgomery, of Beaulieu, Co. Louth—is remarkable in several ways.

    “February, 1884.

    (101) “Nearly 30 years ago I lost a sister. The place where she died being at some distance, my husband went to the funeral without me. I went to bed early, and had a frightful dream of the funeral ceremony. I saw my brother faint away at the service, and fall into the grave. I awoke with the horror of the dream, just as my husband entered the room on his return from the funeral, which had taken place at least eight hours before. I asked him to tell me if anything unusual had happened, as I had had a {i-329} terrible dream, and I related it. He said, ‘Who in the world told you that? I never intended telling you.’ I said, ‘I only dreamt it. Just as you were coming in I awoke.’”

    [In this narrative a few words are taken from an account received from the Hon. Mrs. Montgomery Moore, as the letter received from Mrs. Montgomery herself, giving the greater part of the details, took this previous account for granted. The account, as it stands, was sent to Mrs. Montgomery, who then replied, “The paper is quite accurate”—making one trifling correction. Mr. Montgomery gave Mrs. Montgomery Moore a verbal confirmation of the occurrence, which had greatly impressed both him and his wife.]

    Here the picture transferred to the percipient’s dream was a precise and detailed one. It was of a sort which might at first sight seem more fitly to belong to a later class, where something of the nature of clairvoyance is suggested. Nor would the eight hours’ interval between the event and the dream be an objection to this view, for I have already mentioned that the deferment or latency of telepathic impressions is specially frequent in dream and “borderland” cases; as though the idea or image had been unable to compete with the vivid sensations which external realities force on the mind, and only got its chance of emerging into consciousness when the senses were closed to these contending influences.1 1 Telepathic dreams of the “clairvoyant” order seem capable of this deferment, just like any others: see for instance case 134 below. But seeing that at the moment of Mrs. Montgomery’s dream her husband was just about to enter her room, with the shock of the burial-scene probably still fresh in his mind, it is at any rate conceivable that he then, and not the brother at the earlier time, transmitted the impression.

    § 4. We come now to the larger family of cases, in which the agent’s personality, and not merely his particular thought, is reflected, and the dream conveys a true impression of his state, or of some event connected with him. I will first give a few examples where the fact which is a reality is presented or suggested without the agent’s visible appearance in the dream, and without any distinct sense on the percipient’s part of being present at the scene. The following narrative, from Mrs. Lincoln, now residing at 91, South Circular Road, Dublin, was sent to Professor Barrett in 1875.

    (102) “On the morning of February 7th, 1855, at Mount Pleasant Square, Dublin, where I lived, I awakened from a troubled sleep and dream, exclaiming, ‘John is dead.’ My husband said, ‘Go to sleep, you {i-330} are dreaming.’ I did sleep, and again awoke repeating the same words, and asking him to look at the watch and tell me what o’clock it was then; he did so and said it was 2 o’clock. I was much impressed by this dream, and next day went to the city to inquire at the house of business; Mr. John C. being at Dundrum for the previous month. [He was not a relative, but a very intimate friend.] When I got to the house I saw the place closed up, and the man who answered the door told me the reason. ‘Oh! ma’am, Mr. John O. is dead.’ ‘When did he die?’ I said. ‘At 2 this morning,’ he said. I was so much shocked, he had to assist me to the waiting-room to give me water. I had not heard of Mr. C.’s illness, and was speaking to him a fortnight previously, when he was complaining of a slight cold, and expected the change of Dundrum would benefit him, so that he should return to town immediately. I never saw nor heard of him after, until I dreamt the foregoing.

    “EMILY LINCOLN.”

    Mr. Lincoln says:—

    “I certify to the correctness of the facts of my wife’s awakening me at the date stated, asking me the time, &c., and to the further fact of the unexpected death of Mr. C. at the time.

    “HENRY LINCOLN.”

    We find from the obituary of the Freeman’s Journal that Mr. C. died on Feb. 7th, 1855.

    [In conversation, Mr. Podmore learnt from Mr. Lincoln that his wife never talked in her sleep; and she, when asked whether her ordinary dreams were as vivid as this, replied in the negative. It appeared, however, that she had had several dreams which she regarded as premonitory, and as having been fulfilled.]

    The next account was first given in England, April 1st, 1882, by its then editor, under the nom de plume “Coriolanus.” He tells us that the publication of his name would deprive him of an actual benefit; but he allows us to say of him what is said above in connection with case 73 (p. 275). The experience here described is again his own.

    (103) “In connection with the awfully sudden death of my friend, Mr. E. C. Barnes, the artist, I can vouch for the truth of the following extraordinary coincidence. At 6 o’clock last Sunday morning [i.e., March 26th, 1882], the exact time of his decease, an intimate friend of the late artist, who was unaware of the fact that Barnes was ill, suddenly alarmed an entire household by sitting up in bed whilst fast asleep and shouting loudly twice, as if in intense agony. Three members of his family ran to his bedside to inquire if he were ill, when slowly awaking and rubbing his eyes, he said he was perfectly well, but supposed it was the storm which had affected him. At breakfast he was playfully rallied upon the occurrence, and more than once expressed the hope that nothing was amiss with his old friend Barnes. At dinner time a messenger arrived with the dreadful news. I have set this down for the {i-331} benefit of thinkers. I know the facts to be as I have stated them. Was there a mysterious cord of sympathy suddenly snapped when the artist breathed his last, and his friend was at that very moment so mysteriously convulsed? Who knows?”

    Writing to us on December 11th, 1884, the narrator adds:—

    “The occurrence made the more impression on my family, as, on account of the great attachment they knew to exist between Mr. Barnes and me, they dreaded to tell the sad news, and in fact only gently broke it at breakfast time on the Monday morning. They were much struck by my frequent references to Barnes during Sunday, after they had received the intelligence from his eldest son, who called at my house about 1 o’clock. The deceased and I had known one another for many years.”

    Mr. Podmore called at the witness’s house on September 1st, 1885, but found only his son and daughter at home. Writing on the day of his call, he says: “I questioned the daughter on the Barnes incident. She could at first remember no details at all; but after reading through the extract from England, she told me that she had a distinct recollection of going to her father’s room, when roused by his cry, to ascertain whether he or her brother were ill. She did not remember his mentioning the name of Barnes at breakfast, or that the news of the death had been withheld from her father until the Monday morning. But she told me that she remembered reading, a few days afterwards, the paragraph in England describing the occurrence; and that, had any of the details been incorrect, the fact that her father had made a mistake would certainly have dwelt in her memory. The son had been absent from home at the time.”

    It is worthy of note that such sudden startings from sleep, with the strong impression of a definite event, but without the memory of any dream leading up to the impression, seem by no means common occurrences, outside the cases which have coincided with some weighty reality. For every fresh point (beyond the fact of coinciding with reality) that distinguishes the dreams that we are considering from ordinary dreams, goes, of course, to strengthen the argument against chance as the source of the coincidences, and to establish these cases as a distinct natural class.

    The next case, in its absurdity and precision, is a great contrast to the last. We received it from the Rev. A. B. McDougall, now of Hemel Hempsted, and at that time a scholar of Lincoln College, Oxford.

    “November, 1882.

    (104) “On the night of January 10th, 1882, I was sleeping in one of the suburbs of Manchester in the house of a friend, into which house several rats had been driven by the excessive cold. I knew nothing about these rats, but during the night I was waked by feeling an unpleasantly cold something slithering down my right leg. I immediately struck a light and {i-332} flung off the bed-clothes, and saw a rat run out of my bed under the fireplace. I told my friend the next morning, but he tried to persuade me I had been dreaming. However, a few days afterwards1 1 There is a slight apparent discrepancy between these words and the date of the letter in which the capture is afterwards said to have been mentioned. The letters are destroyed; and Mr. McDougall rightly prefers to leave the words as they stand. They, of course, in no way affect the central incident. a rat was caught in my room. On the morning of January 11th, a cousin of mine [Miss E. J. M. McDougall, since married], who happened to be staying in my own home on the south coast, and to be occupying my room, came down to breakfast, and recounted a marvellous dream, in which a rat appeared to be eating off the extremities of my unfortunate self. My family laughed the matter off. However, on the 13th, a letter was received from me giving an account of my unpleasant meeting with the rat and its subsequent capture. Then everyone present remembered the dream my cousin had told certainly 58 hours before, as having occurred on the night of January 10th. My mother wrote me an account of the dream, ending up with the remark, ‘We always said E. was a witch: she always knew about everything almost before it took place.’

    “A. B. MCDOUGALL.”

    Here the point, of course, is that an exceedingly improbable incident is associated in the dream with the right person. It is worth noting that we have no exact parallel to such an incident as this among our waking cases. Thus, if the dream was telepathic, its very triviality may illustrate in a new way the favourable effect of sleep on the percipient faculty.

    Dreams happening at times when the person dreamt of is known to be in peril are, as a rule, inadmissible as evidence. Thus we have a case where the mother of a lieutenant in the army dreamt, on the night of the storming of the Redan, that her son was wounded in the left arm. The subsequent newspaper account described him as having been severely injured in the right arm; but his mother persisted in her view that the dream was correct, and it proved to have been so. But a dream concerning a wound is a very likely one for a mother to have under the circumstances; and the detail is quite insufficient. In the same class we must include mothers’ dreams of accidents to children, even apart from any special grounds of anxiety—the form of dream being not uncommon, and real accidents (if we include trivial ones) being frequent enough to make it certain that striking coincidences will every now and then occur by chance. Thus the wife of a rector in the West of England tells us how she once dreamt that one of her little girls, who was on a visit, had fallen down in the street and cut her forehead over the left eye, and how the morning’s post {i-333} brought the news of that precise accident. The rector (who is sceptical on these matters) testifies to the fact that his wife mentioned to him her dream “that the child had fallen down and cut her forehead;” and also to the fact that “the next post brought the news.” He says nothing about the street or the left eye—details which may have been read back into the dream afterwards. But in any case the accident is of a common type; the amount of correct detail is small; and moreover it came out in conversation with the lady that she dreams a good deal, and pays attention to her dreams. However completely telepathy were established, it might still be doubted whether such a coincidence as this ought to be referred to it.

    As an interesting contrast, I may quote the following case, which is from Mrs. Hobbs, (wife of the Rev. W. A. Hobbs, formerly a missionary at Beerbhoom, Bengal,) now resident at Tenbury, in Worcestershire. The narrative was first written out for a friend, probably in 1877.

    (105) “During our residence in India as missionaries, our children remained at home, either residing with my sister or at school, and about the years 1864 or 1865 our eldest boy was at school at Shireland Hall near to Birmingham. The principal was the Rev. T. H. Morgan, now Baptist minister at Harrow-on-the-Hill.

    “One night, during the summer of one of the years I have mentioned, I was awakened from my sleep by my husband asking, ‘What is the matter, J.? Why are you weeping so? I could let you sleep no longer, you were crying so much.’ I replied that I was dreaming, but could not tell the dream for some minutes. It had seemed so like a reality that I was still weeping bitterly.

    “I dreamed that the sister (who acted as guardian to our boys in our absence) was reading to me a letter giving a detailed account of how our Harry died of choking, while eating his dinner one day at school.

    “When sufficiently composed I again went to sleep; but when I awoke in the morning, the effect of my dream was still upon me. My husband tried to rally me, saying, ‘It is only a dream, think no more about it.’ But my heart was sad, and I could not shake it off.

    “In the course of the day I called on a friend, the only other European lady in the station. I told her why I felt troubled, and she advised me to make a note of the date, and then I should know how to understand my dream when a letter of that date came to hand. Our letters at that time came to us viâ Southampton, and nearly six weeks must elapse before I could hear if anything had transpired on that particular date, even if a letter could have been dispatched at once; but it might not have been the ‘mail day,’ and that would give some additional days for me to wait. They were weary weeks, but at length the looked-for letter arrived, and it contained no reference to what I had anticipated. I felt truly ashamed that I had permitted a dream to influence me, and thought no more about it.

    {i-334}

    “A fortnight later another letter from my sister came in, bearing an apology for not having told me in her last what a narrow escape from death our Harry had experienced, and then went on to detail what I had dreamed, with the additional piece of intelligence that just as his head had dropped on the person supporting him, and he was supposed to be dead, the piece of meat passed down his throat, and he shortly after revived, and was quite well at the time of her writing.

    “That boy is now a minister of the Gospel, and about a year ago I was talking with him about my strange dream, when a friend who was present said to him, ‘Do you remember what you thought about when you were choking?’ He replied, ‘Yes, I distinctly remember thinking, I wonder what my mother will do when she hears I am dead.’”

    In answer to our inquiries, Mrs. Hobbs says:—

    “July 24th, 1884.

    “I have not had any other dream of a like kind. I am not able to say how near in time the dream was to the event; but that it was very near to the event is clear from the fact that I reckoned up the earliest time when I could get any information from England, supposing that the dream really pointed to anything; and though no news came to the time expected, yet the next letter that came apologised for not having mentioned it in the former letter. So that the space between the event and the dream would be, at most, the space between the dream and the next mail leaving England for India.”

    Mr. Hobbs says:—

    “So far as I am concerned in the above account, written by my wife, Jane Ann Hobbs, I declare it to be quite correct.

    “WILLIAM AYERS HOBBS.”

    The following account is from the son, who is a Baptist minister at Tenbury.

    “July 29th, 1884.

    “I remember that I had a sharp, short struggle for breath, accompanied by a bursting sensation in the head and singing in the ears; then I rolled over; the pain in the head was succeeded by a drowsy, dreamy feeling; a mist gathered before my eyes, and I was just on the point of losing consciousness, when the persistent thumps, which were being administered to my back by the anxious spectators, jerked the beef out of my throat, and I revived. I had no direct thought of my mother, as I imagine, for this reason: I was left in the care of an aunt, when my parents went to India; and as the whole of my training since I was four years old had been undertaken by this aunt, prior to my going to Birmingham, it was to her that my thoughts reverted when I was choking; and I distinctly remember that the thought flashed through my mind, ‘How ever will Aunt Maria write to India about this.’ I quite believed I was dying.

    “H. V. HOBBS.”

    [In conversation, Mr. Podmore ascertained that the family are in no way given to real or supposed “psychical” experiences.]

    {i-335}

    Here the unusualness of the accident, and the uniqueness and emotional vividness of the dream may, we think, be safely accepted. The slight amount of discrepancy between the final sentences of the mother’s and the son’s account can hardly be held to affect the general trustworthiness of Mrs. Hobbs’ narrative; and it will be noticed that the agent’s account of his own thoughts harmonises specially well with the actual nature of the percipient’s impression, which was that the news was conveyed to her by her sister—the very person on whom her son imagined that sad duty as devolving.

    The following case, though the dream was of an accident to a son, is strong of its kind—the form of the accident being uncommon, and the idea of it particularly strongly impressed. It is from Mrs. A. G. Sparrow, of Derwent Square, Liverpool.

    “November, 1882.

    (106) “Three or four years ago, I dreamt that my eldest son had broken his hand at football. Next day came a letter saying he had sprained his left hand. I was so impressed by my dream that I telegraphed to the head master, asking if the boy’s hand was broken. I received a reassuring reply saying, ‘Only a bad sprain, and doing well.’ When he returned home at the holidays we at once saw that the hand had been broken and had joined without being properly set, and he will carry the ridge, caused by the join, to his grave.”

    [Mrs. Sparrow tells us that she has had no other dreams which impressed her similarly. The incident of the telegram is not likely to have been unconsciously invented.]

    Perils by sea are another very common subject of dreams; and where a large number of people are living a life of more than average risk, and a large number of relatives on land are living under a more or less constant sense of this risk, accidental coincidences between dreams and casualties are, of course, certain to occur. Especially will this be the case where the relatives live by the seaside, and where the very storm that destroys life on one element may disturb slumber on the other. We have quite a little collection of cases where wives or mothers of seafaring men have dreamt of fatal accidents which then proved to have actually occurred.1 1 To give one example—my friend, the Rev. R. B. F. Elrington, Vicar of Lower Brixham (who has met with several such cases), vouches for the fact that the following occurrence in his parish was described hours before the arrival of the news confirming the fears which it occasioned; and he certifies to the good character of the witnesses. “In the early spring of 1881, Mrs. Barnes, of Brixham, Devonshire, whose husband was at sea, dreamt that his fishing-vessel was run into by a steamer. Their boy was with him, and she called out in her dream, ‘Save the boy!’ At this moment another son sleeping in the next room rushed into hers, crying out, ‘Where’s father?’ She asked what he meant, when he said he had distinctly heard his father come upstairs and kick with his heavy boots against the door, as he was in the habit of doing when he returned from sea. The boy’s statement and her own dream so alarmed the woman that early next morning she told Mrs. Strong and other neighbours of her fears. News afterwards came that her husband’s vessel had been run into by a steamer, and that he and the boy were drowned.” This might seem at first sight, a favourable specimen, owing to the alleged double percipienee. But it is impossible to rely on a report from uneducated witnesses, of a confused scene in the middle of the night. If the boy heard the sound which his father “was in the habit” of making, why should he have taken fright? We cannot be sure that he did not imagine he had heard the sound after he had been infected with his mother’s alarm; for if this were so, the story might still easily have become just what it now is. Such incidents have not usually {i-336} any claim to be considered as even primâ facie evidence for telepathy. Every now and then, however, “sea-dreams” present an amount of correct detail that prevents us from rejecting them. Such a case is the following, from Mr. A. Ashby, of 34, Windmill Road, Croydon, Surrey.

    “October 17th, 1882.

    (107) “The following incident happened in about 1870. I awoke in the morning and said to my wife, ‘I have been with our son Alexander’(he was chief mate of a ship on a voyage to Port Natal, South Africa). With great interest she listened to my dream. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘he is in anything but a comfortable position. The captain is confined to his cabin, not able to come on deck; the men, with the exception of one and a boy, likewise ill; he has the whole duty of the ship to attend to, cook, navigator, and, in fact, everything to attend to; nursing requires a considerable part of his time.’ The ship, if my memory is correct, was four or five hundred tons burden. Well, sir, I dream but very little; and on more than one occasion my dreams have been verified by coming events.

    “We got a letter from my son in due course, and if I had been on board and seen, I could not have more accurately described the position of affairs on board; fortunately, weather and wind were (as my dream indicated) favourable, or the result of this complication of adverse circumstances might have had a disastrous termination.

    “A. ASHBY.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Ashby says:—

    “November 29th, 1882.

    “I have nothing to add to the narrative of my dream. I did not, as I should now do, make a minute of such a dream. At the time, I thought, as of other dreams, it is only a dream. Only on receipt of my son’s letter, dated from Port Natal, South Africa, did the coincidence and singularity of the phenomena bring to my mind the dream, and how it exactly corresponded with the actual state of affairs on board the ship at the time it occurred. I may mention my wife and daughter have reviewed the time and circumstance, and their memory is clear as to my relating the dream in the morning. The scene is as fresh on mind and memory as if it had occurred yesterday.”

    In an interview with Mr. Podmore on October 8th, 1883, Mr. Ashby mentioned that he dreams very little. At this interview his wife and daughter both stated that they recollected hearing of the dream {i-337} immediately after its occurrence and before its verification, but they could add nothing to the above narrative.

    § 5. This case forms a natural transition to

    the group where the reality is not only presented in a pictorial way, but the dream-scene corresponds (in whole or in part) with what the eyes of the supposed agent are actually beholding. The majority, perhaps, of the alleged dream-cases are of this pictorial sort; but most of them have to be set aside, on the ground either of inaccuracy of detail, or of the connection of the dream with matters that have been recently occupying the waking mind. Thus a widow whose husband was killed by an accident at sea gives us a circumstantial account of her coincident dream—“a vessel, like her husband’s, wholly dismasted—the bare hull merely—being lowered by ropes down a beach, and all the crew assisting”; and declares that the scene of her dream was exactly what was described in the letter which afterwards brought her the news. It appears, however, that the narrator had never seen the actual ship; and inspection of the letter shows that, except the dismasting, the details of the dream had no counterpart whatever in reality. Thus all that remains is the simple coincidence of the dream and the death; and such coincidences, in the case of casualties at sea, must, as we have seen, be generally excluded. We apply this rule even where the date of the dream has been immediately noted in a diary, and where we have every assurance that it was unique in the dreamer’s experience. Again, Mrs. Barter, of Careystown, Whitegate, Co. Cork, has kindly given us an account of a dream which she had at the time of the Indian Mutiny. She seemed to see her husband, then adjutant in the 75th Foot, wounded, and in the act of binding up his leg with his puggeree, when four men of his regiment lifted him up and took him into a battery. “I at once wrote it to him and, in reply to my letter, heard that such an event had actually taken place.” The coincidence was extremely close, and Colonel Barter, C.B., has confirmed the account. He was carried into a battery by four sergeants; and he is nearly sure that his wife mentioned sergeants in her first account of her dream. But, on being specially asked as to the puggeree, he stated that he bound up his leg not with a puggeree, but with a black silk necktie. This defect, combined with the fact that Mrs. Barter was in a nervous state, and had another disturbing and quite unveridical dream about her husband during the same campaign, {i-338} prevents us from allowing weight to the correspondence. So, again, Mrs. Powles, of Wadhurst, West Dulwich, has given us an account of a dream which her late husband narrated to her at the time, in which he saw his brother, Dr. Ralph Holden, who was exploring in the interior of Africa, lying under a large tree, supported by a man, and either dead or dying. They learnt from another explorer, Mr. Green, that Dr. Holden had died at just about that time, under a large tree, in the arms of his native servant; and Mr. Holden recognised the scene of his dream in a sketch of the spot which Mr. Green had taken. But—to say nothing of the indefiniteness of the time-coincidence—the entourage is such as the idea of the death of an African traveller might readily enough suggest, quite apart from telepathy; and the sight of the sketch would be precisely calculated to give spurious retrospective definiteness to the dream-scene. And once more, a most vivid dream (with a remarkable amount of correct detail, as well as several important discrepancies,) in which a coachman, sleeping at a distance from his stables, saw a pony taken out, harnessed, and then after a time brought back, on the one single night on which this ever actually happened, has been dismissed, as too much connected with the dreamer’s normal train of ideas; though his master (Mr. J. S. Dismorr, of Thelcrest Lodge, Gravesend) and another witness both testify to the fact that the dream was described before the reality was known.

    The following cases seem free from these objections, there having been no cause for anxiety on the percipient’s part, and nothing to suggest the scene. The first is from the Rev. Canon Warburton.

    “The Close, Winchester.

    “July 16th, 1883.

    (108) “Somewhere about the year 1848, I went up from Oxford to stay a day or two with my brother, Acton Warburton, then a barrister, living at 10, Fish Street, Lincoln’s Inn. When I got to his chambers, I found a note on the table apologising for his absence, and saying that he had gone to a dance somewhere in the West End, and intended to be home soon after 1 o’clock. Instead of going to bed, I dozed in an arm-chair, but started up wide awake exactly at 1, ejaculating, ‘By Jove! he’s down!’ and seeing him coming out of a drawing-room into a brightly illuminated landing, catching his foot in the edge of the top stair, and falling headlong, just saving himself by his elbows and hands. (The house was one which I had never seen, nor did I know where it was.) Thinking very little of the matter, I fell a-doze again for half-an-hour, and was awakened by my brother suddenly coming in and saying, ‘Oh, there you are! I have just had as narrow an escape of breaking my neck as I ever had in my life. {i-339} Coming out of the ballroom, I caught my foot, and tumbled full length down the stairs.’

    “That is all. It may have been ‘only a dream,’ but I always thought it must have been something more.

    “W. WARBURTON.”

    In a second letter Canon Warburton adds:—

    “July 20th, 1883.

    “My brother was hurrying home from his dance, with some little self-reproach in his mind for not having been at his chambers to receive his guest, so the chances are that he was thinking of me. The whole scene was vividly present to me at the moment, but I did not note particulars any more than one would in real life. The general impression was of a narrow landing brilliantly illuminated, and I remember verifying the correctness of this by questions at the time.”

    In conversation, however, Canon Warburton told me that the scene which he saw included a clock, and tables set round for refreshment, and that his brother confirmed the accuracy of these details.

    Asked whether he had had similar vivid visions which had not corresponded with any real event, Canon Warburton replied, “This is my sole experience of the kind.”

    For the next case we are indebted to Mrs. Swithinbank, of Ormleigh, Mowbray Road, Upper Norwood, who is well acquainted with Mrs. Fleming, the narrator.

    “October 17th, 1882.

    (109) “Three years ago when staying at Ems for my health, one morning after having my bath, I was resting on the sofa reading. A slight drowsiness came over me and I distinctly saw the following:—

    “My husband, who was then in England, appeared to me riding down the lane leading to my father’s house. Suddenly the horse grew restive, then plunged and kicked, and finally unseated his rider, throwing him violently to the ground. I jumped up hastily, thinking I had been asleep; and on my going down to luncheon I related to a lady who was seated next to me what I had seen, and made the remark, ‘I hope all is well at home.’ My friend, seeing I was anxious, laughed and told me not to be superstitious, and so I forgot the incident, until 2 days afterwards I received a letter from home saying my husband had been thrown from his horse and had dislocated his shoulder. The time and place of the accident exactly agreed with my vision.

    “LAURA FLEMING.

    [Asked whether she can recall other dreams of a similarly vivid and realistic kind, Mrs. Fleming answers in the negative.]

    The next account is from Mrs. Chambers Leete, of 28, Aberdeen Park Road, Highbury, N. It may be compared with Mrs. Bettany’s waking case (p. 194).

    “September, 1884.

    (110) “On the night of about the 12th of August, 1878, I had a dream which greatly troubled me, and caused me to feel quite ill, it seemed so real. I distinctly saw my mother lying on a couch in a deathlike appearance, my father and brother by her side. She looked at me, but could {i-340} not speak; the vividness awoke me. Falling asleep I dreamt the second time that she was dead.

    “After writing home, I learned that on the night of my dream my mother had been seized with a prolonged fainting fit. I was in perfect health when I went to bed, but awoke with a terrible headache.

    “ALICE E. LEETE.”

    In another communication, Mrs. Leete adds:—

    “At the time of my dream I was companion to a lady in Dorsetshire. We had driven from a house called the Priory, Wareham, to the Grange, about 4 miles distant. It was on the night of our arrival this very vivid dream occurred to me. I mentioned it to her (and also to her housekeeper, who left soon after), she remarking first how ill I looked, and she told me not to let it worry me but write a letter to inquire if anything was the matter at home, which I did, but of course could not get an answer for two days, when I received a reply saying my mother had had, on the night I named, a dreadful fainting fit from which they thought she would not recover. I am afraid, if I wrote to her ladyship, she would not remember the

    circumstance, having so many things to occupy her mind, and as she thought so little about it at the time I feel sure it would not be any use troubling her.

    “I can safely say that neither before nor since have I experienced a similar dream to the one of which I have sent you particulars.”

    In answer to an inquiry whether the details of the scene corresponded with her dream, Mrs. Leete says:—

    “In reply to your inquiry I am unable to speak positively at this distance of time, but am under the impression that the scene did correspond.”

    Such incidents as these really belong to the class which may be described as clairvoyant, and which I am reserving for the end of the chapter; but I have brought forward these few examples for the sake of a special observation. In all the earlier dream-cases of this chapter, the rôle of the percipient was purely passive; the impression received by him was apparently a direct and literal reproduction in whole or in part, of what was, or had been, consciously in the agent’s mind. But these last narratives have introduced the same difference as appeared in the concluding cases of Chapter VI.: though the scene which the dreamer pictured was the very one in which the agent was, the agent’s own figure, with which his own attention was certainly not occupied, appeared in the dream. If, therefore, this part of the percept was transferred ready-made (so to speak) from the agent’s mind, it must have been from a sub-conscious part of his mind. Such a view would present no serious difficulty; for probably every one, after early childhood, retains at the background of his mind a dim realisation of his own personality in connection with {i-341} his outer aspect; and we have had proofs that a person may transmit an idea of which he is at the moment quite unaware.1 1 See pp. 78–9, 84, 103–9, 554–6. At the same time, the cases where the agent’s figure appears are equally suggestive of another explanation, and one which will prove of the highest importance in the sequel. They bring us to the point where we may suppose that the percipient is often himself the source of a great part of what he seems to perceive; that he is no longer passively receptive of the impression which comes to him from without, but actively modifies and elaborates it. Thus, granted an idea of the agent to be transmitted, the appearance of the agent’s figure in the telepathic picture will be no more remarkable than that, on reading a friend’s name in a letter, I should be able instantly to project his image on my mental camera. It is only, however, in the next group of cases that this new rôle of the percipient becomes obvious.

    § 6. It will be useful at this juncture to recall the more familiar ways in which dreams are shaped. We all know that physical disturbances—whether of sound, or light, or cold, or touch—will excite dreams, in which the disturbance appears as an element, sometimes without undergoing any change, sometimes in some transfigured but still quite recognisable form. Now in such cases we of course trace the dream to the externally-produced impression; but the impression is a mere nucleus, which the dreaming mind embodies, it may be, in a long and complicated series of self-spun fancies, and which twenty dreaming minds would embody in twenty different ways. So with mental disturbances; a recent sorrow, or exciting work overnight, is as effective a nucleus as a knock at the door or an uncomfortable posture. The established idea works on, amid the floating crowd of images which are the potential material of dreams, and attracts a certain number of them into a more or less grotesque connection with itself.

    There will thus be little difficulty in supposing that a percipient whom a strong “transferred impression” invades in his sleep may similarly combine it with his own dream-imagery. We have no reason to imagine his own activity to be suspended, or his mind made a tabula rasa for foreign images. We should not, therefore, demand of telepathic dreams any sober and literal transcription of actual events. We should rather expect to find the ordinary dream {i-342} elements, the medley of images, the impossibilities and incongruities, no less prominent here than elsewhere. The root idea being given by the “transferred impression,” it may then become the sport of irresponsible fancy, which develops it either in some haphazard way, or in accordance with the dreamer’s habitual lines of thought or emotion; so that the real event is announced either in a manner typically dream-like and fantastic, or oftener, perhaps, in a manner which is to some extent symbolic.

    I will begin with cases where the element thus supplied is of the slightest possible amount. In the following three examples the dreamer may be supposed simply to give the most obvious auditory form to the impression received; though in the second and third it is, no doubt, equally possible to suppose a direct auditory transfer, as in some of the experimental cases.

    The first case is from Miss Barr, of Apsley Town, East Grinstead, who has been mentioned above (p. 94, note).

    “1884.

    (111) “In the early part of 1882, I had been working a good deal amongst the navvies employed on the new railroad, near East Grinstead, and had been particularly interested in the case of one man, ‘Darkey,’ as he was called by his fellow-workmen. I had become very intimate with the man, and he had told me all his previous history, and I had used my best endeavours to keep him from drink. On the night of Easter Tuesday, 1882, I dreamed that I heard the voice of the man calling me from the bottom of a well. I told my sister of it in the morning, and, during the course of the day, a messenger came to tell me that the man had actually fallen down a well overnight, from which, though in no danger, he had been extricated with some difficulty.

    “L. BARR.”

    Miss Barr’s sister, Miss Harriett A. L. Barr, has added her signature to this account, in attestation of having heard the dream narrated on the following morning.

    [The idea of “the bottom of a well” is one that can be easily conceived to have been read back into the dream, after the reality was known. But the case does not depend on that detail.]

    Here we may be practically certain that the man did not actually call on Miss Barr by name, as there could have been no chance of her hearing him.

    The next case is from the late Mr. George Gouldrick, of 16, Union Street, Hereford.

    “1883.

    (112) “In the month of April, 1876, I dreamt that an invalid, named Mary Scaffull, widow, an inmate of Johnson’s Hospitals, Commercial Road, Hereford, (and whose husband had been an officer in the gaol of which I {i-343} was governor,) was crying out for water; it appeared to have been a long dream, and the cry seemed to be kept up for some time. When I was sitting at breakfast with my family next morning, I asked my wife when she had seen Mrs Scaffull last; she replied, ‘Some 9 days ago. I took her a rice pudding; I could not get into the house, the door being locked. I therefore had to leave it at her sister’s, who was living in the neighbourhood, with a request that when she went to see her, she would take it to her; the dish has been returned, therefore I conclude she had the contents. Why, what is the matter, you seem troubled about her?’ I then told her my dream, and said, ‘I have determined to go after breakfast and see what state she is in.’ She answered, ‘I am glad to hear you say so.’

    “As I approached the house, I could hear a cry of distress proceeding from some one of the inmates of the hospitals. I put my finger on the latch of the door occupied by Mrs. Scaffull, when I heard the following supplication proceed from her in the most distressing tone: ‘Will some kind Christian friend give me some water?’ I took a jug from her lower room, went to the pump and filled it, and then took it with all haste to her bedside. When she saw me there with the water she said, ‘Oh, Mr. Gouldrick, the Lord has sent you here, God Almighty bless you for bringing me this water.’ She then drank copiously of it, and said, ‘It’s the sweetest water I ever tasted all my life long.’ She died the same week, at the age of 77 years.

    “GEO. GOULDRICK.”

    Mr. Gouldrick’s daughter corroborates as follows:—

    “December 11th, 1883.

    “I was present at the breakfast-table when my father related his dream. I remember all that happened, and can therefore corroborate all he has written. My mother has since died. She was present also, and we expressed our astonishment when he returned home and told us what had happened. The only reason I am aware of that the neighbours (who heard all) did not attend to her cry, was that she was in receipt of 7s. per week more than they were, and that caused an ill-feeling towards her.

    “HANNAH GOULDRICK.”

    The next account is from Mrs. Morris Griffith, of 6, Menai View Terrace, Bangor.

    “1884.

    (113) “On the night of Saturday, the 11th of March, 1871, I awoke in much alarm, having seen my eldest son, then at St. Paul de Loanda on the south-west coast of Africa, looking dreadfully ill and emaciated, and I heard his voice distinctly calling to me. I was so disturbed I could not sleep again, but every time I closed my eyes the appearance recurred, and his voice sounded distinctly, calling me ‘Mamma.’ I felt greatly depressed all through the next day, which was Sunday, but I did not mention it to my husband, as he was an invalid, and I feared to disturb him. We were in the habit of receiving weekly letters every Sunday from our youngest son, then in Ireland, and as none came that day, I attributed my great depression to that reason, glad to have some cause to assign to Mr. Griffith rather than the real one. Strange to say, he also suffered from intense low spirits all day, and we were both unable to take dinner, he rising from the table saying, ‘I don’t care what it costs, I must have the boy back,’ alluding to his eldest son. I mentioned my dream and the bad night I had {i-344} had to two or three friends, but begged that they would say nothing of it to Mr. Griffith. The next day a letter arrived containing some photos of my son, saying he had had fever, but was better, and hoped immediately to leave for a much more healthy station, and written in good spirits. We heard no more till the 9th of May, when a letter arrived with the news of our son’s death from a fresh attack of fever, on the night of the 11th of March, and adding that just before his death he kept calling repeatedly for me. I did not at first connect the date of my son’s death with that of my dream until reminded of it by the friends, and also an old servant, to whom I had told it at the time. I append my signature in attestation of the report being a true and correct one, and also the signature of Kate Dew, who perfectly remembers the date and circumstances, and attests the truth of the above.

    “MARY G. GRIFFITH.

    “KATE DEW.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Griffith says:—

    “The experience came to me as a dream, but upon waking my distress was so great at the extreme reality of the impression of seeing my son looking so very ill and suffering, and the anguish of his voice in calling me by name, that although I tried for hours afterwards to sleep again, I was unable to do so from the haunting return of the scene and voice, whenever I closed my eyes. My husband had no dream, but all the next day he, like myself, became deeply depressed about our son, although I had said nothing to him on the subject. Towards evening some friends came in, and the impression faded, and the following morning on receiving my son’s letter with photographs, I lost all feeling of anxiety about him.”

    In answer to further inquiries, Mrs. Griffith says:—

    (1) “I have never in all my life, before or since, had any such distressing dream, nor am I ever discomposed in any way by uncomfortable dreams.

    (2) “I never remember at any time having any dream from which I have had any difficulty in knowing at once, whilst awakening, that I had been dreaming, and never confuse the dream with reality.

    (3) “I also unhesitatingly assure you that I have never had any hallucination of the senses as to sound or sight.”

    The following is part of a letter to Mr. Richard M. Griffith—dated Loanda, March 26th, 1871—which I have been allowed to copy.

    DEAR SIR,—It is my sorrowful duty to inform you that your son, Mr. R. M. Griffith, died in my house on the 11th inst. He was staying with me awaiting the arrival of machinery from England, but fell sick about the beginning of the month, and gradually sank, notwithstanding all our efforts to save him.—Yours very truly, ALEXANDER SMITH.”

    [It is to be regretted that no written note was made of the date of the dream; but Mrs. Griffith is certain that the Saturday on which it occurred was afterwards rightly identified as March 11th by herself and her friends. Her reason for remembering the day of the week appears in the account.]

    And now we come to the large and important group where the percipient forms a very distinct picture of the agent, whose figure and aspect (sometimes with the addition of speech) is not a mere element {i-345} in a scene, but the one thing prominently represented. I will still keep for a time to simple cases, where the mental image that is conjured up corresponds pretty closely to the reality.

    The following account is from the Rev. W. D. Wood Rees, Vicar of Barmby Moor, York.

    “May, 1885.

    (114) “In 1874, when reading for college, I frequently visited a man named William Edwards (of Llanrhidian, near Swansea), who was then seriously ill; he often professed pleasure at, and benefit from, my ministrations. He at length recovered so far as to resume work. I left the neighbourhood, and amid new scenes and hard work, I cannot say that I ever thought of him.

    “I had been at college some 12 months, when one night, or rather early morning between 12 at midnight and 3 in the morning, I had a most vivid dream. I seemed to hear the voice of the above-named William Edwards calling me in earnest tones. In my dream I seemed to go to him, and saw him quite distinctly. I prayed with him and saw him die. When I awoke the dream seemed intensely real, so much that I remarked the time, 3 a.m. in the morning. I could not forget it and told some college friends all particulars. The next day I received a letter from my mother, with this P.S.: ‘The bell is tolling; I fear poor William Edwards is dead.’ On inquiry I found that he did die between 12 and 3; that he frequently expressed the wish that I were with him. I had no idea that he was ill.

    “W. D. WOOD REES.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that William Edwards died at Llanrhidian, on Oct. 14, 1875.

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Rees says:—

    “My dream took place between midnight and 3 in the morning. William Edwards died within that time. My mother wrote her letter just after breakfast, when the death-bell was tolling for him—just at the time I mentioned my dream to some friends. I received the letter either the next night or the morning after. It was generally a two days’ post. I was particular to inquire if the death took place the night of my dream; it did. I have not the date of the occurrence, but can get it, no doubt, from inquiring the date of the man’s death. I had no object in making any note of them. The friends, I believe, were Rev. G. L. Rees, Howden, Rev. J. W. Roberts (dead), and I think, the Rev. T. S. Cunningham; I will ask him. I have on other occasions dreamt of deaths, but have not taken any trouble to investigate them. I have sometimes dreamt I saw a person dying, and then heard they were ill. The vividness and reality of the case I mention caused me to take such notice of it.”

    The Rev. G. L. M. Rees corroborates as follows:—

    “Howden, East Yorkshire.

    “June 11th, 1885.

    “The statement made by my brother, the Rev. W. D. W. Rees, relative to the death of William Edwards, is quite correct. I perfectly remember his relating to me a dream respecting his death, previous to the intelligence reaching us at college.

    “G. L. M. REES.”

    {i-346}

    In conversation the Rev. W. D. Wood Rees informed me, without being asked, that he has never had any other dream that the least impressed him, or left any effect after waking. The man had got “quite well,” and Mr. Rees had last seen him breaking stones on the road.

    It would be tedious here to multiply cases where the mere fact of death has been vividly dreamt of, without more detail than this. Yet it is in their multiplication that the whole force of such cases consists, and a single coincidence of the sort might always be explained as accidental. Other examples, belonging to the important group which was used in my numerical calculation (pp. 304–7), will be found in the Supplement.

    The next case is from Mrs. Fielding, of Yarlington Rectory, Bath, who was also the narrator of case 90, above.

    “January, 1884.

    (115) “I some time ago had rather a remarkable vision, but it was of the living. I have an only son, about 20, always in robust health, then in lodgings in London. Never were mother and son more to one another than we are. One night I awoke heartbroken by seeing him in bed very ill. I stood weeping by his bed, lifting his white face in my two hands, and saying he must be dying. On my husband waking I told him it all, and those at breakfast next morning, and said, ‘Let us see if it’s only a dream.’ A week passed, and my usual letter did not come from my son. After a time one came saying he had been ill in bed a week, too ill to let me know, and the landlady had nursed him through it.

    “JANE E. FIELDING.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Fielding adds:—

    “I found my son’s letter telling of the illness I spoke of, and find it was written on the 15th July, 1882, a Saturday, and my vision-dream—for it was too distinct for a common dream; yet I was not wide awake, and could not vouch I had seen the picture consciously, yet it was most real—took place either on the night of 12th or 13th July, and I find both my husband and son-in-law remember my speaking of it, though the dates escape them. I now quote from my son’s letter: ‘I go back to the City on Monday, but I thought it was no use telling you, to make you anxious, of my attack of quinsey till I was better; and the doctor and my landlady nursed me most carefully, and now I can swallow.’ It has much pain, this complaint, and it was that look of pain I saw on his face in my vision that gave me such pain. I can swear to the vision having been before the letter came. Were I in the least dubious, I should be the first to say so, having a glimpse of the meaning of the word science. I can’t recall any other such ‘clear-seeing.’ I never had a dream like this before.”

    I have seen Mrs. Fielding’s letter to her son, dated Monday, July 24th, in which she says, “On Thursday morning [i.e., July 13th] when I came down to breakfast, I said to Tom and Arthur [her son-in-law with whom she now lives], ‘I hope Charlie is well; for I had such a queer dream of finding him lying in bed on his face, and when I turned it round, it was ghastly pale and ill-looking—and I was so sighing all day after, and expected to hear, as I did, you were ill.’ Now that’s funny! Shows how {i-347} our souls are closely united. Arthur is just saying to me he ‘quite remembers my telling him my dream.’”

    [This practically proves that Mrs. Fielding is accurate in saying that her dream was described before the news was known. But the force of the coincidence is of course weakened by the fact that the illness extended oyer several days.]

    In the next case the form of a vision—a figure at the bedside—suggests not so much a genuine dream as the sort of semi-waking hallucination which will be considered in the next chapter (compare also Mr. Wingfield’s case, p. 199). The narrator is Mrs. L. H. Saunders, of St. Helen’s, near Ryde, who was concerned in case 44.

    “March 18th, 1885.

    (116) “Towards morning of the 10th January, 1885, I was conscious of a young woman standing by my bedside clad in a grey dressing gown, holding in her arms, towards me, a child. The woman was weeping bitterly, and said, ‘Oh! Mrs. Saunders, I am in such trouble.’ I instantly recognised her as Mrs. C. R. Seymour, and was about to interrogate her as to her trouble, when I was awakened by my husband asking me what was the matter, as I seemed so distressed. I told him I had had such a sad dream about poor Fanny Goodall (maiden name of Mrs. C. R. S.), but it really was to me more than a dream—so much so, that after rising I communicated it to the governess, Miss Monkman, also to the nurse and servant. I decided to send to her mother, Mrs. Goodall, to inquire if she had received any tidings of her daughter, who was resident in New Zealand with her husband and two children, but as on after consideration I felt I might cause her alarm, I altered my intention. This dream or vision made so deep and lasting an impression that I constantly alluded to it to members of our household, until circumstances occasioned my calling on Mrs. Goodall about the beginning of this month, March, 1885, when I made particular inquiries for her daughter; and on being assured that she was well, according to letters by the most recent mail, I ventured to express my gratification, giving, as my reason for such, a narration of the ‘vision’ that had not even then ceased to haunt me; which elicited from Mrs. Goodall and both of her daughters, who were present, fervent hopes that all was well with Mrs. Seymour.1 1 This has been completely confirmed by letters from Mrs. Goodall and her two daughters.

    “On March 12th I again called on Mrs. Goodall, who on receiving me, with much emotion said, ‘Oh, have you heard the bad news of Fanny? I have thought so much of what you told me; her dear little Dottie has gone. I will read you her letters,’ both of which, although coming by different mails, had only been received within the past 24 hours. I should mention that, although I have felt very interested in and thought much of Mrs. C. R. S. before and since her departure from this country, yet I have never corresponded with her; but I now learn that she invariably mentioned me in her home correspondence, and felt much indebted to me for some trifling kindness I had been able to show her in the past. I am able to fix the date of my vision from circumstances which I need not here relate.

    “BESSIE SAUNDERS.”

    {i-348}

    The force of the coincidence seems not much affected one way or the other by the following addition:—

    “In reply to your question, I have had distressing dreams relating to death at intervals, which have not corresponded with reality; but those you are already cognisant of [viz., this one and another which corresponded with reality1]1 In this second case (as to which we again have Mr. Saunders’s testimony to the fact that the dream was described before the reality was known) the dream was that a friend alighted from a hearse, and entered clad in deep mourning; and it fell on the night on which that friend’s mother, whom she was attending, unexpectedly died. are the only ones which impressed themselves sufficiently to induce me to take steps to discover if they did correspond with the reality, although I may have mentioned their purport casually at the time.”

    Mr. Latimer H. Saunders writes:—

    “March 18th, 1885.

    “I clearly remember on or about the 10th of January, 1885, early morning, suddenly awaking, and finding my wife leaning forward in bed. I asked her, ‘What was the matter?’ She seemed agitated, and replied to the following effect: ‘Oh, I have had such a horrid dream! Fanny Goodall was standing here at my side, quite close, holding out the child in such distress, but I could not tell what she wanted; it was so real, I could have touched her, but you awoke me.’ Before rising, my wife repeated the incident in detail. Late on March 12th, she told me the sequel.

    “Fortunately, I can safely fix the date as being the morning of either the 9th, 10th, or 11th of January, as during that month these were, owing to circumstances, the only possible occasions on which the incident, as related, could have occurred, while my mental impression, independently arrived at, strongly points to the 10th as the day.

    “LATIMER H. SAUNDERS.”

    Miss E. A. Monkman, in a letter to Mrs. Saunders (dated 16, Castledine Road, Anerley, 16th March, 1885), of which I have seen a copy, gives exactly similar testimony as to Mrs. Saunders’s description of her dream at the time, and adds that it must have been on the 9th or 10th of the month. And on March 20th, a servant in the house, unprompted (as Mrs. Saunders assures us), dictated the following statement:—

    “I remember Saturday morning, the 10th of January last. The mistress came into the kitchen to speak about the flue. After doing so she told me of such a bad dream she had had of Mrs. Seymour, of New Zealand, coming to her bedside with her little child in her arms. Mrs. Seymour was crying so bitterly, and imploring her for help.—E. Dawson.”

    The following is an extract from a letter received from Mrs. Seymour by Mrs. Goodall, dated January 15th, 1885.

    “I do not know how to write it, mother. Dottie is dead; a week ago this very Thursday evening she was taken ill, and on Saturday at 10 minutes to 10 in the evening she died.”

    [All owing for longitude, the dream must have preceded the death by a few hours.]

    {i-349}

    Very similar is the form of impression described in the next case, obtained (through the kindness of Mr. J. B. Johnston, of 17, Pilrig Street, Edinburgh) from Herr

    Heinrich von Struve, whose German account is here translated.

    “25, Pilrig Street, Edinburgh.

    “July 10th, 1885.

    (117) “In 1838, I was on terms of friendship with a captain of the 2nd Hussars, Herr von R., his company being quartered in a little town in Silesia, in the neighbourhood of which I was residing on my property. Early one morning I had ridden into the town, and visited Von R., whom I found taking coffee with his wife. While we were sitting chatting together, Von R. said to his wife, ‘Lina, our friend Pogerell died last night.’ ‘What a thing to say, Albert!’ his wife replied; ‘Pogerell was here only the day before yesterday, well and happy.’ ‘Very likely,’ said Von R.; ‘but the fact is as I have said. Last night he stood by my bed, and said, “Farewell, R.; I am departing to the great army. Greet my cousin G. from me, and ask him not to be angry that I have not mentioned him in my will, as he is well off, and my other relatives are poor and need support.”’ Some minutes after Von R. had told us this, a messenger was announced, who entered, bringing from the commanding officer of both of them in W., where the company of Captain von Pogerell was stationed, the announcement that ‘Captain von Pogerell had a paralytic stroke last night, and died.’ The town of W., where Von Pogerell was, was 4 German miles [about 12 English miles] distant from the place where we were; the road was bad, and there was no ordinary means of communication. It was, therefore, inconceivable that any earlier news than that which this messenger brought could have reached Von R. He was a sober man, completely honest and truthful, who, except among very intimate friends, never spoke of his gift of seeing apparitions—a gift which he took no pride in. He would mention such experiences casually to his wife in the morning, or when his friends pressed him on the subject.

    “Von R. related to me some other highly interesting cases of the sort; but I do not add them, not having been myself a party to them, as I was to the one which I have narrated.

    “H. VON STRUVE.”

    In an English account which Herr von Struve has signed as correct, it appears that Pogerell was not an intimate friend, and that there had been no special reason for thinking of him.

    [The case is one where the evidence of a person who was not the percipient is stronger than that of the percipient himself would have been (see p. 148). After an interval of 47 years, the mere memory of a coincident dream—for we must not assume that it was a waking vision11 In conversation Herr von Struve told me that Von R. certainly represented the vision as a waking experience. But on such a point second-hand evidence of a remote date can command but little confidence.—would have very little force. But Herr von Struve himself would of course be awake, when sitting talking to his friends; and the scene in its various stages—the statement of Von R., the conversation that ensued, and the arrival of the messenger—if really only imagined afterwards, would constitute an oddly distinct and detailed piece of retrospective hallucination.]

    {i-350}

    The next case, from a daughter of an officer of high position in the Austrian service, was procured through the kindness of Mr. W. E. H. Lecky, who is a friend of the narrator.

    “Newbury, January, 1884.

    (118) “One night, a few years ago, I had a very vivid dream about some one I had known as a boy in the Bedford Grammar School, but of whom I had not heard anything for a long time. I dreamt that he came to me draped in a long white garment, and that he said to me, ‘I am so glad it is all over,’ and putting his head on my shoulder, he sighed deeply, and said, ‘I am so tired.’ I woke from the fancied touch and did not go to sleep again for some time. It made such an impression on me that I told my sisters the next morning. A few days after, one of my sisters brought me a paper with the announcement of my friend’s death in it, and, strange to say, he died the very night I dreamt about him.

    “L. K. D.”

    In answer to inquiries Miss L. K. D. says:—

    “February 29th, 1884.

    “I have been trying to ascertain the exact date of my dream about my friend’s death, but cannot remember anything nearer than that it was some time in the spring of 1878. I had not seen him for nearly four years, and certainly had not talked or even thought about him for some time, I might say years. I don’t remember ever having such a vivid dream before or after.”

    The following corroboration is from Miss L. K. D.’s sister:—

    “January 10th, 1884.

    “With regard to my sister’s dream about the person she knew as a boy in Bedford, I can remember distinctly that she told her dream to us all at breakfast, before we heard of the death.

    “A. M. D.”

    Here the long white garment might be taken as representing the actual dress which the supposed agent was wearing; for if a person’s sub-conscious idea of his own aspect may be the source of a telepathic impression, that impression might very naturally include his garb at the time. But I should prefer to regard this particular investiture as supplied by the percipient’s mind to its own dream-image.

    In the following cases the dream contained the additional feature of conversation between the dreamer and the agent. This is, of course, a clear instance of something superadded by the dreamer’s own creative activity.

    Miss K. Gibson, of 3, Huntley Gardens, Glasgow, says:—

    “November, 1883.

    (119) “In August, 1867, my sister and I went to spend a few days with {i-351} a friend in the country. We were a very merry and youthful party; and I do not think one grave or solemn thought crossed any of our minds. The brother of our hostess having been married the week previously, had sent a box of wedding cake, and according to the old custom we all determined ‘to sleep on the wedding cake, and to tell our dreams in the morning.’ Early on the morning of Thursday, I awoke, and when I fell asleep again, I dreamt I found myself in a very bare, cheerless room, in the corner of which stood a bed; on it was lying a young man. I at once recognised him as a friend of my brother’s, whom I had last seen (for only the second time in my life) the previous Christmas, a tall, strong, handsome young fellow, in apparently high health and spirits. I saw him now, a shadow of his former self, his face drawn and colourless, his eyes unnaturally large and bright; his hand, which was lying outside the bedclothes, was thin and wasted, the great blue veins standing up like cords, and his fingers plucked restlessly at the coverlet. His hollow cough sounded incessantly through the room. I went up to him. ‘Why, Mr. ——,’ I said, ‘how very ill you look; what is the matter?’ ‘I am dying,’ he said, ‘I caught cold a month ago, and neglected it; it has settled on my chest, and the doctors say I am dying of rapid consumption.’

    “When I rose in the morning, I could hardly bear to tell my dream, but it had all been so painfully vivid, and haunted me so, that I told my sister before we went down to breakfast. I was much teased by my kind hostess, but I would not speak of the dream to any one. On the following Saturday evening we went home. I did not see my brother until the Sunday morning. When at breakfast he said, ‘Did you hear, girls, of poor M.’s death?’ ‘No,’ we said, ‘when did it take place?’ ‘Early on Thursday morning; he caught cold a month ago, neglected it, it settled on his chest, and he died of rapid consumption.’

    “I may add that not only did I hardly know Mr. ——, having only seen him twice, but I do not think I had even heard his name mentioned from the time I saw him at Christmas, till the morning I dreamt of his death. I was only a child at the time.

    “K. GIBSON.”

    Miss Gibson’s sister corroborates as follows:—

    “November 17th, 1883.

    “I quite remember my sister dreaming as she relates above. It made quite an impression on both of us when my brother mentioned Mr. ——’s death.

    “M. H. MURRAY.”

    In answer to inquiries, Miss Gibson says:—

    (1) “I have at various times had vivid dreams of deaths which have not come true, and whose origin I could trace.” [This final clause prevents this statement from weakening the case as much as it would otherwise do.]

    (2) “I do not know if Mr. M.’s room was ‘bare and cheerless.’ I do know that he died in lodgings.

    (3) “The words in my dream and those of my brother exactly corresponded.”

    She believes that the death took place in Glasgow,

    where the young man certainly lived; but no entry of it can be discovered in the Register for that place, and it is possible that he died away from home.

    {i-352}

    Professor Sidgwick, after an interview with Miss Gibson, April 20th, 1884, says:—

    “She informed me that she did not take much interest in the subject of my inquiries. She was quite sure of the exact correspondence of the statements in her dream—‘caught cold’—‘month ago’—‘neglected it’—‘settled on chest’—‘rapid consumption’—with the statements of her brother; and her sister also noted the correspondence. She knew the young man was poor, so that the ‘bare cheerless’ room would be naturally suggested; but she had never heard of him as consumptive: she could have had no other image of him from memory except that of a strong, healthy man. She was not interested in the young man, and believes that she had not thought of him between the Christmas when she saw him and the time of the dream and death. It was not remarkable that she told the dream, as she had rather a habit of dreaming and of telling curious dreams—not from any belief, but merely as curious. What was unusual was that she was reluctant to tell it, and only told it to her sister.”

    Supposing this dream to have been telepathically originated, it is difficult to know how much of its content was supplied to, and how much by, the dreamer. Given the idea of consumption, the development is, perhaps, not too detailed to have been independently imagined.

    The following very similar case is from Mrs. Jarratt, of 96, Dalberg Road, S.W. I need hardly say that the mere recollection of a childish dream of a good many years back would not have been admitted as evidence: the evidence is the mother’s attestation that the dream was described before the news of the death arrived.

    “December 10th, 1883.

    (120) “While I was a little girl, about 10 years old, an old friend of ours, particularly dear to me, a Danish gentleman (formerly tutor to the young Princes of Denmark, and afterwards teacher of languages in the High School, San Francisco), sought to improve his position by going to the city of Mexico. Some months after he left, I dreamed that I saw him sitting in my father’s office, and immediately ran up to him, exclaiming, ‘I’m so glad you’ve come back.’ He put his hand up, as if to repulse me gently, and said gravely, ‘You must not come near me. I am dying in Mexico of the sore throat, and I have come to tell your father.’ I drew back, grieved and shocked, and woke. The next day I told everyone of my dream, and was well laughed at; but my father had not heard for some time past of our friend, nor did he till, three weeks after, I overheard a gentleman say to him, ‘Well, doctor, have you heard about your friend H——?’ My father having replied in the negative, the gentleman continued, ‘I was told he died at Mexico, three weeks ago, of sore throat.’

    “LITA JARRATT.”

    In answer to some questions, Mrs. Jarratt adds:—

    (1) “My old friend’s name was George J. Hansen. I remember my father remarking that my dream must have occurred at the same time as the death, or at any rate close upon it.

    {i-353}

    (2) “As the occurrence took place some 20 years ago, as well as I can remember, it would be a little difficult to find the people to whom I told my dream before its fulfilment, but I told it to everyone who would listen, which they were not all inclined to do, or if they did, they ridiculed me heartily.”

    Mrs. Jarratt’s mother, Mrs. Farrar, corroborates as follows:—

    “I beg to state that I perfectly remember my daughter telling me all about her dream within a few hours of its having occurred. It afterwards struck us all (her father as well as myself and several friends, most of whom unfortunately are since dead or have disappeared) as being very remarkable on account of its having occurred almost simultaneously, as far as we could learn, with Mr. Hansen’s actual decease.”

    Miss H. Franconi wrote to us as follows from 1237, Stockton Street, San Francisco:—

    “July 13th, 1884.

    “In regard to the dream that my friend Mrs. Jarratt had, I only remember, as it is many years ago, that she dreamt of Mr. Hansen and told me all about it the following morning—but what the dream was about I cannot remember.”

    [In conversation, Mrs. Jarratt, who is a very clear-headed and sensible witness, gave me the additional detail that even in her dream “sore throat” struck her as an odd thing to die of. This is not a point as to which memory can at all be relied on; but the mere fact that it seems to be remembered is some slight confirmation of the evidence that the actual disease was mentioned in the dream. The degree of exactitude in the coincidence does not, however, seem to have been established with certainty even at the time.]

    The next case is uncorroborated; but the style of the narrator does not suggest exaggeration. If the description is accurate, the dream was remarkably vivid, and included a minute point of correct detail. It is from Mr. E. J. Hector, of Valencia, Port Pirie, South Australia.

    “July 5th, 1884.

    (121) “On the night of my father’s death, the 31st July, 1863, I went to bed as usual, about 11 p.m., in my usual good health, with a candle and matches on a chair at the side of my bed. I usually read for half-an-hour in bed, and did so on this occasion. I remember distinctly my last ponderings were on the very unsatisfactory scheme of life. Man learns gradually from childhood to mature age; and just when he has acquired by experience and observation the knowledge how to make the best of life, he dies; and his successor has to start at the same point as he started from. Whether I thought of my father in connection with this, I do not remember. In the night or morning I had a very vivid dream. I saw my father in bed at the Savings’ Bank, in the room he usually occupied; there was a sperm candle burning on a chair close to his bed. I was sitting in a chair close to his bed, and saw that he was dying and felt very distressed; he was lying on his back and turned round and looked at me, saying, with {i-354} a smile, ‘Never mind, my dear boy, I feel that I am going,’ and seemed to be dying. The next thing was total darkness. I must have waked up, for I found the matches, and to reassure myself lighted the candle, glad to find it was a dream. It struck me as the most vivid I had ever had, but I confidently banished it at once, and slept soundly again till morning. I looked at my watch and noted the time; it was 4 a.m.

    “The dream never troubled me again, until I saw a man coming to me in the vineyard, at about 10 a.m., with the fatal telegram from a friend, that my father was dead; but as soon as I saw a strange man hurrying down to me, a presentiment occurred to me that my dream had been true. I may say that I never believed in dreams, and do not since that event, which I think was only a most extraordinary coincidence, and was just the continuation of my train of thought, commenced during my waking moments and continued throughout my sleep, or perhaps, rather renewed, as it is not likely I should continue dreaming from, say 11.30 p.m. until 4 a.m. Strange to say, the same smile was on my father’s face when I (at 6 p.m., or eight hours after he was found dead in his bed) saw him, and he lay in the room I dreamt he was in, and the wick of the sperm candle at his side was bent towards the door, precisely as I saw it in my dream, on the chair. The servant told us he went to bed as usual at 10 to 11 p.m., and not getting up as usual, she knocked at his door, but no answer being given, opened the door at 8 a.m., and found him dead.

    “I had no cause of anxiety. My father was in excellent health. This was the first vivid dream I ever had, and I do not remember dreaming of others dying, or doing anything extraordinary. I am not much of a dreamer.

    “Since then, however, I had a vivid dream of the death of my mother—not so clear or impressive as the other—but nothing happened, and I remember tracing this also to some kindred train of thought, just before dropping off to sleep. I am not a believer in any premonitory spiritual communication.

    “E. J. HECTOR.”

    The South Australian Register for August 1, 1863, says that Mr. John Hector, manager of the Savings’ Bank of S. Australia, having retired to rest in his usual good health on the night of July 30, was found dead in his bed next morning, and that the doctor pronounced death to have occurred from apoplexy about three hours previously.

    [It is clearly by a slip that Mr. E. J. Hector has spoken of the night of the 31st of July instead of the 30th.]

    The coincidence in this case, as in any other, may have been accidental, as the narrator supposes; but he does not tell us what part of his previous train of thought found its “continuation” in the wick of the sperm candle—which, if rightly remembered, looks like a fragment of telepathic clairvoyance.

    The next two cases are from Mrs. Freese, of Granite Lodge, Chislehurst. The occurrence of several

    such experiences to the same person is in itself a point of interest, provided that that person’s {i-355} recollection as to their having been of an exceptionally vivid and disturbing character can be relied on.

    “March, 1884.

    (122) “In July, 1871, my aunt Mary staying with me, and my husband not feeling at all well, it was decided he should go to H. to spend a fortnight at the Vicarage with my married sister, Mrs. B. This place was specially chosen because he enjoyed so much riding with my brother- in-law or alone, as the case might be, and horse-exercise was so good for him.

    “A few days after, I had a vivid dream about him, which I told to my aunt at breakfast time. I dreamed I was walking along the road to H., about midway between the N. station and the Vicarage, when I saw my husband sitting on a gate by the roadside. I was struck by his sad expression of countenance, and went up to him asking him if he was enjoying himself. ‘Not at all,’ said he, and added, ‘I have just been thinking I will go on to the station and take the train home, and will you believe it, they wont let me ride either of the horses.’ While expressing my astonishment I woke.

    “I remarked to my aunt upon the absurdity of the part about the horses, as they were the chief inducement for him to pay this visit, and were always before at his disposal. I heard from my husband every day, but he wrote always cheerfully, and made no reference to the horses at all. A few days later he returned earlier than he was expected, and in the evening, when walking with him in the garden, he began to describe to me his visit, telling me he had not enjoyed it at all. He had been very wretched and lonely (for my sister had been unusually busy, also her husband), and that one day in a lonely walk towards N. he sat on a gate by the roadside to rest, and almost made up his mind to go on to N. and take the first train back to town, telegraphing to my sister some excuse, but, fearing to hurt their feelings, he desisted; and, ‘worse than that,’ said he, ‘what will you say when I tell you I have not been once on horseback. For some reason or another they would not let me ride either horse. One went down the other day, and in future, I believe, no one is to ride them.’ I kept calling out, ‘My dream! my dream!’ as he went on, and when I related it to my husband he could scarcely believe it. He would not write either about his depression or disappointment, as he did not wish to cloud me.

    “OCTAVIA FREESE.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Freese adds:—

    “I do not think I am given to vivid dreams. That about my husband was exceptionally vivid. I call exceptionally vivid a dream that takes hold of me, and that I cannot forget all the next day. The aunt to whom I told it has since died. I have no idea whether my husband sat on the gate before or after my dream, nor did I try to ascertain that at the time.”

    (123) “In September, 1881, I had another curious dream, so vivid that I seemed to see it.

    “My two boys of 18 and 16 were staying in the Black Forest, under the care of a Dr. Fresenius. I must say here that I always supposed the boys would go everywhere together, and I never should have supposed that in that lonely country, so new to them, they would be out after dark.

    {i-356}

    My husband and I were staying at St Leonards, and on Saturday night I woke at about 12 o’clock (rather before, as I heard it strike), having just seen vividly a dark night on a mountain, and my eldest boy lying on his back at the bottom of some steep place, his eyes wide open and saying, ‘Good-bye, mother and father, I shall never see you again.’ I woke with a feeling of anxiety, and the next morning when I told it to my husband, though we both agreed it was absurd to be anxious, yet we would write and tell the boys we hoped they would never go out alone after dark. To my surprise my eldest boy, to whom I wrote the dream, wrote back expressing his great astonishment, for on that Saturday night he was coming home over the mountains, past 11 o’clock; it was pitch dark, and he slipped and fell down some 12 feet or so, and landed on his back, looking up to the sky. However, he was not much hurt and soon picked himself up and got home all right. He did not say what thoughts passed through his mind as he fell.

    “OCTAVIA FREESE.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Freese adds:—

    Before my son wrote about his fall in the Black Forest, I related my dream to my husband, and as he seemed a little moved by it, I wrote an account of it to my boy, saying his father did not wish them to be out after dark alone. I had not told my boy when it was, deeming that immaterial, but when in his letter, received days after, he said, ‘Was it Saturday night? because then so-and-so,’ I remembered what I should not otherwise have noted, that it was Saturday night; for on the Sunday morning my husband, being much worried about some business matter, elected to spend the morning with me in the fields instead of going to church, and as much to divert his mind as anything I related to him my dream of the night before.”

    Mrs. Freese sent us the letter from her son, which contained the following passage:—

    “With regard to your dream: did you dream it on September 3rd? if so it was on that night, coming home rather late, that I fell down a precipice of 8 feet, or perhaps more, in the dark, and might have broken my neck, but didn’t. However, I don’t think you will find me walking about after dark more than I can help, as the roads are very dark, and the fogs in the village awful.

    ”FRED. E. FREESE.”

    [September 3rd, 1881, was a Saturday.]

    Mr. Freese writes:—

    “March 17th, 1884.

    “Mrs. Freese has read to me the paper she has sent you, and I feel bound to say that both the dreams she refers to concerning myself and our eldest son I well remember, and noted them at the time she described them, together with the circumstances that strangely accompanied them.

    “J. W. FREESE.”

    In answer to the question whether he noted them in writing, Mr. Freese replies that he did not. “It struck me at the time as very remarkable, but life was then with me too busy to leave time to dwell upon the subject.”

    {i-357}

    § 7. In the foregoing examples the elements with which the dreamer may be supposed to have invested the telepathic impression have been few and simple. We now come to cases where definitely new elements have been introduced, and the impression which corresponds with reality acts as the germ of a quite imaginary dream-picture.

    The following narrative was taken down in writing by Mrs. Saxby, of Mount Elton, Clevedon, at Tranent Lawn, Clevedon, on November 17th, 1883, and was read over to the narrator, Miss C. A., who certified that it was correct. Miss C. A. thinks that the occurrence took place in 1855.

    (124) “When we were living at Leamington, I had a remarkable vision. I was sleeping with my sister Maria. Suddenly the curtains of our bed, at the side I slept, were undrawn, and Mr. L. appeared standing there. He said, addressing me by name, ‘My mother is dead.’ I tried to persuade myself I had been dreaming, and Maria said I had dreamt it; but after a short time the same thing was done again, and the same announcement made. I was rather chaffed at breakfast because of the story I told. After breakfast I went into the drawing-room to practise. Presently I heard myself called, and I went out on the balcony to listen. It was the daughter of the man whom I had seen twice at night, and the granddaughter of the old lady whose death had been announced. She was riding on horseback. She said, ‘Have you heard? My father is sent for, and my grandmother is dead!’”

    The following corroboration is from the percipient’s sister:—

    “November 24th, 1883.

    “I quite recollect my sister Charlotte telling me of the apparition or vision she saw of our friend appearing at her bedside and saying ‘his mother was dead,’ and its being corroborated the next morning by his daughter riding up to our house, and telling us her ‘grannie was dead.’ She was taken seriously ill the night before, her [i.e., the narrator’s] father was sent for, and she died soon after his arrival.

    “A . M. A.”

    It seems safer to regard this experience as a dream than as that very much rarer phenomenon, a waking hallucination; but we must not overlook the importance of the fact that the dream was almost immediately repeated. This feature has occurred before, and will occur again;11 See, for instance, cases

    102, 110, 113, 130, 141, 451, 457. Examples of recurrence not on the same night are No. 484 and Dr. Gibert’s case, Vol. ii., p. 701. and it is one which seems to be decidedly commoner in cases of coincident or (as we should say) veridical dreams than in dreams generally. Inquiries which have recently been made of more than 2000 persons, taken at random, have shown that less than 10 per cent. of them could recall having even on a single occasion dreamt the {i-358} same dream more than once on the same night—though it is of course by no means uncommon to have a fixed familiar dream which recurs again and again during long tracts of life.1 1 Two cases have been reported to me of a dream of death occurring to the same person on three consecutive nights, without any correspondence whatever with any simultaneous reality. Another informant (the Rev. C. S. Taylor, of 1, Guinea Street, Redcliff, Bristol) reports a similar baseless experience on two consecutive nights; and a fourth (Mrs. Bacon, of Much Hadham), on either two or three consecutive nights, the person dreamt of singularly enough dying suddenly a week afterwards. But I do not happen to have heard of any similar case where the recurrence was on the same night. No doubt memory cannot be entirely trusted on such a matter; but it may be said with tolerable confidence that recurrences on the same night are decidedly rare; and it is therefore most unlikely that this particular feature should by accident occur with noticeable frequency in the comparatively small group of dreams which have corresponded with a real external event.

    In the next case, the details and images supplied are of a medical sort and have distinct reference to the dreamer’s own profession. The first part of the account is from Mr. C. Burges, of 4, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and is given here by the kind permission of the Phasmatological Society of Oxford. Mr. Burges has revised it for publication.

    “1879.

    (125) “Although I am now a solicitor, I was for the first 8 years of my career a sailor, and on one of my voyages, I, being the second officer of an Indiaman, had a cabin common with the doctor of the ship. The doctor was named John Woolcott. As second officer, I, of course, had the middle watch, which meant my being on deck between 12 midnight and 4 a.m. every night. I went down to the cabin at the end of the watch, at about 4.30 one morning, and turned in as usual. Some time before I had to get up to relieve the deck at 8, the doctor called me up, and said that he had had a terrible dream. He thought that he saw his mother dying, and whilst she was lying in that state a cousin, a medical man, who was a surgeon in the Artillery, and whom he believed to be at that moment in China (it was the time of the Chinese war, in 1845), had suddenly appeared in the room, and when he saw his aunt, said, ‘You are entirely wrong in supposing what is the matter with her; she is not dying from what you say, but from such and such a complaint,’ which he named. I do not at the present moment recollect what the diseases were, but the distinction was a well-defined one. He also said that another surgeon, who is still living, and whose name I do not like to give, was present, and insisted that the patient was dying of the complaint first named.

    “From that time to the end of the voyage the doctor was so much impressed with this dream that he was quite a dispirited man, sufficiently so to occasion remark. When our ship arrived in the East India Docks, he came back to me, as he was just going ashore, I not being able to leave so soon, and said, ‘It is all right, old fellow, the dream is all wrong; {i-359} there is my brother Edward on shore, waiting for me, and he is not in mourning.’

    “The fact, however, unfortunately proved to be that his mother had died, and that his cousin, the surgeon, had returned from China in charge of invalids, and was present at the death-bed, as dreamed. The brother, on coming down to meet the ship, had put on coloured clothes, so as not to give my friend a sudden shock.

    “G. B.”

    Mr. Woolcott, F.R.C.S., consulting surgeon of the Kent County Ophthalmic Hospital, to whom the above was sent, says:—

    “4, Elms Park Terrace, The Elms, Ramsgate.

    “December 20th, 1883.

    “The statement about my mother’s death and the dream at sea is correct. The dream and the death occurred at the same time, or within a few days of each other. I was on board the ‘Plantagenet,’ East Indiaman, and we had just left the Cape of Good Hope, on our homeward bound voyage, at which place I had received letters from home stating ‘All well.’ There was more in the dream, concerning a post-mortem examination, but it is of too painful a nature to mention, relating to the difference of opinion concerning the nature of the complaint my mother died of, and the medical men were of different opinions about it. I think a very remarkable point about my dream at sea, in 1845, was that I thought a cousin of mine, a surgeon in the Royal Artillery, was present at my mother’s death. This proved to be the case. I had thought he was away in China, and had no idea of when he would return to England; but he had unexpectedly come back, and had been summoned to her bedside in consultation, as stated in the narrative. My cousin was James E. T. Parrett, late surgeon Royal Artillery, now deceased. This dream haunted me frequently during the rest of the voyage home, and on several occasions awoke me in the night thinking about it. I could not shake it off.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Woolcott says:—

    “I have had startling dreams at other times, but they have not been concerning the death of any person.

    “JOHN WOOLCOTT

    [Here the time-coincidence cannot be brought with certainty closer than a few days. On the other hand, the detail of the cousin’s presence is a strong evidential point.]

    In the next case, a definite scene is depicted, suggestive of death and appropriate to the person who had actually died; but everything beyond the true impression of the death is supplied by the dreamer. The narrator is Mrs. Herbert Bolland (née Cary, granddaughter of the translator of Dante), of 7, Cranbury Terrace, Southampton. The experience was quite unique in her life, and exemplifies—what will be suggested by other cases—a possible effect of illness in heightening the percipient faculty.1 1 See the list of cases in the Index under the heading Illness.

    {i-360}

    “July, 1884.

    (126) “In September, 1879, I was in B——s, and laid up with a rather sharp attack of fever, kept to my room, and seeing no one. In the middle of one night I was awoke, as was my husband also, by a most piercing shriek; he knew it was I who had cried aloud, whilst I had then no idea of it. But I began to tell him that I had been dreaming his sister was teasing me, and I looked up and saw (and as I came to that point I was again seized with horror) a tall man, dead, being carried, with his hair, which was very thick, falling back from his face. The figure impressed me with the idea of being upheld by four men, but I did not see any of them. I knew the figure at once, and kept saying, ‘The Colonel’s dead, the Colonel’s dead,’ and it was an hour or two before my husband could calm me, and I could go to sleep again. At last I did so, however, and the next sound we heard was the servant knocking at our door, and calling-out, ‘Get up, sir, the Colonel’s dead; you’re wanted.’

    “Colonel F. had died after a short illness, of which I knew nothing at all. My husband thought he had a cold, but had not named it to me or been anxious about it himself, and, as far as I was concerned, my acquaintance with him was of the slightest, so that if I had been told he had a cold, I should not have thought about it again.

    “I may add that I have said many times, when asked to explain it, I believe it was caused by Major White, who was with the F.’s, thinking of us, and what a shock it would be, as my husband was the only other R.E. officer there, and would have to arrange for the funeral next day. That was what seemed to me likely, because I have noticed all my life that I frequently speak of the subjects which are in the thoughts of my friends and companions without any apparent cause, and have been accustomed to speak of it as the result of ‘my sixth sense,’ because I did not know what else to call it. It has often been a subject of annoyance to me in one way, which was that, with one very dear friend, our letters invariably crossed (though very infrequently written), so that we never felt as if we had an answer. She complained, and so did I, but we could not alter it.

    “KATE E. BOLLAND.”

    We find from the Army List that Colonel F. died on September 7th, 1879.

    The following is from Lieut.-Colonel Bolland, R.E.:—

    “July 20th, 1884.

    “With regard to Colonel F., I cannot say I remember that Mrs. Bolland mentioned his name, though she may have done so; but having awoke me with a terrific scream at about 1 a.m., on the 8th September, 1879 (which I think was the date), she told me she had been dreaming of my sister, and when looking up to speak to her, she saw a tall man, dead, being carried by four other men, his head dropping, and long, thick hair falling back.

    “She was terribly frightened, and it was some time before we again got to sleep. The next sound I heard was the servant knocking at my door, and calling out, ‘Get up, sir, you are wanted; the Colonel is dead!’ I had known Colonel F. was ill, but had not thought seriously of it, nor had I named it to my wife, who had herself been ill some days with denzie {i-361} fever. If I had thought of his illness at all, it would have been without any anxiety, as I had heard he was better, and able to lie on the sofa. It is now some years since these things happened, and I may not be correct in my remembrance of all details; but as to both the waking1 1 This refers to another case, No. 201, below. and the sleeping impressions being named to me before the events which they seemed to have indicated were known, or could be known to us in any ordinary way, I am positive.

    “G. HERBERT BOLLAND.”

    In conversation with the present writer, Colonel Bolland spontaneously referred to the extraordinary character of the scream.

    Colonel Bolland’s account suggested some doubt in his mind as to whether his wife had actually identified the dead man before the news of the death was known, and this point was accordingly inquired about. In his reply, Colonel Bolland mentioned that for some time past his hearing has been somewhat imperfect and uncertain, and he continues:—

    “I can safely say that Mrs. Bolland, from the time of the event, has always said she said, ‘It is the Colonel,’ and I have never told her that I did not hear her, never doubting but that she said it. She, however, is much surprised that I never mentioned the fact of not having heard it. Her description at the time left no doubt in my own mind that it was Colonel F. She said she saw a long (or perhaps tall) man being carried, with his long hair falling back. Colonel F. wore his hair long for a military man of the present day, so the short description she gave me identified the man, as long hair is so rarely worn by military men. We may even have discussed whether it was he, but I don’t remember her saying almost at once, ‘It is the Colonel.’ My wife has a very much better memory for conversations than I have, so that I will not undertake to say that we did not discuss, between 1 a.m. and 6 a.m., whether or not it was Colonel F.; but I am certain I did not hear my wife say at once, immediately after her short description of the dream, ‘It is the Colonel,’ but she may have said it without my hearing it. Mrs. Bolland is so minutely accurate in repeating a conversation that I feel sure her version is much more to be relied on than my own.”

    And Mrs. Bolland adds:—

    “July 27th, 1884.

    “As regards my own opinion of what happened after my dream about Colonel F., I have not, nor ever had, any doubt that it was he I saw. I can see the whole scene before me now, as I saw it then, and I cannot get over my impression that I mentioned his name at once, or rather, as soon as I came upon the recollection of what had made me scream. I think I have told you that although my own scream awoke me, I did not at once know that I had been frightened, or that I had cried out. But in describing my dream to my husband, I suddenly came upon the picture again, and then I was so frightened it was some time before I could get over it.”

    [I received by pure accident a confirmation of the fact that Mrs. Bolland mentioned Colonel F. at the moment. I was sitting at tea with {i-362} Colonel and Mrs. Bolland; and the conversation turning on telepathy, but no mention having been made of the above case, a sister of Colonel Bolland’s, who was present, suddenly said to Mrs. Bolland, “Do you remember about that time when you called out, ‘There’s the Colonel?’” It turned out that she remembered these words as having occurred in a letter from Mrs. Bolland, which described the incident immediately after its occurrence; and neither of them could recall that the subject had been afterwards talked of between them.]

    We come now to cases where a distinctly fantastic element appears; the reality is bodied forth in a dream-scene which has no relation to actual possibilities.

    The following case is remarkable in that there were two percipients, for one of whom the distant event was embodied in a fantastic, and for the other in a more normal, manner. The doubling of the experience of course enormously increases the improbability that the coincidence was accidental; but it is open to us to suppose that only one of the dreams was directly connected with the absent friend, and that this dream produced the other, on the analogy of some of the cases of simultaneous dreaming already given.1 1 This alternative will be considered in Chap. xviii., on “Collective Cases.” Miss Varah, of 40, James Street, Cowley Road, Oxford, writes:—

    “January, 1885.

    (127) “A friend of mine, Mr. Adams, was seriously ill, and we were expecting his death. I had a dream that I saw the corpse of his wife laid out upon a bed, though we had no reason to suppose that she was even ill. A friend with whom I was staying also dreamed that she saw Mrs. Adams a corpse. [This is not accurate.] The morning’s post brought news of her dangerous illness, and a telegram during the morning announced her death. My friend and I told each other our dreams in the morning at breakfast. My friend had called for her letters before coming down in the morning, fearing bad news.

    “MARIANNE VARAH.”

    In answer to inquiries, Miss Varah tells us that Mrs. Adams died between 11 and 1, on the night of February 25th, 1876, and we find the 25th given as the date in an obituary notice in the Sheffield Daily Telegraph; but she does not know the exact hour of her dream. She adds, “The dream described is the only one I believe I ever had of the kind.”

    Miss Varah’s friend, the late Mrs. Muller, wrote as follows:—

    “8, Bevington Road, Oxford.

    “January, 1885.

    “I dreamed that I was at Hastings, on the shore. I saw my friend, Miss Adams, running towards me. She passed me by, and then took off her hat and bent her head down into the sea. I tried to grasp her by her clothes, but she cried out, ‘Don’t stop me, for my mother is dying.’ {i-363} In the morning I jumped out of bed on hearing the post, and said to Marianne Varah, ‘Have you had a letter from Miss Adams? There must be something the matter with her mother.’ Miss Varah answered, ‘I have a letter, but have not opened it. I have had a very strange dream, but I thought nothing of it, because Mr. Adams is so ill.’ Miss Varah then opened her letter, and called out, ‘You are right.’ There were a few lines, ‘My mother is dangerously ill: doctors say no hope. We will send a telegram.’ The telegram came during the morning of February 24th, [clearly a mistake for 26th,] 1876, saying she was dead. She had been in perfect health the day before.

    “Neither Miss Varah nor myself are at all given to dreams, and had not till then believed in them at all.

    “EMILY E. MULLER.

    The next account is contained in a letter from Brigade-Surgeon Wright, Junior Army and Navy Club, St. James’ Street, S.W., to his sister.

    “October 18th, 1884.

    (128) “You asked me to give you an account of the extraordinary dream I had in India, on the occasion of our mother’s death. It was more vivid than an ordinary dream, and impressed itself so much on me that directly I awoke, which was at the conclusion of the dream, I looked at my watch, and, allowing for the difference of time between India and England, my mother was dying at the moment of my dream.

    “I was out deer-stalking during the month of April, 1869, in the territory of our feudatory chief, the Maharajah of Gualior, who provided me with a guard of Sepoys, while in the jungle, to protect me from Dacoits. On the night of April 15th I slept outside the village of Kurkurree, under a large variety of fig-tree called in India a burgot tree. I dreamed that my father (who died in 1854) and mother appeared to me;

    the latter addressed and kissed me and asked me, ‘Where is Maggie?’ [the narrator’s wife.] She then receded gradually and disappeared. I noted carefully the date and hour. When I returned from there to Theusie, where my regiment was stationed, I got a letter from my mother, written as if she was in excellent health and spirits; but soon after came two letters, one from my brother James, and one from my brother-in-law, Arthur Wright. I opened my brother’s first, and, after the first paroxysms of grief had lessened, eagerly scanned it to see if the death corresponded with my dream, but no date was mentioned. Deeply have I often since regretted not having called somebody in before opening letter No. 2, in order to fully verify the circumstances. For really, now that the sad intelligence was known to me, Arthur’s letter was opened by me more to see if it coincided as to the date of her death and my dream, and I then found that it coincided exactly.

    “T. WRIGHT.”

    In a letter to us, Mr. Wright says:—

    “October 24th, 1884.

    “The dream took place about midnight, which, allowing for the difference of time between India and England, makes the coincidence very close. I did look at my watch directly I awoke, but regret very much not having taken written notes at the time. I awoke at the end of the dream. Death was suggested to my mind by seeing my mother accompanied by my {i-364} father, who had predeceased her by 15 years. I have not often dreamt of my relatives in a vivid way.”

    In answer to inquiries, he adds:—

    “I was not awake. The impression produced was that arising from a very vivid dream. The date of my dream being April 15th, was far more than an inference, it was a certainty; as when I got the two letters announcing my mother’s death (one from my brother and one from my brother-in-law) I opened my brother’s first, and after recovering somewhat from the shock of the sad intelligence, I eagerly re-perused it to see if the date of the death corresponded with that of my dream, but found that no date was mentioned. I then hurriedly opened the second letter, with a view of seeing the date of her death, and then for the first time learned that she died on the 15th April, the date of my dream.”

    Miss Wright, Secretary of the Girls’ Friendly Society, 3, Victoria Mansions, Victoria Street, Westminster, S.W., says:—

    “October 18th, 1884.

    “My mother died on April 15th, 1869, at 8 p.m. Her death was sudden. She was only 24 hours ill, and was quite unconscious for 4 hours before her death.1 1 See on this subject Chap. v, § 10, and the list of cases in the Index under the heading Unconsciousness.

    “LUCY O. WRIGHT.”

    Here the dreamer’s mind embodied the idea of death in the figure of a long deceased relative. More commonly the imagery in such cases is drawn from the familiar earthly symbols of death—coffins, funeral processions, and graves. A few examples may be given here; others will be found in the Supplement (Vol. ii., pp. 417–26). The following account is from the Rev. C. C. Wambey, of Paragon, Salisbury, who in conversation communicated the names of the persons concerned.

    “April, 1884.

    (129) “In my bachelor days I lived for two years at C., in the outskirts of London. On a certain night I dreamed that Mr. W., with whom I was acquainted, and myself were walking in the cloisters of Westminster Abbey.

    “He abruptly bade me ‘Good-bye,’ saying that he must go to a particular gravestone. I—in my dream—entreated him not to go, but to come back with me out of the cloisters. ‘No, no,’ he replied, ‘I must go, I am fated to go.’ With that he broke from me, hurried to the stone, and sank through the floor. The next morning I mentioned the dream to my landlady, and told her it was my firm conviction that my friend was dead.

    “The next morning’s post brought me a letter from my brother, who stated that on the previous night Mr. W. had died suddenly from disease of the heart.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Wambey says:—

    {i-365}

    “May 17th, 1884.

    “This occurred between June, 1855, and June, 1856; I forget the month and day.

    “I mentioned the dream to my landlady next morning. The last time I saw Mr. W., he was in his usual health, and I had received no intimation whatever that he was ailing, before I had the dream.

    “Just at this time I cannot recall any dream I may have had of a friend’s death, but I have dreamt of a friend’s marriage, which dream was fulfilled by the event, which took many by surprise; it appeared wholly improbable. Nothing had occurred to lead me to dream of Mr. W.”

    The next case is from Mr. N. T. Menneer, Principal of Torre College, Torquay.

    “December 18th, 1883.

    (130) “I thought you would be interested in the following account of a strange dream that came under my notice some 26 years ago.

    “My wife, since deceased, had a brother residing at Sarawak, and at the time to which I refer, staying with the Raja, Sir James Brooke.

    “The following is an extract from the second volume of The Raja of Sarawak, by Gertrude L. Jacob, p. 238. ‘Mr. Wellington’ (my wife’s brother) ‘was killed in a brave attempt to defend Mrs. Middleton and her children.’ The Chinese, it appears, taking Mr. Wellington for the Raja’s son, struck off his head.

    “And now for the dream. I was awoke one night by my wife, who started from her sleep, terrified by the following dream. She saw her headless brother standing at the foot of the bed with his head lying on a coffin by his side. I did my best to console my wife, who continued to be much distressed for some considerable time. At length she fell asleep again, to be awoke by a similar dream. In the morning, and for several days after, she constantly referred to her dream, and anticipated sad news of her brother.

    “And now comes the strangest part of the story. When the news reached England, I computed approximately the time, and found it coincided with the memorable night to which I have referred.

    “N. T. MENNEER.”

    In reply to inquiries, Mr. Menneer adds:—

    “My deceased wife never had, as far as I know, similar distressing dreams of death to which no real event corresponded.

    “There is no doubt that the Chinese struck off his head. Particulars of his fate were sent to Mr. Wellington’s father by the Raja himself.

    “In saying I calculated the time and found it to correspond approximately, I probably gave you a wrong impression. I did not note down the date of the dream, but when the news reached England I calculated the usual time of such a voyage, and found it corresponded with the time I considered had elapsed since the night of the dream.”

    Professor Sidgwick, after an interview with Mr. Menneer, on September 17, 1884, wrote:—

    “He said that Mrs. Menneer had no definite idea where her brother {i-366} had gone; they had not heard from him since his departure; she had certainly no idea that he would be engaged in military operations at all, still less that he would be engaged with Chinese. In fact she was in no state of alarm about him at all. Mr. Menneer said that they did not put down the date of the dream at the time, and that when the news came he could not remember it exactly; but he took pains to calculate it at the time, and satisfied himself that it was at the time of the death as nearly as he could reckon. He had not been a believer in dreams previously. He heard the particulars of the death from Mr. Wellington, the father.”

    This dream, if it is to be telepathically explained, must apparently have been due to the last flash of thought in the brother’s consciousness. It may seem strange that a definite picture of his mode of death should present itself to a man in the instant of receiving an unexpected and fatal blow; but, as Hobbes said, “thought is quick.” The coffin, at any rate, may be taken as an item of death-imagery supplied by the dreamer’s mind. The repetition of the dream should again be noted (p. 357).

    In the following cases the imagery of death is still more elaborately developed. Mrs. Hilton, a lady actively engaged in most practical work, and not in the least a “visionary,” has given us the following accounts.

    “234, Burdett Road, E.

    “April 10th, 1883.

    (131) “The dream which I am about to relate occurred about 2 years ago. I seemed to be walking in a country road, with high grassy banks on either side. Suddenly I heard the tramp of many feet. Feeling a strange sense of fear, I called out, ‘Who are these people coming?’ A voice above me replied, ‘A procession of the

    dead.’ I then found myself on the bank, looking into the road where the people were walking, five or six abreast. Hundreds of them passed by me—neither looking aside nor looking at each other. They were people of all conditions and in all ranks of life. I saw no children amongst them. I watched the long line of people go away into the far distance, but I felt no special interest in any of them, until I saw a middle-aged Friend, dressed as a gentleman farmer. I pointed to him and called out, ‘Who is that, please?’ He turned round and said in a loud voice, ‘I am John M., of Chelmsford.’ Then my dream ended. Next day, when my husband returned from his office he told me that John M., of Chelmsford, had died the previous day.

    “I may add that I only knew the Friend in question by sight and cannot recollect ever speaking to him.”

    We find from a newspaper obituary that J. M.’s death took place on January 14th, 1880.

    (132) “About a year ago, I had a dream very similar to the preceding one. The locality was the same. The only difference was that I was standing in the road, trying to prevent a little girl from joining the procession. {i-367} The lady, in whose charge the child was and who was standing by me in the road, said, ‘I am giving her into the charge of Charles P., of Darlington,’ mentioning the name of a well-known member of the Society of Friends. I replied, ‘That is not Charles P.’ I called out as before, ‘Who are you, please?’ A young man in the procession turned round and said, ‘I am J. G.’ Next morning I heard that J. G. had died rather suddenly in the night. I knew this young man, but not intimately, and I had not seen him for months.

    “Again, a third time, I found myself in the same place, but my terror was so extreme, that I kneeled on the bank and prayed that I might not witness the march of the dead. Instantly I was removed, and the tramp of the terrible procession ceased. I never discovered that anyone whom I knew died at the time of this last dream.

    “In each of these three dreams I seemed to be under the influence and dread of some unseen power.

    “MARIE HILTON.”

    In answer to inquiries as to the first of these cases, Mrs. Hilton says:—

    “I did not know that John M. was ill, and had not even heard his name mentioned; I could not trace any reason why he should have been in my thoughts.”

    In answer to inquiries as to the second case, she says:—

    “I recognised the little girl as the child of a friend. I had not heard anything about the child to make me dream of her. Charles P. had been dead for some years at the date of the dream.”

    The absence of any ascertained coincidence on the third occasion might be represented as an argument for regarding the correspondence on the two previous occasions as accidental, but it would be a very weak one; since even if the dream had recurred a thousand times, the chances against the accidental occurrence of two such coincidences would still remain enormous. The tendency on the dreamer’s part to symbolise death in one particular way is neither against nor in favour of the telepathic explanation.1[☼] 1 It is worth noting that these dreams—for all their bizarrerie—seem to belong to a known type. Our friend, Mr. J. A. Symonds, has given us an account of a Swiss Todten-Volk-Seher, who sees a procession of the dead going along a path with a high bank on one side.

    While on the subject of symbolic dreams, I may observe that many persons profess to have a particular recurrent dream, which in itself has no obvious relation to death, but which proves in fact to coincide more or less closely with deaths or other calamities that affect them. I need hardly say that such statements have no evidential value, unless we can be sure that they are more than the loose assertions of persons who see no importance in noting misses as well as hits, and to whom it is no difficulty in the way of the supposed correspondence that the two events were separated perhaps by a month’s interval. In most of such cases, indeed, the dream {i-368} precedes the event and is professedly taken as a “warning”; so that, however well attested, they could have no place in this book. Occasionally, however, a person who professes this remarkable gift can supply sufficiently circumstantial evidence to have some claim to attention; and one rather striking instance of the sort will be found in the Supplement (case 460).

    § 8. I pass now to the final class of cases, where the dreamer seems, as it were, to be transported to the actual scene of the event. These cases, like the final cases of the 6th chapter, cannot but suggest certain phenomena of the waking state which are other than those of thought-transference—the phenomena of so-called clairvoyance. But I must again draw attention to the radical differences in the phenomena which that word may be made to cover. There are certain alleged facts of waking clairvoyance which, if true, would drive us to the conclusion that the percipient’s powers of vision were independent of the thoughts, either actually passing or latent, in the minds of others. No doubt very many facts have been loosely ascribed to clairvoyance, which we should now regard as simple examples of thought-transference. This has been owing partly to the blindness of writers on clairvoyance to the enormous difficulties which the assumption of such a faculty involves; but still more to the lack, until lately, of accurate experiments in thought-transference. But there remain facts which—if the testimony of Robert Houdin and other experts can be trusted—no possible extension of the theory of thought-transference will cover; and in which, though the particular result obtained depended in some manner on the particular person who sought to obtain it, the range of perception altogether transcended the past or present contents of that person’s mind. Now with such cases as these we have nothing to do in the present work. Even should some of the examples to be adduced seem to take us beyond the confines of thought-transference in any literal sense, they will still not take us beyond the confines of telepathy—of a theory which implies some sort of influence of the mind of an agent on the mind of a percipient. The percipient may observe a scene, into the midst of which he finds himself mentally transported, with such completeness of detail, and for such a length of time, as at any rate to suggest some actual exercise on it of his own independent perceptional powers; but it will still be a scene with some principal actor in which he is in some way linked. He may see {i-369} a death-bed and the surrounding mourners; but we have no sort of reason to suppose that he could similarly see any death-bed. There has, at any rate, been an agent, in the sense of a particular person whose actual presence in the scene has to be accepted as a condition of the percipient’s imagined presence; and however novel and exceptional the way in which the percipient’s range of knowledge may seem to be extended, these further glimpses still take place apparently not in any chance direction, but in a direction marked out by his previous affinities with other minds. But in fact the process need not seem so exceptional, if we recall once more the right which experiment has given us to draw on parts of the agent’s mind which are below the level of ostensible consciousness. For in none of the cases to be here cited do the percipient’s impressions extend beyond what has been before the mind—though certainly beyond what has been before the attention—of persons actually present at the scene. We may perhaps be led sometimes to conceive several of these minds as contributing to the impression. But some of the experimental results have already introduced on a small scale the notion of joint agency,1 1 See Professor Lodge’s experiment, p. 50; and the remarks on M. Richet’s later results, p. 80. and may thus enable us to maintain the analogy between experimental and spontaneous telepathy in a manner which least of all might have been expected.

    I may cite at once the two cases which seem the furthest removed from any of the preceding, inasmuch as the “agency” in them is specially hard to conceive. They happen to be at the two extremes of the trivial and the tragic. The first is reported by a witness—Miss Busk, of 16, Montagu Street, W.—who is strongly adverse to the telepathic theory, and holds the view that all the alleged coincidences are accidental, and that the more numerous they are, the more clearly accidental must they be.

    “1884.

    (133) “I dreamt that I was walking in a wood in my father’s place in Kent, in a spot well known to me, where there was sand under the firs; I stumbled over some objects,

    which proved to be the heads, left protruding, of some ducks buried in the sand. The idea impressed me as so comical that I fortunately mentioned it at breakfast next morning, and one or two persons remember that I did so. Only an hour later it happened that the old bailiff of the place came up for some instructions unexpectedly, and as he was leaving he said he must tell us a strange thing that had happened: there had been a robbery in the farmyard, and some stolen ducks had been found buried in the sand, with their heads protruding, in the very spot where I had seen the same. The farm was underlet, and I {i-370} had not even any interest in the ducks, to carry my thoughts towards them under the nefarious treatment they received.

    “R. H. BUSK.”

    Miss Busk’s sister, Mrs. Pitt Byrne, who was present when this dream was told, corroborates as follows:—

    “I distinctly remember, and have often since spoken of, the circumstance of Miss R. H. Busk’s relating to me her dream of ducks buried in the wood, before the bailiff who reported the incident came up to town.

    “J. PITT BYRNE.”

    The next case is remarkable for the number of points of correspondence, though the dream is typically fantastic and confused. The narrative is from Mrs. Storie, of 8, Gilmour Road, Edinburgh. It was written by her, she tells us, the day, or the day after, the news of the fatal accident arrived, merely as a relief to herself, and without an idea of any further use. She prepared an account for us in a more finished form; but it seems preferable to give the original rough notes, which she has kindly allowed us to copy. The brother in this case was a twin with herself (see p. 279).

    “Hobart Town.

    “July, 1874.

    (134) “On the evening of the 18th July, I felt unusually nervous. This seemed to begin [with the occurrence of a small domestic annoyance] about half-past 8 o’clock. When I went to my room I even felt as if someone was there. I fancied, as I stepped into bed, that someone in thought tried to stop me. At 2 o’clock I woke from the following dream. It seemed like in dissolving views. In a twinkle of light I saw a railway, and the puff of the engine. I thought, ‘What’s going on up there? Travelling? I wonder if any of us are travelling and I dreaming of it.’ Someone unseen by me answered, ‘No: something quite different—something wrong.’ ‘I don’t like to look at these things,’ I said. Then I saw behind and above my head William’s upper half reclining, eyes and mouth half shut; his chest moved forward convulsively, and he raised his right arm. Then he bent forward, saying, ‘I suppose I should move out of this.’ Then I saw him lying, eyes shut, on the ground, flat. The chimney of an engine at his head. I called in excitement, ‘That will strike him!’ The ‘someone’ answered ‘Yes—well, here’s what it was’; and immediately I saw William sitting in the open air—faint moonlight—on a raised place, sideways. He raised his right arm, shuddered, and said, ‘I can’t go on, or back, No.’ Then he seemed lying flat. I cried out, ‘Oh! Oh!’ and others seemed to echo, ‘Oh! Oh!’ He seemed then upon his elbow, saying, ‘Now it comes.’ Then, as if struggling to rise, turned twice round quickly, saying, ‘Is it the train? the train, the train,’ his right shoulder reverberating as if struck from behind. He fell back like fainting; his eyes rolled. A large dark object came between us like panelling of wood, and {i-371} rather in the dark something rolled over, and like an arm was thrown up, and the whole thing went away with a swish. Close beside me on the ground there seemed a long dark object. I called out, ‘They’ve left something behind, it’s like a man.’ It then raised its shoulders and head and fell down again. The same someone answered, ‘Yes, sadly.’ [? ‘Yes,’ sadly.] After a moment I seemed called on to look up, and said, ‘Is that thing not away yet?’ Answered, ‘No.’ And in front, in light, there was a railway compartment in which sat Rev. Mr. Johnstone, of Echuce. I said, ‘What’s he doing there?’ Answered, ‘He’s there.’ A railway porter went up to the window asking, ‘Have you seen any of ——.’ I caught no more, but I thought he referred to the thing left behind. Mr. Johnstone seemed to answer, ‘No’; and the man went quickly away—I thought to look for it. After all this the someone said close to me, ‘Now I’m a tall dark figure at my head going.’ I started, and at once saw William’s back at my side. He put his right hand (in grief) over his face, and the other almost touching my shoulder, he crossed in front, looking stern and solemn. There was a flash from the eyes, and I caught a glimpse of a fine, pale face like ushering him along, and indistinctly another. I felt frightened, and called out, ‘Is he angry?’ ‘O, no.’ ‘Is he going away?’ Answered, ‘Yes,’ by the same someone, and I woke with a loud sigh, which woke my husband, who said, ‘What is it?’ I told him I had been dreaming ‘something unpleasant’—named a ‘railway,’ and dismissed it all from my mind as a dream. As I fell asleep again I fancied the ‘someone’ said, ‘It’s all gone,’ and another answered, ‘I’ll come and remind her.’

    “The news reached me one week afterwards. The accident had happened to my brother on the same night about half past 9 o’clock. Rev. Mr. Johnstone and his wife were actually in the train which struck him. He was walking along the line, which is raised 2 feet on a level country. He seemed to have gone 16 miles—must have been tired and sat down to take off his boot, which was beside him, dozed off and was very likely roused by the sound of the train; 76 sheep-trucks had passed without touching him, but some wooden projection, likely the step, had touched the right side of his head, bruised his right shoulder, and killed him instantaneously. The night was very dark. I believe now that the someone was (from something in the way he spoke) William himself. The face with him was white as alabaster, and something like this [a small sketch pasted on] in profile. There were many other thoughts or words seemed to pass, but they are too many to write down here.

    “The voice of the ‘someone’ unseen seemed always above the figure of William which I saw. And when I was shown the compartment of the carriage with Mr. Johnstone, the someone seemed on a line between me and it—above me.”

    In an account-book of Mrs. Storie’s, on a page headed July, 1874, we find the 18th day marked, and the words, “Dear Willie died,” and “Dreamed, dreamed of it all,” appended.

    The first letter, from the Rev. J. C. Johnstone to the Rev. John Storie, announcing the news of the accident, is lost. The following are extracts from his second and third letters on the subject:—

    {i-372}

    “Echuce, 10th August, 1874.

    “The place where Hunter was killed is on an open plain, and there was consequently plenty of room for him to escape the train had he been conscious; but I think Meldrum’s theory is the correct one, that he had sat down to adjust some bandages on his leg and had thoughtlessly gone off to sleep. There is only one line of rails, and the ground is raised about 2 feet—the ground on which the rails rest. He had probably sat down on the edge, and lain down backwards so as to be within reach of some part of the train. It was not known at the time that an accident had occurred. Mrs. Johnstone and myself were in the train. Meldrum says he was not very much crushed. The top of the skull was struck off, and some ribs were broken, under the arm-pit on one side. His body was found on the Sunday morning by a herd-boy from the adjoining station.”

    “August 29th, 1874.

    “The exact time at which the train struck poor Hunter must have been about 9.55 p.m., and his death must have been instantaneous.”

    The above corresponds with the account of the inquest in the Riverine Herald for July 22nd. The Melbourne Argus also describes the accident as having taken place on the night of Saturday, the 18th.

    The following remarks are taken from notes made by Professor Sidgwick, during an interview with Mrs. Storie, in April, 1884, and by Mrs. Sidgwick, after another interview in September, 1885:—

    Mrs. Storie cannot regard the experience exactly as a dream, though she woke up from it.1 1 In conversation with the present writer, Mrs. Storie mentioned that on one other occasion in her life she had had a sort of “borderland” hallucination (see the following chapter); and that this had corresponded,

    certainly to within a few days, but she did not discover exactly how closely, with the death of another brother in America. She knew him to be delicate, but was not apprehending his death. She is sure that it did not grow more definite in recollection afterwards. She never had a series of scenes in a dream at any other time. They were introduced by a voice in a whisper, not recognised as her brother’s. He had sat on the bank as he appeared in the dream. The engine she saw behind him had a chimney of peculiar shape, such as she had not at that time seen; and she remembers that Mr. Storie thought her foolish about insisting on the chimney—unlike (he said) any which existed; but he informed her when he came back from Victoria, where her brother was, that engines of this kind had just been introduced there. She had no reason to think that any conversation between the porter and the clergyman actually occurred. The persons who seemed to lead her brother away were not recognised by her, and she only saw the face of one of them.

    Mr. Storie confirms his wife having said to him at the time of the dream, “What is that light”? Before writing the account first quoted, she had just mentioned the dream to her husband, but had not described it. She desired not to think of it, and also was unwilling to worry him about it because of his Sunday’s work. This last point, it will be observed, is a confirmation of the fact that the dream took place on the Saturday night; and “it came out clearly” (Mrs. Sidgwick says) “that her recollection about the Saturday night was an independent recollection, and not read back after the incident was known.” The strongly nervous state that preceded the dream was quite unique in Mrs. Storie’s experience.

    {i-373}

    But as it appeared that, according to her recollection, it commenced at least an hour before the accident took place, it must be regarded as of no importance evidentially. The feeling of a presence in the room was also quite unique.

    Here the difficulty of referring the true elements in the dream to the agent’s mind exceeds that noted in Mr. Menneer’s case (p. 365, but see pp. 230–1). For Mr. Hunter was asleep; and even if we can conceive that the image of the advancing engine may have had some place in his mind, the presence of Mr. Johnstone could not have been perceived by him. But it is possible, of course, to regard this last item of correspondence as accidental, even though the dream was telepathic. It will be observed that the dream followed the accident by about 4 hours; such deferment is, I think, a strong point in favour of telepathic, as opposed to independent, clairvoyance (see p. 329).

    To come, however, to less abnormal cases—the following account is from Mr. J. T. Milward Pierce, who has a cattle-ranche in Nebraska.

    “Blyville P.O., Knox County, Nebraska, U.S.A.

    “December 5th, 1885.

    (135) “I have just, or rather a month ago, had a very unpleasant accident which has fortunately turned out all right and has given me the pleasure of forwarding to you a very complete and unmistakeable case of ‘second sight.’ I think it better to enclose the two letters you will find herein, as I received them to-day. They are in answer to two of mine dated about the 2nd or 3rd, about a week after the accident.

    “The accident occurred at 7 o’clock in the morning of the 26th of October. I fainted from loss of blood, and was lying for a few moments on the ground. I was walking towards a pair of French windows, with my hands in my pockets, when I stumbled over a chair and fell right through the lowest pane of glass, face foremost, cutting my nose off on one side, and nearly taking an eye out—so you will see my sister’s dream was pretty accurate. I also enclose a statement made by two residents here of this end of the case, which will, I hope, make it complete. I may say our time is 6½ hours ahead of [mistake for behind] England.

    “JNO. T. M. PIERCE.”

    Mr. Pierce enclosed the following statement:—

    “On Monday, October 26th, about 7 o’clock a.m., Mr. J. T. M. Pierce fell through a French window, cutting his face badly, and lay on the floor insensible for several minutes.

    “J. WATSON

    “C. J. HUNT.

    The enclosures, from Mr. Pierce’s sister and mother, are dated respectively November 15th and 17th, 1885. Miss Pierce, after condolences as to the accident, writes:—

    “Do you know it is the oddest thing, but on the 26th of October I dreamt that I saw you lying on the ground quite unconscious, your face bleeding and looking so dreadful. I woke up calling to you. I told Kate {i-374} directly I came down, and we both marked the date. I told mother, too, I had had a bad dream about you, but I did not describe it for fear of frightening her. Was it not strange? It was such a vivid dream, it struck me very much, but I did not mention it in my last letter to you; I thought you would laugh about it. But it is strange—on the very day too.”

    In Mrs. Pierce’s letter, the following sentence occurs:—

    “Was not May’s dream singular? She came down that morning you were hurt, and told Kate, every particular of it agreeing with the time you were hurt.”

    In answer to inquiries, Miss Pierce writes:—

    “Frettons, Danbury, Chelmsford.

    “December 31st, 1885.

    “On the night of the 26th October (i.e., 26–27), I dreamt I saw my brother lying on the ground, his face bleeding and dark; he was quite unconscious. I called to him, but he did not answer, and was stooping towards him, calling him by name, when I awoke. It was so vivid a dream that it produced a great impression upon me, and I felt as though some accident had befallen him. I cannot tell at all what time in the night it was. In the morning I told my sister, and put down the date, also mentioning it to one or two others; but to my sister I described it in the same words that I have now used.

    “I am not at all accustomed to having bad dreams about friends; indeed, I never remember having had one before. Neither am I superstitious, but, nevertheless, I felt convinced that something untoward had occurred. So when the letter came, just three weeks after the accident, I knew it was the confirmation of my fears.

    “M. PIERCE.”

    [The coincidence was not as close as Mrs. Pierce’s words would imply; and she seems to have mistaken the morning on which the dream was mentioned. When Mr. Pierce was lying on the floor as described, the time of day at Chelmsford would be between 1.30 and 2 p.m. Therefore the dream on the following night must have been at least 8 hours, and may have been more than 12 hours, after the event. See the remark on deferment made in connection with the last case.]

    The following narratives are from the Hon. Mrs. Montgomery Moore, now residing at Gipsy Lodge, Norwood.

    “A. Adjutant-General’s House, Royal Barracks, Dublin.

    “December 5th, 1883.

    (136) “I had driven my husband, then commanding the 4th Hussars, out in the carriage very early one morning, on his way to a shooting expedition. I returned home, rather tired and exhausted, about 8 o’clock a.m.; and after breakfasting, lay down on my bed before dressing for the day and fell asleep. I dreamed that a small blue three-cornered note was brought in to me, which contained these words:—

    “‘MY DEAR MRS. M. M.,—I know the Colonel is away; but would you {i-375} look in his room for the rules of the “Kriegspiel”? You will find them, I think, on his table. Yours sincerely,—GEORGE PHILIPS.’

    “I awoke, and never having heard that there were ‘Kriegspiel’ rules, I laughed at having dreamed of it. When I had finished dressing, I went into the drawing-room, and on the piano just outside my door, I saw the identical blue three-cornered note, which I found contained the exact words written exactly as I had seen them in my dream. I mentioned it in my answer to Major Philips; for going to my husband’s room, I found the little book of rules on his table. This was, I believe, in March, 1877.”

    (137) “A thing of the same kind occurred in April or May just after. I was asleep in an armchair on a very hot day, about 4 p.m., when I dreamed of receiving a note from a lady, asking us to come to lawn-tennis. She was a person I was not intimate with, and to whose house I had never been. I woke and saw a note on the table by me, which a servant had put down noiselessly. On opening it I found it was an invitation to lawn tennis, from the lady of whom I had dreamed, and in the very words I had dreamed of reading.

    ”JANE MONTGOMERY MOORE.”

    Asked whether she had had any similar experiences which had not corresponded with reality, Mrs. M. Moore replied, “No, I don’t think I ever had.”

    In answer to further inquiries, Mrs. M. Moore says:—

    “Probably both notes were written before I was asleep. Both places from which they came were very near to our house.”

    Here the immediate comparison of the reality with the dreams, and also the fact that the dreams contained apparently no extraneous features, make it especially unlikely that the correspondences were fictitiously “read back.” And if not, the cases seem typical examples of telepathic clairvoyance; for no one probably will suppose that the percipient could have obtained a similar vision of notes with whose writers, and in whose contents, she had no concern.

    The next case was sent to us by Miss Richardson, of 47, Bedford Gardens, Kensington, W., who says:—

    (138) “The writer is a very worthy wife of a shopkeeper at home, who told me the occurrence some years ago, then with more detail, as it was fresh in her memory; and her husband can vouch for the facts told him at the time, and the strange ‘uncanny’ effect of the dream on her mind for some time after.”

    From Mrs. Green to Miss Richardson.

    “Newry, 21st First Month, 1885.

    “DEAR FRIEND,—In compliance with thy request I give thee the particulars of my dream.

    “I saw two respectably-dressed females driving alone in a vehicle like a mineral-water cart. Their horse stopped at a water to drink; but as there was no footing, he lost his balance, and in trying to recover it he plunged right in. With the shock, the women stood up and shouted for {i-376} help, and their hats rose off their heads, and as all were going down I turned away crying and saying, ‘Was there no one at all to help them?’ upon which I awoke, and my husband asked me what was the matter. I related the above dream to him, and he asked me if I knew them. I said I did not, and thought I had never seen either of them. The impression of the dream and the trouble it brought was over me all day. I remarked to my son it was the anniversary of his birthday and my own also—the 10th of First Month, and this is why I remember the date.

    “The following Third Month I got a letter and newspaper from my brother in Australia, named Allen, letting me know the sad trouble which had befallen him in the loss, by drowning, of one of his daughters and her companion. Thou wilt see by the description given of it in the paper how the event corresponded with my dream. My niece was born in Australia, and I never saw her.

    “Please return the paper at thy convenience. Considering that our night is their day, I must have been in sympathy with the sufferers at the time of the accident, on the 10th of First Month, 1878.1 1 The narrator has reckoned the difference of time the wrong way. The time in England which corresponded with the accident was the early morning of Jan. 9; and the dream which took place on the night of Jan. 9 must have followed the death by more than 12 hours. Thus, according to our arbitrary rule of limitation, the case ought not to have been included.

    “It is referred to in two separate places in the newspaper.”

    The passage in the Inglewood Advertiser is as follows:—

    “Friday evening, January 11th, 1878.

    “A dreadful accident occurred in the neighbourhood of Wedderburn, on Wednesday last, resulting in the death of two women, named Lehey and Allen. It appears that the deceased were driving into Wedderburn in a spring cart from the direction of Kinypanial, when they attempted to water their horse at a dam on the boundary of Torpichen Station. The dam was 10 or 12 feet deep in one spot, and into this deep hole they must have inadvertently driven, for Mr. W. McKechnie, manager of Torpichen Station, upon going to the dam some hours afterwards, discovered the spring cart and horse under the water, and two women’s hats floating on the surface. … The dam was searched, and the bodies of the two women, clasped in each other’s arms, recovered.”

    The following is an extract from evidence given at the inquest:—

    “Joseph John Allen, farmer, deposed:—‘I identify one of the bodies as that of my sister. I saw her about 11 a.m. yesterday. … The horse had broken away and I caught it for her. Mrs. Lehey and my sister met me when I caught the horse. … They then took the horse and went to Mr. Clarke’s. I did not see them afterwards alive.’ William McKechnie deposed:—‘About 4 p.m. yesterday, I was riding by the dam when I observed the legs of a horse and the chest above the water.’”

    Mr. Green confirms as follows:—

    “Newry, 15th Second Month, 1885.

    “DEAR FRIEND EDITH RICHARDSON,—In reference to the dream that my wife had of seeing two women thrown out of a spring cart by their horse stopping to drink out of some deep water, I remember she was greatly {i-377} distressed about it, and seemed to feel great sympathy for them. It occurred on the night of the 9th of January.

    “The reason I can remember the date so well is that the 10th was the anniversary of my wife and our son’s birthday. As the day advanced she seemed to get worse, and I advised her to go out for a drive; when she returned she told me she was no better, and also said she had told the driver not to go near water, lest some accident should happen, as she had had such a dreadful dream the night before, at the same time telling him the nature of it. As my wife’s niece did not live with her father, he was not told of it until the next morning, which would be our evening of the 10th, and which we think accounted for the increased trouble she felt in sympathy with him.

    “THOS. GREEN.”

    Mrs. Green can recall no other dream of at all the same character.

    [The amount of correspondence in detail here is considerable. The fact that the figures seen were merely recognised as “two females” diminishes, of course, the force of the coincidence; though perhaps one would hardly expect identification of persons unknown to the percipient.]

    In the next case the percipient withholds her name from publication, on the ground that she takes no interest in our work, and only wrote down the account at her aunt’s request.

    Mrs. P., of —— Rectory, writes:—

    “March 4th, 1885.

    (139) “My niece has written down the dream. She adds to her plain account, in writing to me, that she thinks it rather more remarkable that she should have dreamt it, being a person who hardly ever dreams, unlike her mother and sister, who never sleep without dreaming. She also says she has often regretted not having written it down at the time, but can safely sign all she has stated.

    “J. L. P.”

    “March 3rd, 1885.

    “My aunt has asked me to try and recall a dream that I dreamt many years ago about an old man, the road-mender in our village, whom I had known and loved from my earliest childhood. He was naturally a bright cheerful old man, but was at the time I am speaking of in extremely low spirits, on account, as we supposed, of his wife, who was very ill and wretched, lying on what proved to be her death-bed. On the morning of my dream my sister and myself had both been awake at 6 o’clock, and I had fallen to sleep again before the servant came in, as usual, about 7 o’clock. Or my waking from this sleep I told my sister that I had had a very painful dream about old William Thompson, whom I had seen in my dream running down the lane towards the Church fields in his grey stockings, looking very miserable, and I turned to her and said, ‘I fear old William is going to make away with himself.’ I hardly finished telling my sister the dream when our servant came in to call us, and said that our father (the rector of the parish) had been sent for in a great hurry to old William Thompson, who had just been found in the Church fields with his throat cut. He was without his shoes, and when my father got to him he was still alive. These are the circumstances as accurately related as I can recall them.

    {i-378}

    “I may add that I am not generally a dreamer, and have no recollection of any other dream about death.

    “S. S. P.”

    We learn independently that the death took place on April 4, 1869.

    Miss S. S. P.’s sister writes:—

    “I fear I cannot tell you more about my sister’s dream than she has already stated, but as you wish to have what she has said confirmed by another person, I will add that I perfectly remember her telling me the dream before the servant came into the room and told us of the sad death of the old man.

    “J. M. P.”

    The next case also has, unfortunately, to be given with initials only, as the writer fears that her friends would object to publicity. It belongs to a class which, as we have seen, must be treated with great caution—dreams occurring in seasons of anxiety. Still, judging from its effects, the experience must have

    been of a very unusual kind.

    “January, 1885.

    (140) “In the year 1857, I had a brother in the very centre of the Indian Mutiny. I had been ill in the spring, and taken from my lessons in the school-room. Consequently I heard more of what was going on from the newspapers than a girl of 13 ordinarily would in those days. We were in the habit of hearing regularly from my brother, but in the June and July of that year no letters came, and what arrived in August proved to have been written quite early in the spring, and were full of the disturbances around his station. He was in the service of the East India Company—an officer in the 8th Native Infantry. I had always been devoted to him, and I grieved and fretted far more than any of my elders knew at his danger. I cannot say I dreamt constantly of him, but when I did the impressions were vivid and abiding.

    “On one occasion his personal appearance was being discussed, and I remarked, ‘He is not like that now, he has no beard or whiskers,’ and when asked why I said such a thing, I replied, ‘I knew it, for I had seen him in my dreams,’ and this brought a severe reprimand from my governess, who never allowed ‘such nonsense’ to be talked of.

    “On the morning of the 25th September, quite early, I awoke from a dream to find my sister holding me, and much alarmed. I had screamed out, struggled, crying out, ‘Is he really dead?’ When I fully awoke I felt a burning sensation in my head. I could not speak for a moment or two; I knew my sister was there, but I neither felt nor saw her.

    “In about a minute, during which she said my eyes were staring beyond her, I ceased struggling, cried out, ‘Harry’s dead, they have shot him,’ and fainted. When I recovered, I found my sister had been sent away, and an aunt who had always looked after me sitting by my bed. In order to soothe my excitement she allowed me to tell her my dream, trying all the time to persuade me to regard it as a natural consequence of my anxiety. When in the narration I said he was riding with another officer, and mounted soldiers behind them, she exclaimed, {i-379} ‘My dear, that shows you it is only a dream, for you know dear Harry is in an infantry, not a cavalry, regiment.’ Nothing, however, shook my feelings that I had seen a reality; and she was so much struck by my persistence, that she privately made notes of the date, and of the incidents, even to the minutest details of my dream, and then for a few days the matter dropped, but I felt the truth was coming nearer and nearer to all. In a short time the news came in the papers—shot down on the morning of the 25th when on his way to Lucknow. A few days later came one of his missing letters, telling how his own regiment had mutinied, and that he had been transferred to a command in the 12th Irregular Cavalry, bound to join Havelock’s force in the relief of Lucknow.

    “Some eight years after, the officer who was riding by him when he fell, Captain or Major Grant, visited us, and when in compliance with my aunt’s request he detailed the incidents of that sad hour, his narration tallied (even to the description of the buildings on their left) with the notes she had taken the morning of my dream. I should also add that we heard my brother had made an alteration in his beard and whiskers just about the time that I had spoken of him as wearing them differently.

    “L. A. W.”

    In answer to inquiries Miss W. says:—

    “As to date, the dream concerning my brother’s death took place in the morning half of the night of the 25th of September; and I think I noted in my MS. that an aunt to whom I related the dream at the time was so struck by the pertinacity with which I adhered to the various particulars, that she put down the date and also the details of the dream.

    “I have always been a dreamer. I never had the same sort of dream of death.”

    Miss W. further tells us that her aunt is certain that she never destroyed her notes of the dream, but does not know where they are, and is too old to be worried. She adds: “My sister perfectly remembers all about it.” The sister, however, will not write out her recollections—considering that attention to such matters is ridiculous.

    [We cannot feel certain that Miss W. is correct in saying that her brother’s death took place on the 25th. The East India Register, which ought to be the most correct authority, says that he was killed on the 26th; and in that case his death may have exactly coincided with her vision. There was hard fighting on both days and in some accounts the names of the officers who fell on the two days are grouped without discrimination. Allen’s Indian Mail, however, gives the 25th as the date of Lieutenant W.’s death. If that is right, then the coincidence could only have been exact on the supposition that the date of the vision given in Miss W.’s first account is the correct one.]

    The next case is from Mrs. Hunter, of St. Catherine’s, Linlithgow. It somewhat resembles Mrs. Storie’s case, (p. 370) in the mixture of apparently true perception with foreign or symbolic elements—as though the vision were a scene which a painter or dramatist had framed on facts which he had only once heard hastily described.

    “July 23rd, 1885.

    (141) “I am almost afraid to give particulars about the dream I had, as {i-380} it is now some time ago, and I had not been remembering it much. I wrote to Mr. Hunter [her brother-in-law] at the time, and he has unfortunately not kept my letter, so I must trust to my memory.

    “The date I do not recollect. The time was 2 o’clock, I think. I knew then, as I looked at my watch when I awoke, and Mr. Hunter told me it was just the hour at which the event took place.

    “I thought I was at the Manse, Cockburnspath, where he lives, and I saw Mrs. Hunter evidently ill. She went to her room. I heard the doctor’s trap pass the house, and every one was rushing to get him, but he was gone. My sister-in-law kept calling for me, but I could not reach her. By-and-bye a doctor arrived, and the nurse, a stranger to me, came to my room with an infant. She was putting white satin on the dress, and I remonstrated, saying that was only for dead infants. She replied, ‘And isn’t it right to do it to this one?’ and I looked and saw the child was dead, and I knew it was a boy. I awoke, felt anxious, fell asleep, and again dreamt the same, except, I think, the first part, that of seeing Mrs. Hunter.

    “When I awoke I just remarked to my husband I hoped nothing had gone wrong, and told him my dream during breakfast.

    “Not hearing anything for two days I had almost dismissed all thought of it from my mind, but I was a little surprised to find I had been dreaming a fact.

    “I knew quite well that my sister-in-law expected her confinement [not, however, for two months—see below], but had no misgivings, as she had been so strong before. I had engaged a nurse for her, and she was not the woman I saw in my dream. I knew the assistant who was with the doctor then, but I did not see him in my dream, only I knew it was not Dr. Black.

    “I believe I never fall asleep for any time, however short, without dreaming something or other, consequently I seldom let my dreams trouble me. I am anxious to prevent undue importance being given to my dreams, and I don’t think I ever had one of the kind before, and certainly not since. I have dreamt the same thing more than once, but very rarely, and never in the same night as I did this one.

    “A. HUNTER.”

    In conversation Mrs. Hunter told me that in character and vividness this dream stood out distinctly from the general run of her dreams.

    The following is Dr. Hunter’s corroboration, written on July 30th, 1885:—

    “I have only now, while taking a brief holiday, found time to give you confirmation of the curious dream my wife had on the night of my sister-in-law’s illness. When she awoke in the morning her first remark was ‘I hope nothing serious has happened to Jessie. I have had such a horrid dream about her; I dreamt she had miscarried, and the child was dead.’ This she repeated more than once.

    “GEORGE HUNTER, M.D.”

    The Rev. J. Hunter writes, from the Manse, Cockburnspath, N.B.:—

    “July 24th, 1885.

    “You ask if I can recall the fact of receiving a note from my sister-in-law making mention of her dream. We usually hear from her on the Monday evenings, and it is very possible that she might have mentioned it in such a note; but I am sorry that I cannot definitely recall it. I find from my diary, however, that I met Mrs. Hunter, of Linlithgow, on the {i-381} Tuesday following, in Edinburgh, and went out with her to Linlithgow; and I am perfectly positive that I heard of it on that Tuesday, if not on the night before. I have always regarded it as a strange occurrence, and have no manner of doubt that her dream corresponded, in a large measure, with the actual event. The event took place about 1 o’clock in the morning,

    December 17th, 1882, a Sunday. The baby lived only a minute or two. Mrs. Hunter tells me that she saw Dr. Black, our medical practitioner, drive past her window, and that he was not at home. True enough, Dr. Black was not at home at the time, but on a holiday. It was the assistant, Dr. Basil, who came after the confinement was about over. It was premature, and not expected for about two months. Mrs. Hunter of Linlithgow had arranged with my wife to come here during the confinement [she had attended her on a similar occasion in the previous year], but there was no expectation of it at the time.”

    [It is of course a point against the telepathic explanation, that the person dreamt of was to some extent on Mrs. Hunter’s mind. On the other side we have the very exact coincidence of the dream with an event which was not regarded as imminent, and a considerable amount of correspondence in detail.]

    The next account (which we owe to the kindness of Lieut.-Colonel J. D. Brockman) is from Dr. A. K. Young, J.P., F.R.C.S.I., of The Terrace, Monaghan, Ireland. It is slightly abridged from the original, which we received in November, 1882.

    (142) One Monday night in December, 1836, Dr. Young had the following dream, or, as he would prefer to call it, revelation. He found himself suddenly at the gate of Major N. M.’s avenue, many miles from his home. Close to him were a group of persons, one of them a woman with a basket on her arm, the rest men, four of whom were tenants of his own, while the others were unknown to him. Some of the strangers seemed to be murderously assaulting H. W., one of his tenants, and he interfered.

    “I struck violently at the man on my left, and then with greater violence at the man’s face to my right. Finding to my surprise that I did not knock him down either, I struck again and again, with all the violence of a man frenzied at the sight of my poor friend’s murder. To my great amazement I saw that my arms, although visible to my eye, were without substance; and the bodies of the men I struck at and my own came close together after each blow through the shadowy arms I struck with. My blows were delivered with more extreme violence than I think I ever exerted; but I became painfully convinced of my incompetency. I have no consciousness of what happened, after this feeling of unsubstantiality came upon me.”

    Next morning Dr. Young experienced the stiffness and soreness of violent bodily exercise, and was informed by his wife that in the course of the night he had much alarmed her by striking out again and again with his arms in a terrific manner, ‘as if fighting for his life.’ He in turn informed her of his dream, and begged her to remember the names of those actors in it who were known to him. On the morning of the following day, Wednesday, he received a letter from his agent, who {i-382} resided in the town close to the scene of the dream, informing him that his tenant, H. W., had been found on Tuesday morning at Major N. M.’s gate, speechless and apparently dying from a fracture of the skull, and that there was no trace of the murderers. That night Dr. Young started for the town, and arrived there on Thursday morning. On his way to a meeting of magistrates he met the senior magistrate of that part of the country, and requested him to give orders for the arrest of the three men whom, besides H. W., he had recognised in his dream, and to have them examined separately. [Dr. Young has given us in confidence the names of these four men; and says that to the time of their deaths they never knew the grounds of their arrest.] This was at once done. The three men gave identical accounts of the occurrence, and all named the woman who was with them; she was then arrested, and gave precisely similar testimony. They said that between 11 and 12 on the Monday night they had been walking homewards all together along the road, when they were overtaken by three strangers, two of whom savagely assaulted H. W., while the other prevented his friends from interfering.

    H. W. did not die, but was never the same afterwards; he subsequently emigrated. Of the other parties concerned, the only survivor (except Dr. Young himself) gave an account of the occurrence to the Archdeacon of the district in November, 1881, but varied from the true facts in stating that he had taken the wounded man home in his cart. Had this been the case, he would of course have been called on for his testimony at once.

    The Archdeacon mentioned, now Bishop of Clogher, writes to us:—

    “Knockballymore, Clones.

    “Dec. 14, 1886.

    “I saw Mr. Read [the survivor mentioned by Dr. Young, since deceased] and recollect a conversation with him. I cannot recollect the particulars, but am sure that his statement was confirmatory [of Dr. Young’s account]. The late Mrs. Young often referred to the dream in conversation, and confirmed Mr. Young’s relation.

    “CHAS. W. CLOGHER.”

    An unsuccessful search has been made for some printed record of these facts. Dr. Young tells us that for many years he did not mention his experience except to his wife (now deceased); and in answer to an inquiry whether any independent record of the assault could be procured, he replied:—

    “We had not at that time any local paper to record such an event; and as the attack was not followed by destruction of life, and as there was not any clue to the intended assassins, the occurrence passed into oblivion. I pass the spot where I was conscious of the attack very frequently; and I can point with my finger to within a foot or two of where I fought (shadowy), and the positions of all the parties present. Had not my wife been present and awake when I was so profoundly asleep, and witnessed the amazing and alarming violence of the blows I made, (a matter she spoke of afterwards to me more than once, with terror,) I never could have accounted for the very wretched feeling of weariness, prostration, and pain with which I got from my bed on the next morning.”

    In conversation Dr. Young mentioned that he did not dream much, and never remembered his dreams. This dream was quite unique in his {i-383} experience. His wife’s testimony established the fact that it took place before or about midnight; when she saw him throwing his arms about, she had not herself been asleep.

    We have a case singularly like this in detail, where a gamekeeper dreamt of taking part in an affray with four poachers at the very spot where such an event actually and simultaneously took place. The dream in this case is confirmed as having been described before the reality was known; but is too directly in the beaten track of the dreamer’s waking ideas to be presented as a parallel to the foregoing narrative.

    The following account is from Mrs. Manifold, of Barnaboy, Frankford, King’s County, Ireland, and was obtained through the kindness of the Rev. J. B. Keene, of Navan.

    “January, 1884.

    (143) “I once dreamt that an uncle (Dr. Hobbs), whom I had not seen for some time, was driving with his wife in a gig, when he was attacked from behind, beaten, and left on the roadside. The next morning I told my dream to my sister, who had been sleeping in the same room, and we thought no more of it till the afternoon, when a horse messenger came 30 miles to tell my father his brother had been beaten to death. The circumstances were exactly as I had dreamt, but he did not die then, and is still alive in America.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Manifold writes on Feb. 5, 1884:—

    “I delayed answering yours of the 28th January, as I had written to ask a lady whom I thought might have remembered my having told my dream, relative to my uncle’s accident, before we had heard of it, but she does not remember; and my sister, to whom I alluded, has been dead some years. I am not in the habit of dreaming of distressing things, but have on other occasions dreamt of persons and things I had not seen or thought of for a long time, and soon after have heard from or heard some thing particular of. Dr. Hobbs was dragged from his gig, beaten on the road, and thrown into a bog hole, supposed to be dead, near the town of Borrisokane, Co. Tipperary, I think about the year 1846. I was at the time unmarried, living at Green Hill, Frankford, 22 miles apart, and had no previous knowledge of any ill-feeling towards him, or anything to lead me to suppose such treatment would be likely to occur. I wish I could have given you more satisfactory testimony, but under the circumstances am unable to do so.

    “J. MANIFOLD.”

    Mrs. Hobbs, writing from London, Ontario, on Feb. 1, 1886, has sent us a description of the savage attack on her husband, which took place about 7 or 8 p.m. on April 12, 1845.

    We find an account of the accident in the Nenagh Guardian for April 16th, 1845—which completely agrees with the above. Two of Dr. Hobbs’ assailants were identified, and sentenced to transportation.

    In conversation Mrs. Manifold mentioned that, as soon as the news of the outrage arrived, her sister (since deceased) turned to her and exclaimed, “Your dream!” The dream, she says, was of an unusually vivid and {i-384} pictorial kind, as is shown by the fact that she gave a description of the road

    which she had seen to one of the men who went to her uncle’s assistance, and was informed by him that it corresponded with the reality. But such assertion of correspondence, unless details are given, is of course not a point on which any stress can be laid.

    The next account, which first appeared in a letter in the Religio-Philosophical Journal, is from Dr. Bruce, of Micanopy, Fla., U.S.A. The case might have been reserved as “collective,” but for the fact that one of the dreams, though vivid and alarming, was probably not so distinctive as was afterwards imagined, and moreover was possibly dreamt on the night preceding that on which the tragic event took place (see p. 140).

    “February 17th, 1884.

    (144) “On Thursday, the 27th of December last, I returned from Gainesville (12 miles from here) to my orange grove, near Micanopy. I have only a small plank house of three rooms at my grove, where I spend most of my time when the grove is being cultivated. There was no one in the house but myself at the time, and being somewhat fatigued with my ride, I retired to my bed very early, probably 6 o’clock; and, as I am frequently in the habit of doing, I lit my lamp on a stand by the bed for the purpose of reading. After reading a short time, I began to feel a little drowsy, put out the light, and soon fell asleep. Quite early in the night I was awakened. I could not have been asleep very long, I am sure. I felt as if I had been aroused intentionally, and at first thought someone was breaking into the house. I looked from where I lay into the other two rooms (the doors of both being open) and at once recognised where I was, and that there was no ground for the burglar theory; there being nothing in the house to make it worth a burglar’s time to come after.

    “I then turned on my side to go to sleep again, and immediately felt a consciousness of a presence in the room, and singular to state, it was not the consciousness of a live person, but of a spiritual presence. This may provoke a smile, but I can only tell you the facts as they occurred to me. I do not know how to better describe my sensations than by simply stating that I felt a consciousness of a spiritual presence. This may have been a part of the dream, for I felt as if I were dozing off again to sleep; but it was unlike any dream I ever had.1 1 I have more than once pointed out (pp. 198–9, 301, 320) how irrelevant to cases where the dream is of a very exceptional or unique character is the ordinary argument that dreams, from their number, afford limitless scope for accidental coincidences of a striking kind. I felt also at the same time a strong feeling of superstitious dread, as if something strange and fearful were about to happen. I was soon asleep again or unconscious, at any rate, to my surroundings. Then I saw two men engaged in a slight scuffle; one fell fatally wounded—the other immediately disappeared. I did not see the gash in the wounded man’s throat, but knew that his throat was cut. I did not recognise him, either, as my brother-in-law. I saw him lying with his hands under him, his head turned slightly to the left, his feet close together. I could, from the position in which I stood, see but {i-385} a small portion of his face; his coat, collar, hair or something partly obscured it. I looked at him the second time a little closer to see if I could make out who it was. I was aware it was someone I knew, but still could not recognise him. I turned, and then saw my wife sitting not far from him. She told me she could not leave until he was attended to. (I had got a letter a few days previously from my wife, telling me she would leave in a day or two, and was expecting every day a letter or telegram, telling me when to meet her at the depôt.) My attention was struck by the surroundings of the dead man. He appeared to be lying on an elevated platform of some kind, surrounded by chairs, benches, and desks, reminding me somewhat of a school-room. Outside of the room in which he was lying was a crowd of people, mostly females some of whom I thought I knew. Here my dream terminated. I awoke again about midnight; got up and went to the door to see if there were any prospects of rain; returned to my bed again, and lay there until nearly daylight before falling asleep again. I thought of my dream and was strongly impressed by it. All strange, superstitious feelings had passed off.

    “It was not until a week or 10 days after this that I got a letter from my wife, giving me an account of her brother’s death. Her letter, which was written the day after his death, was mis-sent. The account she gave me of his death tallies most remarkably with my dream. Her brother was with a wedding party at the depôt at Markham station, Fauquier Co., Va. He went into a store near by to see a young man who kept a bar-room near the depôt, with whom he had some words. He turned and left the man, and walked out of the store. The bar-room keeper followed him out, and without further words deliberately cut his throat. It was a most brutal and unprovoked murder. My brother-in-law had on his overcoat, with the collar turned up. The knife went through the collar and clear to the bone. He was carried into the store and laid on the counter, near a desk and show case. He swooned from loss of blood soon after being cut. The cutting occurred early Thursday night, December 27th. He did not die, however, until almost daylight, Saturday morning.

    “I have not had a complete account of my sister-in-law’s dream. She was visiting a young lady, a cousin, in Kentucky. They slept together Friday night, I think, the night of her brother’s death. She dreamed of seeing a man with his throat cut, and awoke very much alarmed. She awoke her cousin, and they got up and lighted the lamp and sat up until daylight. That day she received a telegram announcing her brother’s death.

    “I cannot give you any certain explanation of these dreams. I do not believe that they are due to ordinary causes, but to causes of which science does not at present take cognisance.

    “WALTER BRUCE.”

    In reply to inquiries, Dr. Bruce writes, on July 9th, 1884:—

    “I have never had another dream similar to the one related in the letter. I have at times had dreams that were vivid, or from some cause impressed themselves upon my mind for a time, such as anyone would be likely to have. I cannot call to mind, though, any of special importance, or with any bearing upon the dream in question.

    {i-386}

    “I did not mention the dream to any one before receiving the letter confirming it. I live in rather a retired place in the country, and if I saw any one during that time, to whom I would care to relate the dream, it did not occur to me to do so.

    “You ask me how my wife knew of the circumstances of her brother’s death. She was visiting her relatives in Va. at the time, and was present when her brother died.”

    The following account is from Dr. Bruce’s sister-in-law, Mrs. Stubbing:—

    “March 28th, 1885.

    “Whilst in Kentucky on a visit, in the year 1883, I had a dream, in which I saw two persons—one with his throat cut. I could not tell who it was, though I knew it was somebody that I knew, and as soon as I heard of my brother’s death, I said at once that I knew it was he that I had seen murdered in my dream; and though I did not hear how my brother died, I told my cousin, whom I was staying with, that I knew he had been murdered. This dream took place on Thursday or Friday night, I do not remember which. I saw the exact spot where he was murdered, and just as it happened.

    “ANNIE STUBBING.”

    (“The Thursday and Friday night mentioned in this account are December 26th and 27th, [27th and 28th,] 1883. It was upon the Thursday night my dream occurred.—WALTER BRUCE.”)

    In reply to questions, Mrs. Stubbing says:—

    “Yes, I saw one man cut the other. The wound was told to me to be just like what I had seen in my dream. I received a telegram announcing the death of my brother on Saturday morning. No, I never had any such dream as that before.”

    As a last example, I will quote in its entirety an account of a series of these quasi-clairvoyant impressions, occurring to a single percipient in connection with the same agent. The narrative is from Mrs. Vatas-Simpson, now residing at New Town, near Brisbane. Though parts of it may appear fanciful and subjective, cross-examination made it hard to doubt that these dreams, and others closely corresponding with facts, took place before the facts were known. But in the absence of written records, mere stray fragments have survived.

    “82, Akerman Road, Brixton.

    “September, 1884.

    (145) “My eldest son and firstborn child left me to go to Australia in 1851. The compact between us was that at a certain time we were mutually to think of each other every day. He arranged the hours for himself, which arrangement caused my hours to be from 2 a.m. until 4 a.m. He did not appear to notice that it might interfere with my

    night’s rest, nor did I say so, but most truly can I state as a fact, that during all these years there has not been one night that I have not been awake at the time specified; in sickness, under the power of soporifics, or weary from exhausted activity, still I started up as the hour arrived. This may, perhaps, in some measure account for the close communion we have had {i-387} together, for not only have I seen him and been with him, but have heard the words he uttered.

    (1) “I saw my son on his horse in a wild part of the country, and saw him dash into a foaming torrent. The horse could with difficulty stem the turbid river, and my son kept cheering him on by word and hand. After struggling on for some time I saw them land safely on the banks of the stream, and my son put his face against the neck of his horse for a few minutes, the noble creature returning the caress, panting and dripping as he was. Then my son looked round at me, and said, distinctly, ‘Mother, mother, he has saved me.’ That was all, but a letter coming in due course as usual, told me of this incident, and the exact words my son said when he felt himself once again on terra firma. So our spirits had held communion.

    (2) “I saw my son on an open plain. He kept looking at me. He took from his baggage some articles of clothing, spread them out, shook his head, and put them down, then looked at me; I mean by that, he looked up from the shirt or socks he had in his hands as though he gazed afar off. After disposing of these things in various ways, and seeming to be in deep thought, he slowly put them away again and started on his journey across country.

    “The letter came saying, ‘Oh! mother dear, that I had your precious industrious fingers to mend my things for me, my socks and flannels, and sew on my buttons,’ then narrating exactly what he had done on the wide plains, thus confirming in every particular my vision of him. He had travelled from Melbourne to Carpentaria, on foot and on horseback.

    (3) “I saw my son nursing a little child, then dash over the plains on horseback without a hat, then dig a hole and place with much care, and very slowly, something in it, then kneel down and with his hands slowly fill the hole with earth. He had a book from which he appeared to be reading, which, by-the-bye, I thought very remarkable. He slowly and with much solemnity left the spot, book in hand, but did not turn to look at me.

    “Then came the letter. On the wild sheep plains he was living with a man and his wife and little children. His pet was taken ill. He mounted horse to go 16 miles for doctor—too late! his little favourite was dead. He dug the grave himself, and with his own hands put the little child into its last resting-place, and with prayer-book in hand read a portion at the grave.

    (4) “I saw my son in a stream of flowing water. He now and then sank down out of view, but came to the surface again. It was a very distressing dream to me, because I saw two black objects near him and feared they were chasing him. I was much troubled.

    “The letter from him gave me an account of the swimming across a river, accompanied by two blacks, who were travelling the same way.

    “Then came a period of distress to me, because I felt that something had come between my son and me. At the usual time for dwelling upon his love for me, and his loving remembrance of all he had promised, I found an obstacle of some sort. It grieved me sadly. I could not understand it. Someone always stood between us; a shadow was always hovering about. I saw him in a cloud, or a mist rose between us, or he passed from me looking back at me. There was no longer any communion. My daughters {i-388} found something distressed me, and I told them that I feared for their brother Alfred. They tried to keep me contented, but I felt deserted. The letter came. He was married; and never since have I been blessed by having communion with him.”

    [Mrs. Simpson has explained in conversation that there was not the slightest breach of affection; only these peculiar communications ceased.]

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Simpson adds:—

    “I have never at any time made a secret of my constant communion with my loved son. All my family have heard my dreams, as they took place—often at the very time—and then have seen the corroboration of them when my letters arrived from Queensland. I have no letters in my possession, though they are only lately destroyed. Could I have foreseen the future, as it is now, I should most certainly have preserved a record of all events, with the dates.

    “The dreams are purely matters of recollection. I fancy that I never wrote them, as I was very often suffering at the time. But they were always related to one or more of the family at the time they occurred.

    “In my last to Ada [her daughter], I asked her as to my dreams, and she sends a few lines, which I copy from her letter:—

    “‘With regard to your dreams I am not very clear, but I remember, when we were at Shanklin, you dreamt that something happened to Alfred, and there was water, and something dark kept close to him. That is all I remember of the dream. You told Mary and me about it, and you wrote it down, and said we should hear something more about it. In my heart I thought it stuff. However, by the next mail came a letter, saying that on such a day, giving the date and hour, Alfred was on horseback (I think), and something happened to the horse, and he would have been drowned but for some black men, who rescued and took care of him. It is years since I thought of it, but once set off, I daresay more would come to me.’

    “Accept this at what it is worth. You see she has combined two of my dreams.”

    The following is an extract from the only letter of the son’s bearing on these experiences that can be found; it refers to the third case.

    “I arranged for the funeral this afternoon. My poor horse suffered, as you may suppose, hard riding. Twenty-third. Three times rode to Roma—18 miles and more before 1 p.m.; then we started to the burial ground. … I put Willy into his coffin, and into his grave. As a baby I nursed him to sleep, and into his cradle; now I went down into his grave, and drew the ropes from under, so that he was not shaken. A sad day’s work.”

    This may conclude, for the present, the subject of dreams. If with respect to some of the cases cited I have used expressions implying that we may regard them as pretty certainly telepathic, this is on the understanding, as I have explained, that telepathy is established independently of them. But though this branch of evidence can scarcely be in itself conclusive, the study of it will materially assist our future progress.

    {i-389}

    CHAPTER IX.

    “BORDERLAND” CASES.

    § 1. IN the cases of the last chapter, the percipient, at the moment of percipience, was distinctly asleep. But the passage from sleep to waking admits of many degrees; and a very interesting group of cases remain which cannot properly be classed as dreams, and yet which do not appertain to seasons of complete normal wakefulness. The discussion of these experiences, which occur on the borderland of sleeping and waking, will form the natural transition to the waking phenomena with which we shall be occupied during the remainder of our course. The whole set of cases in which telepathic impressions take a sensory form really belong to one large genus; whatever the state of the percipient may be, percepts or quasi-percepts which are not originated by anything within the normal range of his sense-organs are and must be hallucinations. For convenience, however, that term is confined to waking experiences, for which there is no other designation. Accordingly, as I have before spoken of veridical dreams, I shall in future have to speak of veridical hallucinations; and we are now to take the step which leads from the one class to the other.

    There are certain reasons why this borderland might be expected to be rich in telepathic phenomena. An impression from a distant mind may or may not originate a sensory hallucination; but if it does so, this seems more specially likely to occur at any season, or in any state of the organism, which happens to be favourable to sensory hallucinations in general. Now the state between sleeping and waking has this character. Persons who have never had hallucinations of the senses at any other times, have experienced them in the moments which immediately precede, or immediately follow, actual sleep. And though neither form of experience is common, an examination of a number of instances seems to show that conditions {i-390} which come nearest to those of sleep are more favourable than those of ordinary waking life, for the bodying forth of subjective phantasms.1 1 The same seems to hold good in distinctly morbid cases. (See Dr. Pick’s remarks in the Vienna Jahrbuch für Psychiatrie for 1880, Vol. ii., p. 50.) Dr. Maudsley says that, in recovery from chronic alcoholism, the hallucinations continue to occur between sleeping and

    waking, when they have ceased to occur at other times. (The Pathology of Mind, p. 485.)

    Of the hallucinations which precede sleep, the best-known class have received the name of “illusions hypnagogiques.” They have been carefully described by Müller, Maury, and other writers, who have themselves experienced them. For the most part they seem to begin with an appearance of bright points and streaks, which then form a more or less complicated pattern, or develop into a scene or landscape.2 2 See some excellent examples in the next chapter, p. 474, note. In these cases, it is probable that the origin of the phenomena is a slightly abnormal condition of the retina, and that elements of actual sensation from this peripheral source form the basis of the phantasmagoria which the mind elaborates. But there is another form, involving no peculiarity of the external organ, where some object that has been actually seen during the day seems to reappear before the eyes with all the vividness of reality. Maury gives a case of an “after-image” of the sort, which well exemplifies the stage between reality and dream. After a fatiguing day, his eyes had been gladdened by the sight of a beefsteak, which was to form his dinner. After dinner he became drowsy; and in this state he had a distinct vision of this very steak, apparently as real and palpable as ever. Lapsing then into actual sleep, he had a vivid dream, in which the steak again reappeared. Here it is clear that the “hypnagogic” hallucination was as truly the projection of the percipient’s own mind as the dream.

    The hallucinations which immediately follow sleep are not infrequently the result of a previous dream, some feature of which is prolonged into waking moments, and becomes temporarily located among the objects that meet the eye. An Oxford undergraduate tells me that, having had a very vivid dream of being chased by a figure in green, he woke and saw the green figure in the middle of his room. “I had no doubt that I was awake, for I saw the light from the street lamp shining on my door. The figure was not in this light but nearer the bed, and the green tinge was very perceptible.” The Rev. E. H. Sugden, of Bradford, writes to me: “Once I had a most {i-391} vivid dream about a man whom I knew well. On suddenly waking, I saw him, in the light of early morning, standing at my bedside in the very attitude of the dream. I looked at him for a second or two, and then putting my foot out, I kicked at him; as my foot reached him, he vanished.” Another informant had a dream, in the train, of looking at her watch, and on waking saw the dial before her eyes “larger than the real one, and blue: after a few moments it flickered and went out like a candle.” In these cases the impression was scarcely more than momentary; but other informants—among them Professor Balfour Stewart—have told me of similar experiences of their own which lasted a good many seconds; and in the stock example of the books, the dream-baboon remained grinning in a corner even while the percipient was sufficiently himself to walk across the room—a striking illustration of the psychological identity of the dreaming and the waking image.1 1 An attempt to ascertain the frequency of such experiences formed part of the statistical inquiry mentioned in the last chapter. But unfortunately, I cannot record an exact result. The question as first asked was—Have you experienced dream-images which persist into waking moments?—but on making further inquiry of a good many of the persons who answered “yes,” I found that they had not understood persist to mean persist as visible objects. After these words were introduced, very few yeses were received; and I think it would be safe to say that the persons who can recall such a visible persistence do not amount to 1 per cent. of the population.

    More striking are the cases where the images, though immediately following sleep, are not a continuance of a dream, or at any rate of a dream of which the slightest memory survives. Of course these experiences may not all have been hallucinations in the strict sense, but only misinterpretations of actual sensation—that is to say, some article of furniture or real object in the room may have served as the basis for the delusive image; and momentary illusions of this sort are perhaps not very uncommon.2 2 For instance, Mr. Paul Bird, of 39, Strand, Calcutta, tells me that some years ago he woke, and saw a native standing against the wall, who on being regarded sank into a squatting posture. “I jumped out of bed, caught the intruder by the throat, and found he was a dirty linen bag, with the neck tied. Not till I actually clutched the neck was I convinced.” Mr. Merrifield, of 24, Vernon Terrace, Brighton—with whom figures seen on waking last long enough for him “to reason that though I have been mistaken before, there can be no mistake this time, and to insist upon this to my wife, who remonstrates”—says, “If there is any light object in the room, or any dress or polished piece of furniture on which the light falls, my figure generally shapes itself about that.” Even a persistent dream-image may attach itself to an external basis. Thus Miss I. Bidder, of Ravensbury Park, Mitcham, tells me of a nightmare from which a most distinct demon survived after she woke. She sat up to inspect its hand, which was clutching the bed-rail; but “it faded into the ornaments over the mantel-piece.” We may regard as the lowest grade of such illusion the impression of waking among unknown surroundings. Thus one correspondent tells me that she has “watched the room gradually take its usual form, which on first waking had been some place quite different.” And another informant writes: “The room I apparently woke in was a large room, with the chief space between the foot of the bed and the opposite boundary wall, which looked an immense way off, and the light did not appear to come in at the right place, though on the same side of the room as the window really was. I lay and pondered, feeling as if there was something inexplicable in the place, sure that I was wide awake. As I wondered, all the strangeness of the room and the added space vanished, and I found myself again in a small, narrow room, with the wall almost close to the bottom of the bed.” But even so, the mind has imposed {i-392} its own creation from within on what met the eye from without; and such cases, therefore, still bear out my point, that the tendency to externalise and objectify mental images is strongest at one special season of waking life. Of 302 cases of hallucinations of sight (exclusive of those given as telepathic evidence in this book), of which I have collected first-hand accounts during the last three years, as many as 43—that is, a seventh of the whole number—have taken place during the first few moments after waking. It is equally noteworthy that of the remainder, 66, making in all more than a third of the whole number, occurred to persons who were in bed—a proportion far in excess of that which the number of waking minutes spent in bed bears to the total number of waking minutes. Few of these cases, moreover, were of a character that would allow us to class them as illusions hypnagogiques. They did not visit persons who were familiar with such visions as sleep approached; nor did they originate or develop in any way that suggests an unusual or fatigued condition of the retina. Nor again could by any means all of them be explained, like M. Maury’s beefsteak, as “after-images”—revivals of past impressions; for out of the 43 cases first mentioned only 23, out of the 66 other cases only 26, represented a face, form, or object that was recognised; while in several even of these cases the person whose figure appeared was a deceased friend or relative who had not been actually seen for months or years. Similarly, of 187 first-hand cases of auditory hallucination in my collection, 63, or more than one third of the whole number, took place in bed. Of these, 19 are described as either awakening the person, or occurring in the very first moment of waking, and in 10 of the 19 the sound was a recognised voice; of the remaining 44, 17 were unrecognised voices, 11 were non-vocal sounds such as ringings and knocks, and only 16 represented recognised voices. It would seem, then, that the reasons which make bed a specially favourable place for such experiences are to be sought, not only in peculiarities of the sense-organs at the moments immediately contiguous to sleep, but in the more general conditions of quiet and passivity, of a comparatively anæmic brain, and of the partial lapse of the higher directive psychical activities. We cannot, I think, safely reckon {i-393} darkness as among these conditions, as a large proportion of the cases have occurred when the room was light—for instance, in the early hours of a summer morning.

    § 2. At any rate, bed being—from whatever causes—a place favourable to phantasms, it is reasonable to surmise that it may be a place favourable to the phenomena with which we are concerned in this book—the phantasms that coincide with reality. And such, in fact, it proves to be. Considering how small a portion of our waking life is included in the few moments after waking from sleep, or even in the short periods of wakefulness that normal healthy parsons pass in bed, it is remarkable how large a proportion of our veridical examples (a number little less than the total of dreams, and amounting to about a fourth of the externalised waking cases,) fall within these seasons. And regarded as evidence of telepathy, it will be seen that these cases stand on an altogether different footing from the dream-cases proper with which they have seemed in one way so closely allied. Dreams, as we saw, are so frequent and various as to afford an immense scope for accidental coincidences; it is far otherwise with these borderland impressions, or at any rate with those of them which the perceiver himself is able clearly to differentiate from dreams. If I have called them the commonest form of waking hallucination among sane and healthy people, this is not to be understood as meaning that they are absolutely common; on the contrary, they are decidedly exceptional. Out of 5569 persons, taken at random, I find that only 18 are able to recall having within the last twelve years had a visual experience, and only 23 an auditory experience, of this kind.1 1 I may explain that the statistics about hallucinations, of which use was made on the preceding page, were not the result of inquiries addressed to a known and limited number of persons, but of testimony which has reached me in the more general course of psychological investigation. For the purpose then in view—namely, to ascertain the proportion which “borderland” hallucinations bear to hallucinations in general—statistics thus drawn from an unlimited circle are of course in place. But it is quite a different matter when we wish to discover how common the phenomena are, in the sense of discovering what proportion of people have had experience of them. The only way, then, is to make a definite inquiry on the subject, of a certain number of persons, large enough to be accepted as a fair sample of the population. This method of numerical inquiry was exemplified to some extent in the discussion on dreams; but I am reserving for a separate chapter (Chap. xiii., at the beginning of Vol. ii.) the more detailed account of it, and of its bearing on the theory that the coincidences on which stress is laid in this book were due not to telepathy but to chance. If then we find a considerable number of cases where an experience of the sort has coincided with the death (or some distinct crisis in the life) of the person whose presence the hallucination suggested, the fact is at once noteworthy; and the {i-394} number of such coincidences that we can adduce forms a strong and independent proof—far stronger, at any rate, than was afforded by our list of coincident dreams—that telepathy and not accident is the explanation of them. Nor is the comparatively small number of persons who have experience of distinct “borderland” hallucinations the only point wherein this class is superior in evidential force to dreams. We can here, as a rule, be far more certain that the particular impression recorded was really of a sort unique or highly exceptional in the particular percipient’s experience. This unique character is, no doubt, as we have seen, often asserted of dreams proper which afterwards prove to have coincided with reality. But there we lacked complete assurance that similar dreams which did not coincide with reality had not slipped out of memory. The impressions to be described in this chapter, on the other hand, have a character and an intensity which would ordinarily ensure their being remembered, even if no coincidence were established. Many of them, indeed, seem to have been distinctly waking impressions, belonging to a state of open eyes and alert senses, which was continued into normal waking life without any break or any feeling of change whatever. Still, as they occurred to persons who were in bed, and at seasons when the faculties are apt to be in an unstable condition, and when the stages of consciousness from moment to moment may be hard to define, it is safest to distinguish them from similar phenomena occurring during active waking hours, no less than from those of sleep.1[☼] 1 Since we make so broad an evidential distinction between these “borderland” impressions and dreams, it is clearly incumbent on us to treat doubtful cases in the way least favourable to our argument, and to refer them to the dream-class. Thus in the well-known apparition-case recorded in Isaak Walton’s Life of Dr. Donne, it is very probable that Dr. Donne, who had been left alone after dinner, was dozing. So, when the word vision is used, without special mention that the percipient was awake, we are bound to assume that he was asleep. This would exclude such a case as Ben Jonson’s “vision” of his son, “with a bloodie cross upon his forehead,” which synchronised with the child’s death at a distance by the plague, as narrated by Drummond of Hawthornden. For taken as a dream, the experience, occurring at what was very possibly a time of anxiety, would not afford a sufficiently remarkable coincidence. I may quote at once a case which illustrates the immense importance to the argument of distinguishing the experiences of the “borderland” from those of sleep. The following passage occurs in the Life and Times of Lord Brougham, written by himself (1871), pp. 201–3, and was originally an entry in his journal. The entry must apparently have been made very soon after the occurrence which it describes; as we can scarcely doubt that had the fact of his friend’s death, which he learnt soon afterwards, been known to him at the time of writing, he would have included it in the accouut.

    {i-395}

    In December, 1799, Lord Brougham was travelling in Sweden with friends.

    (146) “We set out for Gothenburg, [apparently on December 18th] determining to make for Norway. About 1 in the morning, arriving at a decent inn, we decided to stop for the night. Tired with the cold of yesterday, I was glad to take advantage of a hot bath before I turned in, and here a most remarkable thing happened to me—so remarkable that I must tell the story from the beginning.

    “After I left the High School, I went with G., my most intimate friend, to attend the classes in the University. There was no divinity class, but we frequently in our walks discussed and speculated upon many grave subjects—among others, on the immortality of the soul, and on a future state. This question, and the possibility, I will not say of ghosts walking, but of the dead appearing to the living, were subjects of much speculation: and we actually committed the folly of drawing up an agreement, written with our blood, to the effect that whichever of us died the first should appear to the other, and thus solve any doubts we had entertained of the ‘life after death.’1 1 As to compacts of this sort see Vol. ii., p. 66. After we had finished our classes at the college, G. went to India, having got an appointment there in the Civil Service. He seldom wrote to me, and after the lapse of a few years I had almost forgotten him; moreover, his family having little connection with Edinburgh, I seldom saw or heard anything of them, or of him through them, so that all his schoolboy intimacy had died out, and I had nearly forgotten his existence. I had taken, as I have said, a warm bath, and while lying in it and enjoying the comfort of the heat, after the late freezing I had undergone, I turned my head round, looking towards the chair on which I had deposited my clothes, as I was about to get out of the bath. On the chair sat G., looking calmly at me. How I got out of the bath I know not, but on recovering my senses I found myself sprawling on the floor. The apparition, or whatever it was, that had taken the likeness of G., had disappeared.

    “This vision produced such a shock that I had no inclination to talk about it or to speak about it even to Stuart; but the impression it made upon me was too vivid to be easily forgotten; and so strongly was I affected by it that I have here written down the whole history, with the date, 19th December, and all the particulars, as they are now fresh before me. No doubt I had fallen asleep; and that the appearance presented so distinctly to my eyes was a dream, I cannot for a moment doubt; yet for years I had had no communication with G., nor had there been anything to recall him to my recollection; nothing had taken place during our Swedish travels either connected with G. or with India, or with anything relating to him or to any member of his family. I recollected quickly enough our old discussion and the bargain we had made. I could not discharge from my mind the

    impression that G. must have died, and that his appearance to me was to be received by me as a proof of a future state, yet all the while I felt convinced that the whole was a dream; and so painfully vivid, so {i-396} unfading was the impression, that I could not bring myself to talk of it, or to make the slightest allusion to it.”

    In October, 1862, Lord Brougham added as a postcript:—

    “I have just been copying out from my journal the account of this strange dream: Certissima mortis imago! the very image of death [Thomas Warton, from an inscription on a statue of Sleep] And now to finish the story, begun about 60 years since. Soon after my return to Edinburgh, there arrived a letter from India, announcing G.’s death, and stating that he had died on the 19th of December!

    “Singular coincidence! yet when one reflects on the vast numbers of dreams which night after night pass through our brains, the number of coincidences between the vision and the event are perhaps fewer and less remarkable than a fair calculation of chances would warrant us to expect. Nor is it surprising, considering the variety of our thoughts in sleep, and that they all bear some analogy to the affairs of life, that a dream should sometimes coincide with a contemporaneous or even with a future event. This is not much more wonderful than that a person, whom we had no reason to expect, should appear to us at the very moment we have been thinking or speaking of him. So common is this, that it has for ages grown into the proverb, ‘Speak of the devil.’ I believe every such seeming miracle is, like every ghost story, capable of explanation.”

    Lord Brougham’s evidence in a matter of this kind cannot be fairly impugned on the ground that his character for public veracity was not always above suspicion. He clearly took no special pride or pleasure in the incident, and he advances a thoroughly rationalistic explanation of it. But of course the long interval which elapsed between his hearing of the date of the death and his recording it in writing greatly diminishes the evidential value of the case. I quote it rather for the sake of the important fallacy in the concluding remarks.

    Lord Brougham, we see, rests his view that the coincidence in his case was accidental on the “vast number of dreams.” But was his experience a dream? This is no mere question of a name. Let us make the supposition that no death had occurred, and that the experience remained one which there is not even a primâ facie excuse for surmising to be anything but purely subjective: does it thereby subside at once into the general ruck of dream-experiences? Is it indistinguishable in intensity and character from those countless multitudes, of which it would be true and relevant to say that the scope afforded by them for chance-coincidences is practically unlimited? We can but accept what Lord Brougham himself has told us, and answer these questions by an emphatic negative. The complete consciousness of the real place and time, the intention to get out of the bath, the percipient’s sense of his own actual posture {i-397} when he caught sight of the figure, and the whole detail of the account, are all very unlike ordinary dreaming. But apart from such points as these, is it a well-known result of an ordinary dream that the dreamer, on recovering his senses, finds himself “sprawling on the floor”? On waking from an ordinary dream, are we wont to remark, as a point of interest, that “the apparition has disappeared”? Is it characteristic of an ordinary dream to be so painfully vivid and unfading that the dreamer cannot bring himself to make the slightest allusion to it? Call such an experience a dream, or call it (as we should do) a “borderland” hallucination—the only relevant question is, how often does its like occur? In Lord Brougham’s own long life, at any rate, it was unique and unparalleled. In arguing, therefore, that the coincidence was not so very remarkable after all, because “dreams” are so numerous and various that one of them here and there is likely by chance to strike on truth, he makes himself the slave of a word. The instance is instructive, as showing the tendency of prepossessions, however legitimate and scientific in themselves, to lead on to illegitimacies of procedure. Lord Brougham is rightly certain that his experience is not supernatural—is “capable of explanation”; and then, as the only natural explanation that occurs to him is chance, he becomes equally certain that that must be the right one, wrests facts into conformity with it, and refers a very uncommon thing to a class of very common things.

    § 3. To come, however, to our own collection—before introducing the characteristic sensory cases, I will quote a couple of “borderland” examples of the more ideal type which has been prominent in the preceding chapters. In the first case, the transferred impression (if such it was) did not even suggest an idea to the percipient until it actually took shape in an exclamation of her own. The narrator’s family dislike the subject, and her name is accordingly suppressed.

    “December 22nd, 1883.

    (147) “Two years ago my son was ill in Durban, Natal. I was told by his medical attendant, who is also my son-in-law, that the illness was serious, but I had no reason to suppose it was expected to end fatally. Of course, I, his mother, was anxious; but there came better accounts, and at last a letter from my son himself. He spoke of being really stronger, expressed regret at his enforced long silence, and added he hoped now to write regularly again. The load was lifted from my mind, and I remarked I felt happier than I had done for months. At this time I too was ill, and had a trained nurse with me. A few nights after the receipt of the letter, I thought I had been lying awake, and requiring to call my nurse who {i-398} was in my room, I sat up in bed and called loudly, ‘Edward, Edward.’ I was roused by nurse answering, ‘I fear, ma’am, your son will not be able to come to you.’ I tried to laugh it off, but a chill struck to my heart. I noted the hour, 3.40 on Sunday morning. Without mentioning my fears, I recounted the incident to my daughters, but I looked for the bad news to come, and on Monday received the cable message, ‘Edward died last night.’ Subsequently letters named the hour as being identical with that in which I had involuntarily sent forth my cry for my loved son. [This is not quite correct.] His sister, Mrs. C., in writing to me, said, ‘O! mother, his one crave was for you, and to the last moment the yearning he had for you seemed to dwell in his eyes.’ I may add we were more than even mother and son usually are to one another. I believe in that one moment our souls were permitted to meet, and I thank God for the memory of that hour.

    “C. E. K.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. K. says that her son had had delicate health, and “for years I used to get up through the night and listen to his breathing, and lived in the constant apprehension of learning sudden bad news if he were out of my sight.” She adds, “No doubt I was thinking of him, but not painfully, for I had had his letter, and I thought he was getting well. It certainly was not a dream—I sat up in bed to call my nurse, when, to my surprise1 1 The reader who has studied the records of automatic phenomena in Chap ii., §§ 12 and 13, will not find it specially surprising that a telepathic impression should manifest itself in an involuntary utterance of this sort. and, for an instant, amusement, I uttered the cry, ‘Edward, Edward.’ The great point is, of course, whether the hour was exactly that of his death. My son died during the night, or rather, early in the morning, of Sunday, August 28th, 1881. During that same night I uttered my cry to him. It was the only time in my life that anything of the kind took place. I never talked in my sleep, nor had any experience the least like this before or since.”

    The following is from Mrs. K.’s daughter:—

    “January 23rd, 1884.

    “I remember that on the morning of the 29th August my mother told me of the curious coincidence of which she has written to you. She told me when I went into her room the first thing, and the nurse was also in her room.

    “E. E. K.”

    It having been pointed out to Mrs. K. that her daughter said the 29th, not the 28th, of August, she explains:—

    “My daughter, E. E. K., says I told her of my cry in the morning of the day after I uttered it; of course, it was therefore on the 28th that everything occurred. In writing to you she did not realise that the death and my cry were both after midnight, and simply writing from memory, put the 29th, as being the day after the 28th. There is no doubt Edward’s death and my cry occurred during the night of the 27th, or rather in the early morning of the 28th.”

    2 2 This is not very clearly expressed; but there seems little doubt that the cry took place on Sunday morning, August 28th, and was mentioned to E. E. K. a few hours later.

    {i-399}

    Mrs. K. kindly wrote to another daughter at Durban, to make sure of the exact time of the death; and quotes the following passage from the reply:—

    “Edward died at 20 minutes before 5 a.m.; his watch was just beside him, and as he drew his last breath, I looked at the time and said, ‘Mother will be awake! how will she bear it?’” The writer adds that her husband’s entry in his diary for August 28th, 1881, is, “Ned died 4.40 a.m.”

    Allowing for longitude the cry here followed the death by about an hour. Mrs. K.’s preoccupation with her son’s condition is, of course, a weak point in the evidence: on the other hand she is very certain of the uniqueness of the experience. If the case was telepathic, its peculiar nature would strikingly support the view already advanced, that a telepathic impression may be produced below the threshold of consciousness. And on that view the slight deferment of the further effect by which the impression is plainly manifested becomes completely intelligible.

    The next case is very similar to No. 103 (p. 330), but the effect on the percipient is even more unlike that of any ordinary dream. And from the evidential point of view, even those who most strongly realise the scope that the vast number of dreams affords for accidental coincidences, will hesitate to assume that a vast number of boys of 16 get up, dress, and wait for messengers in the middle of the night. The narrative is from a paper called “Man, Trans-Corporeal”—by Dr. C. B. Radcliffe, of 25, Cavendish Square, W.—which appeared in the Contemporary Review for December, 1874.

    (148) “My grandmother, a lady considerably over 70 years of age, resided with my parents, and I was [at the time of the occurrence] staying at a place about 4 miles away from home. Everybody at home was, to all appearance, in good health, and had been so for a long time, and on that particular night I went to bed and fell asleep, without at all divining what was so soon to happen.

    “I have no remembrance of having dreamt, and all I know is that after having slept for a couple of hours, I woke with full conviction that my grandmother had been taken suddenly ill, that a messenger was on his way to fetch me, and that I should not reach home before all was over. A moment or two later I got up, lit a candle, looked at my watch, dressed, and waited at the window in the full belief that my grandmother was then dead and that I should have to go presently; and as I expected, so it was, the messenger arriving just as I was ready to return with him, and the death happening, as it proved afterwards, at the very moment I had looked at my watch. I had not any impression at the time that there was anything supernatural in the way in which the intelligence was thus conveyed to my mind. I remember nothing like a feeling of fear at the time, and I did not (I was a lad of {i-400} not more than 16 years of age) perplex myself with reasoning on the subject.”

    [We find that this incident took place in 1837, and no corroboration is now procurable. In deciding whether to include a case of this degree of remoteness, the intellectual status of the narrator must naturally be a chief consideration. Dr. Radcliffe tells us that it stands out very clearly in his memory, and that everybody who knew him at the time heard of it.]

    § 4. To pass now to definitely sensory cases, I will first quote one which is interesting as a perfect example of an “illusion hypnagogique” suggested apparently by the ideas in a neighbouring mind. Miss Deering, of Louisville, Kentucky, writes to us as follows:—

    “October 18th, 1884.

    (149) “I very distinctly remember that one day, a few years ago, my father lay down for a few minutes, as at that time usual before going to his office in the afternoon. Seated on a stool beside him, and with my left hand enfolded in one of his, I read the book in which I was at the time interested, for 5 or possibly 7 minutes. At the end of that time he turned his face towards me, and seeing that the room was shaded, remarked: ‘Anna, you will injure your eyes reading in this dim light.’ ‘And I do not particularly like this book,’ I responded. I held in my hand a historical novel, the name of which I am sorry I cannot recollect, but I remember vividly that the passage I had just read purported to be one of the last scenes in the life of Marie Antoinette, and I remember as distinctly that in that scene a tall man carried a coffin from a room in which Marie Antoinette and some attendant ladies were at the time standing. I remember that in the story that tall man stood prominently in the foreground, and that my mind was strained under the part he took in that scene almost to the verge of repugnance.

    “In reply to my father’s question why I did not like the book, I replied in substance as in the foregoing, and he immediately told me that he had just seen what I had described, and had opened his eyes and turned his face towards me to dissipate the scene, which for the moment he had looked upon as an isolated phantasm.1 1 A parallel case, where a dream seems to have been suggested by what someone else had been silently reading, is No. 407 in the Supplement.

    “ANNA M. DEERING.”

    Mr. Deering writes:—

    “Louisville, Kentucky, U.S.

    “October 21st, 1884.

    “While I lay with my daughter’s hand in mine, as she relates in the accompanying memoir, I fell into the semi-slumber usual with me on lying down to rest for a few minutes after my luncheon, early in the afternoon. At these times I very seldom fall asleep, but simply into a species of slumber, in which I frequently find myself in a kind of rayless or moonless moonlight, looking, and this usually with serene pleasure, at nearby gardens, slopes, rivulets, and various little vistas, which more times than otherwise vanish at my bidding, and except I fall asleep, are immediately replaced by others. Sometimes these are peopled with {i-401} apparently living figures, and frequently these also dissolve at my bidding and are replaced by others. There is, however, this difference; any control I exercise for the purpose of a change seems to be more immediate and more absolute over a change of figures than over a change of scenes.

    “I am quite sure that at these times I do not fall into any condition that fairly can be called pathological.

    “Under the slumber now under consideration, my attention became fixed on a tall thin man, with head uncovered, beardless, and dressed in black. He came toward the foot of the bed on which I lay from the left; and perhaps I should note that my daughter sat upon my left. Immediately I saw several other figures; and though these stood outside the lines or field of my direct vision, I remember distinctly that they made on me an impression of sympathy with powerlessness. I might think that the sympathy touched me through the countenance of the man, were it not that he impressed me with also the opposite of powerlessness. His age seemed to be about 50, his face oblong, a little sallow, seriously thoughtful, and withal indicative of great but quiet firmness in action, whether from a sense of duty based on his own judgment, or duty under a sense of obedience, I cannot determine; though, in the absence of any appearance of the vindictive, I think or at least am inclined to think that alike his presence and his action were based on simply an obedience to some rightful authority. This action was a reverent stepping forward, and a silent laying of his hands on a coffin that seemed to rest across the foot of the bed. The moment I saw the coffin I thought: I do not like this scene; please go away and let something more agreeable come in. But the scene would not change, and again I thought: Please go away and let something more agreeable come in; and again the scene would not change. He raised the coffin, it seemed as easily as though it had been that of an infant, and was in the act of stepping backward, as though withdrawing from a presence, when I thought: Then I will not prolong this slumber; I will open my eyes and arouse myself. And, on immediately doing so, I spoke to my daughter as she narrates, and then, without anything like amazement, listened to her description from the book.

    “I have been minute, as in the foregoing, because I wish to put every feature of and every impression given me by the scene carefully on record, against a search which I purpose to keep up for the book out of which my daughter at the time sat reading. She did not then or ever read to me

    what she had read, but simply and in her own language drew the scene; and this in, perhaps, as few words as she has now written it, nor have we since that time in any particular way conversed about it. My impression is that the book she read was an octavo in paper covers, but its name or author, or whose it was or what became of it, neither of us can recollect; nor do either of us at this time remember any of the scenes immediately preceding or attending the tragic death of Marie Antoinette, as these are, or may be, recorded in history.

    “William Deering.”

    This incident was originally related in the Louisville Medical News by Professor Palmer, a letter from whom is appended.

    {i-402}

    “University of Louisville, Kentucky, U.S.A.

    “September 26th, 1883.

    “The article appearing on the other side is true in every particular. The gentleman, a resident of this city, a man of high nervous organisation, was born in Belfast, U.S.A. Between himself and his daughter exists a degree of attachment rarely seen in such kinship. I related the incident as he gave it to me.

    “E. R. PALMER, M.D.,

    “Professor of Physiology,” &c.

    It is obvious that the value of this narrative, as affording evidence of thought-transference, must be proportional to the degree of exactness with which the correspondence between the dream and the description in the book can be made out. It might, therefore, be considerably increased if the book could be discovered; but we have failed to find any historical novel, or any memoir or history, containing the incident. Even as it stands the coincidence is certainly remarkable; but as Miss Deering’s description preceded her father’s account of his vision, it is possible that its similarity to the description became unconsciously somewhat stronger in recollection than it was in reality.

    This particular type is in any case unusual. Looking at the “borderland” impressions of the higher senses as a class, we at once observe the same important change as struck us in the course of our survey of dreams (pp. 341–2). The experience of the percipient is henceforth no longer (or only very rarely) a direct reproduction or embodiment of the idea or sensation of the agent; it is something in which his own creative faculties are at work. He is the author of his impression in the same sense as before he was the author of his dream. I merely note this in passing, reserving further discussion of this point till the subject of waking hallucinations can be treated as a whole.

    § 5. I will first take examples where a single sense only is concerned, and will begin with the sense of hearing. There is a group of cases where what has been heard has suddenly awakened the percipient—not, however, as the climax of a dream, but with the vivid and instantaneous impression of a sound externally caused. It may, no doubt, be suggested that in such cases the sound is the climax of a dream of which no memory survived. But if so, the immediate oblivion of the dream serves to set off the specially startling nature of the experience in the moment of waking; and such instantaneous startings from apparently dreamless sleep, with a definite sound in the ears which has no objective reality, are at any {i-403} rate sufficiently rare to justify us in regarding them, for purposes of evidence, as borderland and not as dream experiences. The cases, however, differ considerably in their evidential force. In some which have most powerfully impressed the imagination of the percipients, the sound has been inarticulate and of the nature of a scream, not identified with the person afterwards assumed to have been the agent. Now this of course diminishes the improbability that its synchronism with an exceptional state of that person was accidental. And again, it is difficult in such circumstances to prove conclusively that the sound may not have been due to some normal cause which was not discovered; for odd sounds at night are not uncommon, and, till accounted for, may have a peculiarly exciting effect. As regards the first of these objections, it must be remembered, on the other hand, that screams are a very unusual form of purely subjective impression—my large collection of waking hallucinations of the sane does not include a single instance; while they do not seem an unlikely form to be taken by a hallucination which is the sensory embodiment of a sudden undefined idea of death or calamity.1 1 See the discussion and examples of “rudimentary hallucinations,” Chap. xiv, § 4, and Chap. xv, § 6. As to the likelihood of a real external sound whose source was not discovered, the reader will be able to form his own judgment from the cases themselves.

    The following account is from Viscount L., the very reverse of a credulous witness, and with no sort of leaning towards the marvellous.

    “November 5th, 1884.

    (150) “Thirty years ago and upwards [August 13th, 1849], I was staying with my father at our place in Ireland. I was then my father’s second son, having an elder brother. I was awoke out of my sleep by violent screams, so much so that I got up and walked all over the house to endeavour to ascertain where the screams came from. All appeared, as far as I could judge, quite regular and quiet in the house (a very large one), and I went back to bed and thought no more about it. On inquiry in the morning, nobody had heard the screams except myself. But 2 days after, I received a letter, stating that my elder and only brother had died at Ramsgate, after 6 hours’ illness, of cholera, and died about the hour when I certainly heard screams.”

    In answer to inquiries, Lord L. says, “I never in my life experienced any sort of hallucination of the senses.” In conversation, he informed me that his brother certainly died in the night. He had travelled to Ramsgate on the preceding day, and was taken ill after his arrival. Lord L.’s wife was sleeping in a room which opened into his, and heard nothing.

    Now no doubt the wind sometimes plays odd tricks; and, {i-404} moreover, it is possible to be awoke by a scream of one’s own which seems to the bewildered sense to have been external.1 1 In proof of this, see case 126, p. 360, top. But if a healthy man gets out of bed and walks all over a large house merely because the wind is high, he is, one would think, likely to remark that the wind is high—whereas Lord L. remarked (he tells me) that the night was calm; and the sounds which so ring in his waking ears as to prompt this unusual course would at any rate be likely to be noticed by someone else. The use of the plural word “screams” is also worth noting, as opposed to the view that the sleeper woke himself by some shrill exclamation; indeed, his sex would alone make this explanation less plausible than in some other cases. But the case is remote in time, and depends on a single memory. This last objection does not apply to the following account, from Mrs. Purton, of Field House, Alcester.

    “March 16th, 1884.

    (151) “In the autumn of 1859, we were expecting my youngest brother home from Australia, after an absence of eight years. He was a passenger on board the ‘Royal Charter.’ The night, or rather in the early dawn of the fatal morning of the wreck of that unhappy vessel, I suddenly started out of my sleep and found myself seizing hold of my husband’s arm, horrified at the most awful wail of agony, which appeared to me to fill the house. Finding my husband still asleep—he was a medical man, and had been out the whole of the previous night, so was unusually tired—I slipped out of bed and went round to look at all the children and to the servants’ room, but found all quietly sleeping, so thinking it must have been the wind only which so disturbed me, I lay down again, but could not sleep. I noticed that day was just breaking. In the morning I asked different people if they had been disturbed by any unusual noise, but no one had heard it.

    “The post brought a letter from a cousin in Liverpool, telling us the ‘Royal Charter’ was telegraphed as having arrived at Queenstown, and we might expect to see Frank very shortly. We passed the day in most joyful anticipations of the meeting. My mother had his room prepared, a good fire burning, and his night-shirt and slippers laid out for use, and a nice supper ready. Wheels were heard, but, instead of Frank, my cousin appeared. She, as soon as the awful news of the wreck reached Liverpool, started off herself to bring us the melancholy tidings.

    Even then I did not connect the fearful sounds I heard with the wreck, but when the newspapers came and I read the accounts of the eye-witnesses of the wreck, and of the screams which rent the air as the ship broke her back and all on board were overwhelmed in the waves, I could only shudder and exclaim, ‘That was what I heard.’ It was months before I could forget the horror which thrilled my very soul at the remembrance of that awful night.

    “FRANCES A. PURTON.”

    {i-405}

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Purton adds:—

    “I never have had, at any other time than the one I mentioned to you, a vivid dream of death, or an auditory hallucination of any kind.”

    The following is an extract from a letter written to Mrs. Purton by her daughter, Miss Sarah Sophia Purton, who was about 12 years old at the time of the occurrence:—

    “I distinctly remember your speaking of the cry of distress you heard when the ‘Royal Charter’ was lost. My remembrance of it is that you woke with this cry ringing in your ears, and got up at once, quietly, without disturbing my father, who had been out late somewhere to a patient. You found it was about 3 o’clock. You then went to the nursery and to each room where anyone was sleeping, but finding all was quiet and right you went back to bed. I fancy you inquired next morning if anyone had heard the sound which disturbed you, but could not swear to this.”

    Miss Purton writes to us:—

    “April 7th, 1884.

    “To the best of my recollection my mother spoke of the cry she heard the following morning. I distinctly remember her saying when she heard of the terrible cry as the vessel parted and went down, ‘There, that was the cry I heard,’ and the thrill it gave me at the time, but this must have been a day or two after the occurrence—either just before or after she had visited the scene of the wreck.

    “S. S. PURTON.”

    Here, the vivid character of the impression, and the fact that it was unique in the percipient’s experience, will probably be accepted without dispute. And if so, the coincidence—though easy enough to regard as accidental if it stood alone or nearly alone—seems fairly admissible as an item in a cumulative proof of telepathy.1 1 We have received a similar case from Mr. D. H. Wilson, of Rosemont, Hyères, who was told by an intimate friend, Miss Maclean, that she was awakened one morning by an appalling shriek, and marked the hour; and that at that exact time (allowing for longitude) her brother met with a violent death in Australia. But we have not been able to trace Miss Maclean; and in this somewhat doubtful type, first-hand evidence is specially requisite. The following case, though it is first-hand, and though the incident is unique in the narrator’s experience, is open to objections of another kind. The account is from Miss Dora Kennedy, of Rockville, Rainhill, and was obtained through the kindness of the late Dr. Noble, of Manchester. “September 29th, 1884. “A young married sister of mine lived in the country, and was recovering from a long illness, through which I had nursed her. We went to Liverpool to consult her doctor, and to spend a few days with a relative. During the course of the visit, I had to leave her in the care of an aunt, whilst I went home for a short time to Manchester. In the middle of my first night at home, I was suddenly awakened by a piercing scream, and jumping out of bed, saw my mother coming into the room in great alarm. Having heard and been awakened by a scream, she thought something terrible had happened, and asked me what it was. I thought and said at once (as I felt quite sure) that something had happened to my sister in Liverpool. The next morning I returned to my sister, and on my arrival saw that they were greatly alarmed. My aunt told me that during the night she got up to give my sister her usual medicine, and by mistake took the wrong bottle containing laudanum, and gave a dose. Fortunately my sister only took a small portion before it was discovered. When my aunt knew what she had done, she gave a frantic scream, and said, ‘Oh, I have killed her! if only her mother and Dora’ (myself) ‘were near.’ My sister also told me how ardently she had longed for me. I never doubted (for we were deeply attached to each other) but that her longing for me had an influence over me, and that in some way we at home had been made aware of the scream. I was never troubled with morbid fancies.” Here the reference of the sound to a particular person was clearly not due to recognition, but merely to the fact that that person was at the time a special object of solicitude. But in what, it may be asked, is the case weaker than Lord L.’s or Mrs. Purton’s, quoted above? The answer is that the fact of a second person’s sharing in the experience is a strong (though not a conclusive) argument for supposing the sound to have been a real one, the source of which did not happen to be discovered. It will be seen readily how much more probable this hypothesis is in the present case than, e.g., in the case given above (No. 36) as an example of collective telepathic percipience,—which happened also to be of the “borderland”type. {i-406} To come now to cases where distinct words are heard—in the following example the voice heard was at once connected with a particular person; but still not with the person whom, if the incident be interpreted telepathically, we must regard as the agent. The account was obtained for us by Miss Fripp, of Lulworth House, Hampstead Hill Gardens, from her grandmother, Mrs. Roe.

    (152) “Some years since, when in manifestly good health, I was aroused by what appeared to be some one at my bedroom door, calling ‘Mary Anne, Mary Anne.’ It seemed like my mother’s voice, who had been dead two or three years. I roused my husband, but there was no one at the door or anywhere on the same floor. Going upstairs to my son’s bedroom, it was so full of smoke that I was nearly suffocated, till I could open the window, when I found my son apparently asleep but quite insensible, till we got him into the air; and then when we aroused him, he remembered when he came up to bed he laid the pipe he had been smoking on a pile of handkerchiefs, which had been put on the dressing-table, and were completely burnt and the table injured, but no flames. Our medical man thought had I not gone in just in time, my son would have been dead.

    “MARY ANNE ROE.”

    In answer to inquiries, Miss Fripp writes:—

    “June 25th, 1884.

    “I have asked Mrs. Roe the questions you sent me, and I find—

    “(1) She has never had other dreams which impressed her in the same way as the two she wrote an account of. [The other dream was about the wreck of her son at sea.]

    “(2) My mother was in the house when my grandmother had the warning about the fire. My grandfather told her in the morning that Mrs. Roe insisted on getting out of bed, as she fancied she had heard her mother’s voice calling her outside the door.

    “(3) There was no smell of smoke in the room; Mrs. Roe’s room was on a different landing, quite apart from her son’s room.

    “J. FRIPP.”

    Here again we have a case which might be variously described as an accident or as “special providence,” if it stood alone, but which cannot be excluded from our cumulative argument. If telepathic, it {i-407} is a good instance of total unconsciousness on the part of the agent. (See p. 230.)

    The next example—received in 1883 from the Rev. Andrew Jukes—resembles the last in that the voice, though recognised, was not that of the agent, but of a person some time deceased. In neither instance is there any reason to regard this feature as other than a purely subjective element supplied by the percipient’s own brain—a piece of dream-like investiture in which the telepathic impression clad itself. (See above pp. 341–2, and below, Chap. XIII, § 5.) Mr. Jukes’s case, however, differs from the preceding in the important evidential point that the words heard bore a distinct relation to the agent.

    “Upper Eglinton Road, Woolwich.

    (153) “On Monday, July 31st, 1854, I was at Worksop, staying in the house of Mr. Heming, the then agent there to the Duke of Newcastle. Just as I woke that morning—some would say I was dreaming—I heard the voice of an old schoolfellow (C. C.), who had been dead at least a year or two, saying, ‘Your brother Mark and Harriet are both gone.’ These words were echoing in my ears as I woke. I seemed to hear them.

    My brother then was in America; and both were well when I had last heard of them; but the words respecting him and his wife were so vividly impressed upon my mind that before I left my bedroom I wrote them down, then and there, on a scrap of an old newspaper, having no other paper in the bedroom. That same day I returned to Hull, mentioned the circumstance to my wife, and entered the incident, which had made a deep impression on me, in my diary, which I still have. I am as certain as I can well be of anything that the entry is a transcript of what I wrote on the bit of newspaper.

    “On the 18th of August (it was before the Atlantic telegraph), I received a line from my brother’s wife, Harriet, dated August 1st, saying that Mark had just breathed his last, of cholera; after preaching on Sunday, he had been taken ill with cholera on Monday, and had died on Tuesday morning; that she herself was ill, and that in the event of her death she wished their children should be brought to England. She died the second day after her husband, August 3rd. I immediately started for America, and brought the children home.

    “The voice I seemed to hear, and which at first I thought must have been a kind of dream, had such an effect on me that, though the bell rang for breakfast, I did not go down for some time. And all that day, and for days after, I could not shake it off. I had the strongest impression, and indeed conviction, that my brother was gone.

    “I ought perhaps to add that we had no knowledge of the cholera being in the neighbourhood of my brother’s parish. My impression was that both he and his wife must, if the voice were true, have been taken away by some railway or steamboat accident. But you should notice that at the moment when I seemed to hear this voice my brother was not dead. He died early next morning, August 1st, and his wife nearly two days later, namely, August 3rd. I do not profess to explain it—I simply state {i-408} the facts or the phenomena. But the impression made on me was profound, and the coincidence itself is remarkable.

    “ANDREW JUKES.”

    Mr. Jukes has kindly allowed me to inspect the record in his diary. I had hoped to be able to incorporate this verbatim in the account; but he has private reasons—quite unconnected with the present case—for desiring that this should not be done.

    In conversation, I learnt from him that the words he heard formed, in fact, the continuation of a dream, but that the dream had not been about his brother and sister-in-law; and he has dictated to me the words, “My impression is that the remark passed while I was awake.” He has never on any other occasion in his life made a written note of a dream. Asked if he could recall having experienced an auditory hallucination on any other occasion, he replied that he had “never experienced anything of the kind,” except that on one occasion he had a subjective impression of hearing music.

    Considering the uniqueness of the impression in this case, it is not evidentially important to decide at what exact stage of the waking process the auditory experience took place. That experience may fairly be assigned to the “borderland,” on the ground partly of Mr. Jukes’s conviction that he was more awake than asleep, and partly of the fact that the supposed agent or agents had not figured in the preceding dream. The time of its occurrence, however, was not that of either of the two critical moments of death in America. If it coincided with any special moment, it must probably have been with the first shock of alarm in the mind of Mrs. Jukes, at the idea of cholera in her household. But this is conjecture only; we do not know how early on the Monday it was that the first symptoms of illness were apparent; and the evidential force of the case is so far diminished.

    The following example, where the voice was not recognised, presents the interesting point of immediate repetition, which we shall encounter in some of the visual cases (see p. 414). The narrator is Miss Thompson, now residing at 7, Place Vaugirard, Paris.

    “106, Boston Street, Hulme, Manchester.

    “January 12th, 1884.

    (154) “In the autumn of 1873 my cousin Harry, to whom I was engaged, suddenly came to spend a few days with my family, then staying in London. We made a bet for some gloves at parting After paying several visits in the country, he returned to his home in Yorkshire. During this time we had no letter from or news about him.

    “On December 18th I awoke in the night, hearing someone earnestly calling me by name. I rose, and went down to my mother’s room on the floor beneath, and asked her if she knew who had called me. She said I must have been dreaming, and told me to go back to bed. I did so, and {i-409} again heard my name called distinctly. I went again to my mother, who was a little vexed with me, as she feared I should disturb my father, who was sleeping in the room adjoining. I therefore went back to bed, feeling ill at ease. I don’t think that I fell asleep again, but am not quite sure, but shortly after heard the voice distinctly calling me for the third time. I was now thoroughly alarmed, and dared not stay upstairs alone, so went again to my mother, and stayed with her the rest of the night.

    “The next day we heard that Harry Suddaby had died in the night, from a short attack of bronchitis. I asked if Harry had called me really, but no one remembered his doing more than sending his love.

    “CHRISTINE THOMPSON.”

    The Register of Deaths gives the date of the death as December 19th, 1873, It no doubt took place in the early hours of the morning.

    In answer to inquiries, Miss Thompson writes on April 27, 1885:—

    “I have never had any experience similar to that of which I sent you an account, and am too practical a mortal to believe in anything at all resembling ‘visions’ or ‘hallucinations.’ It was rather against my judgment that I was persuaded to send you the account.”

    [For Mrs. Thompson’s corroboration, see the “Additions and Corrections,” which precede Chap. I.[☼]]

    In the next case—from Mr. Everitt, of Holders Hill, Hendon, and first published in Light for Jan., 1883—the voice was recognised. Though remote, the incident is of a sort that might well make a vivid impression.

    (155) “When quite a youth, I had a remarkable experience, in some respects not unlike that which the reprover of Job had. In the silence and darkness of the night I was suddenly awakened from a deep sleep, and I heard a voice, and I have no doubt that I might have seen a spirit1 1 I must note here, as once before in relation to the word “supernatural,” that we are in no way responsible for the expressions or views of our informants. if I had not been, like Eliphaz, so greatly frightened; but I heard a voice, and that voice I recognised as the voice belonging to the dearest object I had in this world. I had no reason at the time to believe otherwise than that the person to whom the voice belonged was in good health and many miles from where I was; yet I heard and recognised the voice of my dear mother, who called me by the familiar name she always used, and strange to say she told me ‘she was dead,’ and the next post brought the too true and too sad news of her sudden departure from earth-life.

    “I have always from a boy up to the present time locked my bedroom door on retiring for the night. At the time there was no one sleeping in the room but myself.

    “I was not in a drowsy state when I woke up, but all my senses were as clear and as vivid as they are now I am writing this; they could not have been more so if any one shook me and shouted, ‘Jump up, the house is on fire.’ Indeed, the feeling and belief was then, and still is, that I was suddenly awakened from a sound sleep by someone in the room, and I felt certain by a slight noise or movement which I heard that there was someone {i-410} bending over me; which feeling was confirmed by the sound of my mother’s soft and gentle voice which said ‘Tommy’ three times in a way as though she wanted or expected me to answer her, and she then said, ‘Your mother is dead.’

    “You can better imagine my feelings than I can describe them. I told my fellow apprentice in the morning what I had experienced, and said I was afraid that I should hear bad news from home. My father wrote to my eldest brother asking him to call and break the sad news to me, which he did. I anticipated him by relating what I had heard the previous night.

    “THOMAS EVERITT.”

    The brother mentioned in this account is dead. In a letter written on the 5th of December, 1884, Mr. Everitt adds:—

    “I showed my fellow-apprentice my night-shirt, which was wet with perspiration from covering my

    head over with the bedclothes; his evidence would be more valuable than my brother’s but I have not the remotest knowledge as to where he is, not having seen or heard anything of him for nearly forty years. My wife, even before she was my wife, had often heard me speak of it; the members of my family have on different occasions heard me refer to it, but all this, of course, would carry but little or no weight with it to the outside public. I only mention it now as showing how sure and certain the experience was.”

    In answer to further inquiries, Mr. Everitt says:—

    “The date of my mother’s death was the night of June 1st, 1841. It was the same night that she made me conscious of her presence, and also of her death.” The Register of Deaths confirms the date given.

    [Mr. Everitt has since had one other auditory hallucination, which also represented his mother’s voice.]

    The following account is from a gentleman residing at Tynemouth, who has at present a reason, which seems to me a sufficient one, for withholding his name from publication, but will withdraw this restriction after an interval of a few years.

    “December. 1884.

    (156) “On December 29th, or 30th, 1881, about 1 a.m., I awoke hearing my name called. Nobody was in the house, the servants being away for a holiday. I recognised the voice of my father.

    “Next afternoon I received a telegram saying he was unwell, and on arriving I learnt from the doctor that my father had been unconscious, and had repeatedly called for me during the night in question. I had no idea of his illness at the time, and believed him to be perfectly well. The attack was very short and severe. He was in Dumfries, and I at Tynemouth, Northumberland.”

    In answer to inquiries our informant writes, on December 27, 1884:—

    “I paid no attention to the ‘auditory experience,’ although the thing came to my mind while dressing, and probably should never have given it further attention, if I had not been struck by the fact that apparently at or about the same time my father, although unconscious, had been calling for me. I had no means of comparing the exact times, as neither the doctor (whose name I forget, and who is now dead) nor I noted them. {i-411} This curious coincidence impressed the fact on my mind, the more so as I have never been able to find any reasonable explanation of the case; and as the tendency of my education has been to believe nothing that can’t be accounted for logically, I have almost come to doubt the fact, and in consequence have kept it to myself.1 1 A person may very naturally be disposed to keep to himself, and even after a time to doubt, an experience which he cannot fit into any natural scheme; and this cause has probably prevented many telepathic incidents from becoming known. The presentation of a large collection of cases, and the vindication of their purely natural character, may perhaps do something towards removing this difficulty.

    “I never have had, either before or since the case I mentioned already, any hallucination of the senses. It may perhaps have some bearing on the case, so I add this postscript to say that at one time, when in sound health, my father was one of the most skilful amateur mesmerists I ever knew; his power over some people being quite extraordinary, and sometimes it was exerted almost unconsciously by him.”

    In the next two cases, the words that the percipient heard seem actually to have been uttered (and, therefore, to have been heard) by the agent; and we may, if we please, refer the examples to that rarer type where a sensation seems to have been quite literally transferred, as contrasted with the cases where the percipient supplies a sensory embodiment to a less definite telepathic impression.2 2 Compare the dream-cases Nos. 112 and 113; and several examples in Chapters xiv. and xv.

    The first account was sent to us by the Rev. Augustus Field, Vicar of Pool Quay, Welshpool. He describes it as an “Extract of a letter received by me from my brother, Henry C. Field (Surveyor and Civil Engineer), resident at Tutatihika, Wanganni, New Zealand, in reply to letters we had written to him telling about our mother’s death.” A letter to us from Mr. H. C. Field himself, dated Wanganni, Sept. 25, 1886, gives a completely concordant account.

    “March 7th, 1874.

    (157) “I was deeply interested in the account of our mother’s last illness, and was particularly struck by the circumstance of my name being called, because I heard it. I am not accustomed to dream, and am sure I speak far within the mark when I say that I have not dreamed a dozen times since my marriage, 23 years since. Dreams, too, are supposed to arise from something affecting one’s mind, and producing some temporary strong impression, and in this case there was nothing which could affect me in that direction, but some quite the reverse.

    “Our first horticultural show of the season took place on November 27th. I won several prizes; and after the show closed at 10 p.m., I had to take home some of my smaller exhibits, and arrange for getting the others home next morning. It was thus near midnight when I reached home, and the only things talked about by —— and myself afterwards were the show and matters of local interest. If anything, therefore, were likely to be on my mind when I fell asleep, it would probably be one or other of the above matters. I do not know how long I slept, but my first {i-412} sleep was over and I was lying in a sort of half-awake, half-asleep state, when I distinctly heard our mother’s voice say faintly, ‘Harry, Harry!’ and when daylight came and I thought the matter over, I wondered what could have possessed me to fancy such a thing. Our Uncle C. and his family called me Harry, and Uncle B. sometimes did so, and the D.’s also called me Harry, but with these exceptions I was called Henry by all our relations. It is possible our mother may have called me ‘Harry’ during my very early childhood, but so long as I can remember she always called our father ‘Papa’ and me ‘Henry.’ It seemed to me, therefore, so utterly absurd that I should fancy her calling me by a name that I never recollected to have heard her use, that I mentally laughed at the idea and wondered how such a thing should have entered my head. Still the circumstance struck me as so strange that I underlined the date on the margin of my working diary, in order that if anything should occur to corroborate it I might be certain as to the time. Directly, therefore, after I reached home with S.’s and your letters, I turned to the diary and found the underlined date was November 28th. It was evidently during the afternoon of November 27th that our mother uttered my name (this would have been so, A. F.); and allowing for the difference of longitude, the time would be early morning of the 28th with us, so that I don’t think there can be any question that the call actually reached my ear. I am only sorry that I was not sufficiently awake to note the exact time, but should fancy it to have been between 2 and 3 o’clock in the morning, which would represent a few minutes later on the previous afternoon with you.”

    The Rev. A. Field adds that in a subsequent portion of the letter his brother refers to a letter written a few weeks earlier, in which he had offered his sister a home, “and says that he believes he was led to do this partly in consequence of the idea which the circumstance he had described had left on his mind, viz., the probable death of our mother.”

    In his letter to us, Mr. H. C. Field says, “The voice, though not loud, was so distinct that, as I had not time to collect my senses, I started up in bed, expecting to see my mother beside it.” His wife was aroused by this movement, and Mr. Field at once told her of his experience. He adds that he “is not superstitious,” and “hardly knows what it is to dream,” which he attributes to his active out-door life.

    Miss Field wrote to us in October, 1885:—

    “On 26th November, 1873, while sitting by my mother’s bed, I heard her say most plainly, ‘Harry, Harry.’ On the following day she died. In course of time we heard from my brother in New Zealand that at a corresponding time (their night) he distinctly heard the same in his mother’s voice, and noted the fact in his diary.

    “SOPHIA HUGHES FIELD.”

    Later, the Rev. A. Field sent us the following extract from his diary:—

    “November, 1873.

    “‘Thursday, 27th, arrived in London at 5.30 a.m., by train, to 70, Bassington Road. Found mother conscious, &c.; read, &c., with her at frequent intervals through the day. K. and A. (my brother and sister) arrived. Gradually weaker, and at last, 5.45 p.m., she passed away.’

    {i-413}

    “You will understand my object in giving you these full particulars. I myself heard (as I thought) my mother mention my brother’s name, and spoke of it to my sister and my aunt. I think they told me that she had mentioned his name several times during her last brief illness. She was seized with paralysis on Wednesday, 26th, and her speech became more and more affected. It was this that made me feel uncertain whether my brother’s name was really mentioned in my hearing by my mother or not. In consequence of what my aunt and sister said, I could have no longer any doubt.”

    [It will be seen that the percipient’s impression probably coincided closely with the death, but that Miss Field’s written recollections do not confirm (though they do not contradict) her brothers’ idea that the name was uttered on the same afternoon.]

    The next account is from Mrs. Stent, living at 14, Singapore Road, Ealing Dean, a former valued servant of Miss Craigie, of 8, McGill College Avenue, Montreal. I cite the account which she gave to Miss Craigie, rather than a later one (completely agreeing with it except in one detail) which she wrote for us on June 1, 1885.

    (158) “On the 18th of Oct., 1881, I was awakened by hearing myself called twice by an old servant, who was ill in an infirmary in Chelsea. I then heard ‘Reggy’ (one of the young gentlemen of the house we had lived together in) called once. It was half-past 4, but I could not sleep so got up and dressed. [Here the later account adds, “I told the housemaid, E. Morris, and we wondered what it meant.”] It was impossible for me to go that day to the infirmary, for my present mistress had company; but I went the next day. … She had called twice for me and once for ‘Reggy,’ (so the patient in the next bed informed me,) and had died at the hour, half-past 4 the morning before—the precise time I had heard myself called. [The later account adds, “I was not dreaming. I never had anything of the kind happen to me before, and she called us so plain.”]

    “E. STENT.”

    In reply to inquiries, Mrs. Stent says that she has lost sight of E. Morris, and adds:—

    “Elizabeth Membrey [the deceased] was my dearest friend, and was more to me than a sister, but was no relation to me—only my dear friend. I think the bond of sympathy was very strong between us; only death could break it. We told our troubles to one another; for years past we did not do anything without talking about it first. Mr. Reggy was the son of the lady where we lived in service together, and she was very fond of him, and he went to the infirmary to see her as often as he could find time.”

    The medical superintendent of the Chelsea Infirmary writes to us:—“I find that Elizabeth Membrey was in this Infirmary from July 15th until October 18th, 1881, when she died.”

    In conversation, Mrs. Stent (a sensible and sober-minded witness) said that she marked the time of her experience as 4.30, as she heard the half-hour strike just after she got up, and did not sleep again. In her later written account she said that the porter told her the time of death {i-414} was 20 minutes to 4. But this seems to have been a slip; as she has found and handed to us a post-card, written to her by Mr. R. W. Craigie (the “Reggy” of the narrative) on the day of the death, as shown by the post-mark—which gives the time as 4.30. Mrs. Stent further mentioned that she was not expecting the death—that her friend had seemed cheerful, and it was thought that she would leave the hospital. She was suffering from an old injury to the base of the skull.

    § 6. I pass now to the cases where the sense of sight alone was concerned. The first instance was thus narrated by the Bishop of Carlisle, in the Contemporary Review for January, 1884.

    (159) “A Cambridge student, my informant, had arranged, some years ago, with a fellow student that they should meet together in Cambridge at a certain time for the purpose of reading. A short time before going up to keep his appointment, my informant was in the South of England. Waking in the night, he saw, as he imagined, his friend sitting at the foot of his bed. He was surprised at the sight, the more so as his friend was dripping with water. He spoke, but the apparition (for so it seems to have been) only shook its head and disappeared. This appearance of the absent friend occurred twice during the night. Information was soon received that shortly before the time of the apparition being seen by the young student, his friend had been drowned whilst bathing.”

    Having learned that the Bishop’s informant was Archdeacon Farler, we applied to this gentleman, who wrote to us on Jan. 9, 1884:—

    “Pampisford Vicarage, Cambridge.

    “The fact of having witnessed the vision was mentioned the next morning at breakfast, several days before I received the news of my friend’s death, to my tutor, John Kempe, Esq., his wife, and family. Mr. and Mrs. Kempe are now dead, but it is probable his family might remember the circumstance, although they were but children at the time. I was staying at Long Ashton, in Somersetshire; my friend died in Kent.1 1 This is clearly a slip; in another letter Archdeacon Farler gives the name of a village in Essex as the place where the death occurred. As I did not feel frightened at the time of the vision, I have always spoken of it rather as a singular dream than an apparition.

    “The date of my vision was either the 2nd or 3rd of September, 1878,2 2 This is an error. The year was first written 1888, and then, by an obvious slip, the second 8 was altered to a 7, instead of to a 6. Mr. J. Kempe died in 1874. but I have not my memoranda with me to be quite sure. I also saw the vision again about the 17th of the month. These are my sole experiences of an apparition. I have never experienced any sort of sensory hallucination.

    “J. P. FARLER.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that the narrator’s friend was drowned in the river Crouch, on Sept. 2, 1868.

    Mr. W. J. Kempe writes to us, from Long Ashton School, (1885), that Archdeacon Farler certainly told him of the occurrence, but he does not remember exactly when. Other members of the family, who have been applied to, were either away from home at the time, or too young to be told of the matter.

    {i-415}

    Here the repetition during the night reminds us of several of the dream-examples, and of case 154 above. The feature in waking cases is of special interest. For repetition after a short interval is an occasional feature of purely subjective hallucinations;1 1 See Chapter xii., § 10. In Dr. Jessopp’s experience (Athenæum for Jan. 10, 1880), the figure which he saw disappeared suddenly, and reappeared after about five minutes; and my own collection includes a very similar case. See Vol. ii., p. 237, note. and this point may be added to many others which will occupy us hereafter, showing the fundamental identity, in relation to the percipient’s senses, of subjective and telepathic phantasms. The subsequent vision on the 17th may be attributed to the emotional excitement of the recent bereavement.2 2 See Chapter xi., § 6; but see also the remarks on Mr. Keulemans’ case, p. 445.

    The feature of repetition occurs again in the next case. The percipient, Major A. P. Scott Moncrieff, is dead; but his widow, who describes his experience, was cognisant of it before the news of the death arrived. She wrote on May 20, 1885:—

    “14, Gilmore Place, Edinburgh.

    (160) “The circumstances of the dream or vision, as far as I can remember at this distance of time, were these. A. awoke me one night, and said, ‘I have had a strange dream about S., and I fancied I saw her standing at the foot of the bed; indeed, I had to rub my eyes to convince myself that she was not really there.’ He fell asleep, and again dreamt the same, and this made a powerful impression upon his mind, with almost a depressing effect. He was in perfect health at the time, and of a thoroughly practical nature; not at all given to sentimentality. He had also no reason to believe that S. was in frail health. Some weeks after, the news came of her death, and by comparing dates, and allowing for the difference of time between India and Scotland, the event must have taken place during the period of these dreams; but whether at the time of the first or the second, I cannot remember. This happened on the 7th September, 1852.

    “ELIZABETH H. S. MONCRIEFF.”

    Mr. R. Scott Moncrieff, of 4, Mardale Crescent, Edinburgh, writes to us:—

    “I very well remember my brother, the late Major A. P. Scott Moncrieff (whose widow has written the preceding narrative) telling me of this apparition, as he believed it to have been, of our sister Susan, after the news reached us of her death in Edinburgh, on September 7th, 1852. I was living in Calcutta at that date; my brother was with his regiment at Dinapore. In the month of November, I was on a visit to his house in Hazareebagh, where he was then living with his wife; and it was then that he told me of the apparition. As he was a man of a very unromantic, practical character, always ready to ridicule a ghost story, I was the more struck with the depth of the impression left on his mind by the vividness of the apparition, as he believed it to have been, which had led to his taking a note of the date in writing.

    {i-416}

    “He told me that after having been asleep for a time, during the night of that date (which must have been the 7th September), he awoke, feeling the heat rather trying; that he saw, by a light burning in the room, the punkah swinging above the bed, and then saw our sister Susan standing at the foot of the bed, gazing at him very earnestly; that he was so surprised, he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and looked again, seeing her still there, that he exclaimed, ‘O, Susan!’ (I think he added, ‘what are you doing here?’ but I am not certain that these were his words; though I am certain that he did utter some such words after saying, ‘O, Susan!’); that his wife awoke on hearing him speak, and said, ‘What is it, Alick?’ or words of similar import; but that he, fearing lest, in the state of health she was then in, it might prove injurious to her to be told what he believed he had seen, said he had awakened from a dream, but did not tell her how fully he was convinced he had been awake when he saw the apparition of his sister, which had disappeared before his wife had spoken to him.

    “R. SCOTT MONCRIEFF.”

    Miss Scott Moncrieff, of 44, Shooter’s Hill Road, S.E., writes:—

    “I heard the same account from my brother, Major Scott Moncrieff, on his return from India.

    “MARY ANNE SCOTT MONCRIEFF.”

    [As a matter of form, we have verified the date of death, in the obituary of the Scotsman. But such verification of course adds nothing unless the date of the percipient’s experience is independently remembered.]

    The next example is from Miss Barr, of East Grinstead, who has been already mentioned (p. 342).

    “1884.

    (161) “On the night of January —, 1871, I awoke up with the idea that someone was moving by the bedside. I was a little frightened, and I saw the curtain at the side of the bed slightly pulled aside, and a hand, with the back turned towards me, appearing round the curtain. I recognised the ring on the hand as that of my cousin and dear friend [Captain C. M.]. I told my sister in the morning that I had seen a hand,1 1 On this fragmentary form of apparition, see Chap. xi., § 4, and Vol. ii., p. 33, note. wearing a ring, but did not tell her that I had recognised the ring, as I did not care to make too much of the incident. On that day, as we learnt from a letter received a few days afterwards, my cousin died in Canada, from the effect of an accident.

    “L. BARR.”

    Mrs. and Miss Harriet Barr also attest with their signatures the fact that the vision was narrated before the news of the death was received.

    Miss L. Barr afterwards stated that she thought the death “must have been on or about the 6th of January, 1870;” and we find from the Indian Army List, and from the Times obituary, that it took place on that day, at Halifax, Nova Scotia. She tells us that she has experienced in her life only one other hallucination, which occurred in close connection with a bereavement (see p. 510).

    We have received the following account from our friend Mr. J. A. Symonds.

    {i-417}

    “Davos, 1882.

    (162) “I was a boy in the Sixth Form at Harrow; and, as head of Mr. Rendall’s house, had a room to myself. It was in the summer of 1858. I woke about dawn, and felt for my books upon a chair between the bed and the window; when I knew that I must turn my head the other way, and there, between me and the door, stood Dr. Macleane, dressed in a clergyman’s black clothes. He bent his sallow face a little towards me and said, ‘I am going a long way—take care of my son.’ While I was attending to him, I suddenly saw the door in the place where Dr. Macleane had been. Dr. Macleane died that night (at what hour I cannot precisely say) at Clifton. My father, who was a great friend of his, was with him. I was not aware that he was more than usually ill. He was a chronic invalid.

    “JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS.”

    We learn from the Rev. D. Macleane, of Codford St. Peter, Bath, that his father, Dr. Macleane, “died at Clifton at a quarter before 6 a.m., on May 14th, 1858.”

    [Mr. Symonds has had one or two purely subjective visions when in a waking state.]

    The following case is from the Rev. W. J. Ball, of 6, Pemberton Terrace, Cambridge. It is apparently a good example of the vivid survival of a dream-image into waking moments—an experience which Mr. Ball tells us he cannot recollect to have occurred to him on any other occasion.

    “1884.

    (163) “During my college days I had a very dear and intimate chum, R. F. Dombrain. We used to walk together, read together, pray together, and would have thought it wrong to keep any secret from each other. We hoped to go together into the foreign mission-field; but my friend was ready to go before I was, and it was while he was in London making arrangements about going abroad, that he was seized with a very bad fever, and his life for some time despaired of. At last he recovered and returned to Dublin, where I saw him several times. He was not quite restored to health, but I hoped he would soon be so. This was the state of things when I went down to the County Limerick, in the spring of 1853. I received a few letters from my friend which told me of gradually improving health. I was busily occupied about my mission work at the village of Doon, and felt perfectly at ease about my dear friend’s recovery.

    “A few days had elapsed without any tidings reaching me, when on the morning of the 14th of April I had the most vivid dream I remember ever to have seen. I seemed to be walking with young Dombrain, amidst some beautiful scenery, when suddenly I was brought to a waking condition by a sort of light appearing before me. I started up in my bed, and saw before me, in his ordinary dress and appearance, my friend, who seemed to be passing from earth towards the light above. He seemed to give me one loving smile, and I felt that his look contained an expression of affectionate separation and farewell. Then I leaped out of bed, and cried with a loud voice, ‘Robert, Robert,’ and the vision was gone.

    {i-418}

    “In the house there was sleeping a young servant boy, whose name was also Robert. He came running into my room, saying that my loud cry had awakened him from sound sleep, and that he thought I was ill. The whole scene was so impressed upon my mind that I felt the death of my friend just as really as if I had been by his bedside, and seen him pass away. I had looked at my watch and found the time 3 minutes past 5. I knew that at that moment my friend’s spirit had passed from his body. I could think of nothing else. A class of Scripture readers came to me at 10 o’clock that morning. I told them I could not speak to them of the appointed subject, but must tell them what had occurred, and for a long time I lectured them entirely on the subject of the future state, and the separation of the soul from the body. During the whole of the day the same sad gloom weighed down my mind which I should have felt had I been with my friend at his death-bed. I wrote to my sister asking for particulars, and I wished to know the exact time the death had taken place. Never once did the slightest doubt cross my mind that my friend had died.

    “The following morning I received a letter from my sister, stating that for a few days Mr. Dombrain had not been so well, and that at 3 minutes past 5 in the morning he had quietly passed away from this world. Since then I have very often mentioned the circumstance to friends, and the deep impression made by the event can never pass from my mind.”

    Mr. Ball wrote to ask his sister for her recollections. Her reply contained the following passage, the original of which was sent to us:—

    “12, Upper Leeson Street, Dublin.

    “July 17th, 1884.

    “I have not a distinct remembrance of the dream. I have heard you allude to it from time to time, and feel quite confident of its reality.

    “S. P. BALL.”

    We find from the obituary in the Gentleman’s Magazine that Mr. Dombrain’s death took place at Dublin, on April 14th, 1853.

    The appearance of light in this case is to be noted (see cases 178 and 184 below).

    The next account is from the Rev. C. C. Wambey, of Salisbury, the narrator of case 129.

    “April, 1884.

    (164) “Mr. B., with whom I was intimately acquainted before he left England, was appointed to the mathematical mastership in Elizabeth College, Guernsey. Some 10 years after his appointment, I accepted a temporary sole charge in the island, and renewed my acquaintance with my quondam friend; indeed, I was with him some portion of nearly each day during my stay in Guernsey. After my return to England, we maintained a regular correspondence. In the last letter I had from him, he described himself as being in unusually good health and spirits.

    “One morning I surprised my wife by telling her that poor B. was dead—that he had appeared to me in the night. She endeavoured to assuage my grief, suggesting that the apparition, whatever it may have {i-419} been, was due to my indisposition. I had been ailing for some time. I answered that I had received too certain intelligence of my friend’s death.

    “A few days subsequently, I had a letter in a black-edged envelope, bearing the Guernsey postmark. In that letter Mrs. B. told me that her husband had died after a few hours’ illness, and that during that illness he frequently spoke of me.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Wambey says:—

    “I have seen other forms than that I have mentioned. My grandfather appeared to me on the night in which he died; but I was in the house at the time, and he had been sinking for many hours. [The only other case—the subjective vision of an unrecognised figure—took place when Mr. Wambey was reading late at night, at a time when he was seriously overtaxed by work.]

    “From his widow’s letter I ascertained that Mr. B. died the night in which he appeared to me. I was awake—I could hardly have been deluded on this point—when my friend appeared to me. I did not notice his dress, I was so engrossed with his face—his look. Mrs. Wambey endorses the statement that I told her next morning I had seen my friend, and that I was sure he was dead. I think it was in 1870.”

    We learn from a son of Mr. B.’s that the date of his father’s death was October 27th, 1870.

    Mrs. Wambey, writing on May 17, 1884, corroborates as follows:—

    “My husband, the Rev. C. C. Wambey, the morning after he had seen Mr. B., mentioned the circumstance to me, and with much grief expressed his firm conviction that his friend was dead.

    “M. B. WAMBEY.”

    Our informant in the next case, Captain P., withholds his name from publication, as the percipient would object to its appearance. It will be seen that she admits the occurrence.

    “December, 1884.

    (165) “Some time at the end of 1868, I was discussing with a lady of my acquaintance the question of making compacts to appear after death. I doubted whether such compacts could be fulfilled; she stoutly maintained that they could be. Finally we agreed to make such a compact ourselves—that whichever of us first died should appear after death to the other.1 1 See Vol. ii., p. 66.

    “At the beginning of the next year I went on a voyage in the merchant ship ‘Edmund Graham,’ of Greenock, to Australia, and on the 22nd of June, when we were between the Cape of Good Hope and Australia (lat. 40° S., long. 22 E.), and the ship running before a heavy gale of wind, the sea swept over the deck and washed 7 of us, myself among the number, overboard. I gave myself up for lost, and I remember well that I thought of the panorama of their past lives which drowning men are said to see, and hoped that the show would commence. Then I regretted I was without my oilskin, as the water would have time to wet me through before death, and I expected to find it very cold; as far as I can recollect, this was all that passed through my mind. The next moment I caught hold of a loose rope that was hanging from the ship, and hauled myself on deck. The others were drowned. This took place between 3 and 4 a.m. {i-420} on June 22nd.1 1 By this the narrator undoubtedly meant “on the night of June 22–23,” as he believes the coincidence to have been exact. A few months afterwards I had a letter at Bombay, from my friend, in which she mentioned that on the night of the 22nd June she had seen me in her room.

    “When I saw her again, I received from her a full account of the circumstances. She told me that she woke up suddenly in the night, and saw me at the other end of the room, and that I advanced towards her. Whether she noticed the dress which I was wearing I cannot say. I have often since heard her describe the incident. As far as I can recollect, she told me the precise time of the appearance; and my belief is that it coincided in time with my being washed overboard. Though I cannot recollect calculating the difference of time, by reference to the longitude, I think it most likely that I did do so and found the times to correspond. I was certainly, at that time, quite alive to the fact that 22° of longitude would make a sensible difference in the apparent time.

    “M. P.”

    The following is a portion of a letter from the percipient to Captain P.:—

    “I enclose the papers you gave me to look at the other night, and in looking over the printed notes of the Society, I see (as a Catholic) I can have nothing to do with it.

    “You can tell your friend the reason I decline saying anything about it is because I am a Papist, and that I consider those sort of things much too sacred to make the topic of conversation at any modern scientific meeting.”

    These last remarks exemplify what was said above (p. 130) as to a particular class of obstacles which our investigation has to encounter, and which we can only trust to time to remove.

    The next case is one of the very few which is here quoted from a previous collection. It was first published by Mr. Dale Owen, in his Footfalls on the Boundary of Another World, pp. 299–303. One of us has seen the percipient, Mrs. Wheatcroft, who, however, finds herself precluded by family reasons from giving any further account.

    (166) “For the following narrative I am indebted to the kindness of London friends. Of the good faith of the narrators there cannot be a doubt.

    “In the month of September, 1857, Captain G. W., of the 6th Dragoon Guards, went out to India to join his regiment. His wife remained in England, residing at Cambridge. On the night between the 14th and 15th of November, 1857, towards morning, she dreamed that she saw her husband, looking anxious and ill, upon which she immediately awoke, much agitated. It was bright moonlight; and looking up, she perceived the same figure standing by her bedside. He appeared in his uniform, the hands pressed across the breast, the hair dishevelled, the face very pale. His large dark eyes were fixed full upon her; their expression was that of great excitement, and there was a peculiar contraction of the mouth, habitual to him when agitated. She saw him, even to each minute particular of his dress, as distinctly as she {i-421} had ever done in her life; and she remembers to have noticed between his hands the white of the shirt-bosom, unstained, however, with blood. The figure seemed to bend forward, as if in pain, and to make an effort to speak; but there was no sound. It remained visible, the wife thinks, as long as a minute, and then disappeared.

    “Her first idea was to ascertain if she was actually awake. She rubbed her eyes with the sheet, and felt that the touch was real. Her little nephew was in bed with her: she bent over the sleeping child, and listened to its breathing; the sound was distinct; and she became convinced that what she had seen was no dream. It need hardly be added that she did not again go to sleep that night.

    “Next morning she related all this to her mother, expressing her conviction, though she had noticed no marks of blood on his dress, that Captain W. was either killed or grievously wounded. So fully impressed was she with the reality of that apparition that she thenceforth refused all invitations. A young friend urged her, soon afterwards, to go with her to a fashionable concert, reminding her that she had received from Malta, sent by her husband, a handsome dress cloak, which she had never yet worn. But she positively declined, declaring that, uncertain as she was whether she was not already a widow, she would never enter a place of amusement until she had letters from her husband (if, indeed, he still lived) of later date than the 14th of November.

    “It was on a Tuesday, in the month of December, 1857, that the telegram regarding the actual fate of Captain W. was published in London. It was to the effect that he was killed before Lucknow on the fifteenth of November.

    “This news, given in the morning paper, attracted the attention of Mr. Wilkinson, a London solicitor, who had in charge Captain W.’s affairs. When, at a later period, this gentleman met the widow, she informed him that she had been quite prepared for the melancholy news, but that she felt sure her husband could not have been killed on the 15th of November, inasmuch as it was during the night between the 14th and 15th that he appeared to herself.1 1 The difference of longitude between London and Lucknow being about 5 hours, 3 or 4 o’clock a.m. in London would be 8 or 9 o’clock a.m. at Lucknow. But it was in the ofternoon, not in the morning, as will be seen in the sequel, that Captain W. was killed. Had he fallen on the 15th, therefore, the apparition to his wife would have appeared several hours before the engagement in which he fell, and while he was yet alive and well.—R.D.O.]

    “The certificate from the War Office, however, which it became Mr. Wilkinson’s duty to obtain, confirmed the date given in the telegram, its tenor being as follows:—

    ‘No. 9,579. ‘War Office.

    ‘January 30th, 1858.

    ‘These are to certify that it appears, by the records in this office, that Captain G. W., of the 6th Dragoon Guards [a mistake, as Mr. Dale Owen points out, for 6th (Inniskilling) Dragoons], was killed in action on the 15th November, 1857.

    (Signed) ‘B. HAWES.’

    “While Mr. Wilkinson’s mind remained in uncertainty as to the exact date, a remarkable incident occurred, which seemed to cast further suspicion on the accuracy of the telegram and of the certificate. That {i-422} gentleman was visiting a friend, whose lady has all her life had perception of apparitions, while her husband is what is usually called an impressible medium; facts which are known, however, only to their intimate friends. Though personally acquainted with them, I am not at liberty to give their names. Let us call them Mr. and Mrs. N.

    “Mr. Wilkinson related to them, as a wonderful circumstance, the vision of the Captain’s widow in connection with his death, and described the figure as it had appeared to her. Mrs. N. turning to her husband, instantly said:—

    “‘That must be the very person I saw the evening we were talking of India, and you drew an elephant with a howdah on his back. Mr. Wilkinson has described his exact position and appearance; the uniform of a British officer, his hands pressed across his breast, his form bent forward as if in pain. The figure,’ she added to Mr. W., ‘appeared just behind my husband, and seemed looking over his left shoulder.’”

    [Mr. and Mrs. N., who were Spiritualists, then obtained what purported to be a message from their strange visitant, saying that he had been killed that afternoon by a wound in the breast; but the message may perfectly well have been the automatic result of their own ideas, as it contained nothing beyond what they might have guessed from the nature of the apparition. This occurred at 9 in the evening; and the date was fixed as the fourteenth of November, by the date on a bill which was receipted, as it was remembered, on the same evening.]

    “This confirmation of the widow’s conviction as to the day of her husband’s death produced so much impression on Mr. Wilkinson that he called at the office of Messrs. Cox and Greenwood, the army agents, to ascertain if there was no mistake in the certificate. But nothing there appeared to confirm any surmise of inaccuracy. Captain W.’s death was mentioned in two separate despatches of Sir Colin Campbell; and in both the date corresponded with that given in the telegram.

    “So matters rested, until, in the month of March, 1858, the family of Captain W. received from Captain G. C, then of the Military Train, a letter dated near Lucknow, on the 19th December, 1857. This letter informed them that Captain W. had been killed before Lucknow, while gallantly leading on the squadron, not on the 15th of November, as reported in Sir Colin Campbell’s despatches, but on the fourteenth in the afternoon. Captain C. was riding close by his side at the time he saw him fall. He was struck by a fragment of shell in the breast, and never spoke after he was hit. He was buried at the Dilkoosha; and on a wooden cross erected by his friend, Lieutenant R., of the 9th Lancers, at the head of his grave, are cut the initials G. W., and the date of his death, the 14th of November, 1857.1 1 It was not in his own regiment, which was then at Meerut, that Captain W. was serving at the time of his death. Immediately on arriving from England at Cawnpore, he had offered his services to Colonel Wilson, of the 64th. They were at first declined, but finally accepted, and he joined the Military Train, then starting for Lucknow. It was in their ranks that he fell. [R. D. O.]

    “The War Office finally made the correction as to the date of death, but not until more than a year after the event occurred. Mr. Wilkinson, having occasion to apply for an additional copy of the certificate in April, 1859, found it in exactly the same words as that which I have {i-423} given, only that the 14th of November had been substituted for the 15th.1 1 The originals of both these certificates are in my possession; the first bearing date 30th January, 1858, and certifying, as already shown, to the 15th; the second dated 5th April, 1859, and testifying to the 14th. [R. D. O.]

    “This extraordinary narrative was obtained by me directly from the parties themselves. The widow of Captain W. kindly consented to examine and correct the manuscript, and allowed me to inspect a copy of Captain C.’s letter, giving the particulars of her husband’s death. To Mr. Wilkinson also the manuscript was submitted, and he assented to its accuracy so far as he is concerned. That portion which relates to Mrs. N. I had from that lady herself. I have neglected no precaution, therefore, to obtain for it the warrant of authenticity.

    “It is especially valuable, as furnishing an example of a double apparition. Nor can it be alleged (even if the allegation had weight) that the recital of one lady caused the apparition of the same figure to the other. Mrs. W. was at the time in Cambridge, and Mrs. N. in London; and it was not till weeks after the occurrence that either knew what the other had seen.

    “Those who would explain the whole on the principle of chance coincidence have a treble event to take into account; the apparition to Mrs. N., that to Mrs. W., and the actual time of Captain W.’s death, each tallying exactly with the other.”

    Mr. Wilkinson, of Winton House, Ealing, W., writes to us:—

    “November 5th, 1884.

    “Mr. Robert Dale Owen personally investigated the case, and submitted the messages to Captain Wheatcroft’s widow. I revised the part belonging to me, and that part which referred to the appearance to Mrs. Nenner was revised by her and her husband, Professor Nenner. I gave the original certificates of death by the War Office to Mr. Owen.

    “W. M. WILKINSON.”

    [The Mr. N. mentioned was the Rev. Maurice Nenner, Professor of Hebrew at the Nonconformist College, St. John’s Wood. Both Mr. and Mrs. Nenner are dead.

    It should be observed that there was no provable recognition of Captain Wheatcroft by Mrs. Nenner. We only know of the following points to connect her vision with Captain Wheatcroft’s death:—Similarity of attitude; uniform of a British officer; wound in the breast; date; and, apart from Mrs. Wheatcroft’s vision, there is nothing remarkable in this combination. But it is certainly curious that on that day she should have had a vision which corresponded, at least up to a certain point, with what Mrs. Wheatcroft saw.2

    2 There is another curious incident, connected with this case. In a letter written on July 28th, 1876, to the Rev. B. Wrey Savile, and kindly sent by him to me, a clergyman of the Midland counties gives permission to use his wife’s testimony to the fact that Captain Wheatcroft “appeared, on the date named, to an old playfellow and friend of his”—herself. I have corresponded with the clergyman in question, but further details cannot now be procured.

    We do not know the hour of Captain Wheatcroft’s death, as he may {i-424} not have died the moment that he was struck. If the death was immediate, it must have preceded Mrs. Wheatcroft’s vision by at least 12 hours. See p. 140, note.]

    The next account was received, in 1883, from M. de Guérin, now residing at 98, Sandgate Road, Folkestone. It is impossible to be certain that the coincidence was as close as the narrator imagines; but the presumption is to some extent favoured by the fact that he was the percipient in a similar but more remarkable case, which will be cited in a later chapter (No. 315).

    (167) “My brother Henry died in Exeter in July, 1855. I was then on a voyage home [from Shanghai]. I was very ill at the time. We were within one or two degrees of the line, fearfully hot. I had been in bed about a couple of hours and was wide awake, when I saw an almost exactly similar vision [i.e., similar to the other case referred to] of Henry. I immediately called out to my fellow passenger: ‘Frank, my brother Henry is dead, I have just seen him.’ I wrote to this gentleman [Mr. Francis L. Brine, Finsbury Distillery, Finsbury Square] to ask if he remembered anything about it. He replies: ‘Too many years have rolled by since to enable me to recall the details to which you refer, but I believe every word of it. When my father died, I wrote to my sister in India, and she wrote back to say,” I knew of our sad loss at the time it occurred; dear father came to wish me good-bye also.”’1 1 Mr. Brine has kindly sent us a letter from his sister (who is too much out of health to be questioned in detail) in which the following passage occurs:— “You remember my seeing poor father when he was dying. And you must have heard our poor mother speak of her brother, when at Bishop’s Waltham school, seeing his father (our grandfather) when dying. When he was sent for his remark was, ‘I know what I have to go home for; my father is dead; I saw him pull the bed-curtain aside in the night.’” Another sister of Mr. Brine’s mentions a still more striking experience of her own, which should have been a good case, as she at once wrote down the date of her seeing the phantasm; but she declines further correspondence. As bearing on this family susceptibility to telepathic influences, I may mention that a sister of Mr. de Guérin’s was a joint percipient with him in the case which is to be cited later; and also that Mr. de Guérin told me that there had been similar instances in their mother’s (the Read) family; one of whom (Mr. de Guérin’s grandfather) had seen a phantasmal hearse drive up to his father’s door on the morning that the father died—he himself not knowing of the death or of its imminence, as he was not staying at the house and was approaching it as a visitor. This incident does not now admit of verification; but we shall find further on that quite as bizarre experiences can be telepathically explained (see Chap. xii, § 7).

    “WM. C. L. DE GUERIN.”

    In conversation, Mr. de Guérin told the present writer that he believes his brother to have died on the day of the vision. We find from the Registrar of Deaths that the death took place on July 19th, 1855; but the day of the vision cannot now be independently fixed. It occurred at about 11 p.m., near the island of Ranbon, which is almost exactly antipodal to England; and the death took place at 3 p.m.; so that, if the day was the same, the vision preceded his death by some 4 hours. Mr. de Guérin knew his brother to have been suffering from a lingering illness, but had no immediate apprehension of the end. He had last heard of him in April.

    {i-425}

    The next narrative is of a more uncommon character. There are reasonable grounds, in this instance, for withholding the name of the narrator, Mrs. T., from publicity.

    “1883.

    (168) “On November 18th, 1863, I was living near Adelaide, and not long recovered from a severe illness at the birth of an infant, who was then 5 months old. My husband had also suffered from neuralgia, and had gone to stay with friends at the seaside for the benefit of bathing. One night during his absence the child woke me about midnight; having hushed him off to sleep, I said, ‘Now, sir, I hope you will let me rest!’ I lay down, and instantly became conscious of two figures standing at the door of my room. One, M. N. [these are not the real initials], whom I recognised at once, was that of a former lover, whose misconduct and neglect had compelled me to renounce him. Of this I am sure, that if ever I saw him in my life, it was then. I was not in the least frightened; but said to myself, as it were, ‘You never used to wear that kind of waistcoat.’ The door close to where he stood was in a deep recess close to the fireplace, for there was no grate; we burnt logs only. In that recess stood a man in a tweed suit. I saw the whole figure distinctly, but not the face, and for this reason: on the edge of the mantelshelf always stood a morocco leather medicine chest, which concealed the face from me. (On this being stated to our friends, the Singletons, they asked to go into the room and judge for themselves. They expressed themselves satisfied that would be the case to anyone on the bed where I was.) I had an impression that this other was a cousin of M. N.’s, who had been the means of leading him astray while in the North of England. I never saw him in my life; he died in India.

    “M. N. was in deep mourning; he had a look of unutterable sorrow upon his face, and was deadly pale. He never opened his lips, but I read his heart as if it were an open book, and it said, ‘My father is dead, and I have come into his property.’ I answered, ‘How much you have grown like your father!’ Then in a moment, without appearing to walk, he stood at the foot of the child’s cot, and I saw distinctly the blueness of his eyes as he gazed on my boy, and then raised them to Heaven as if in prayer.

    “All vanished. I looked round and remarked a trivial circumstance, viz., that the brass handles of my chest of drawers had been rubbed very bright. Not till then was I conscious of having seen a spirit,1 1 See p. 409, note. but a feeling of awe (not fear) came over me, and I prayed to be kept from harm, although there was no reason to dread it. I slept tranquilly, and in the morning I went across to the parsonage and told the clergyman’s wife what I had seen. She, of course, thought it was merely a dream. But no—if it were a dream, should I not have seen him as I had known him, a young man of 22, without beard or whiskers?2 2 Cf. cases 194, 449, 515. But there was all the difference that 16 years would make in a man’s aspect.

    “On Saturday my husband returned, and my brother having ridden out to see us on Sunday afternoon, I told them both my vision as we sat together on the verandah. They treated it so lightly that I determined {i-426} to write it down in my diary and see if the news were verified. And from that diary I am now quoting. Also I mentioned it to at least 12 or 14 other people, and bid them wait the result.

    “And surely enough, at the end of several weeks, my sister-in-law wrote that M. N.’s father died at C—— Common on November 18th, 1863, which exactly tallied with the date of the vision. He left £45,000 to be divided between his son and daughter, but the son has never been found.

    “Many people in Adelaide heard the story before the confirmation came, and I wrote and told M. N.’s mother. She was much distressed about it, fearing he was unhappy. She is now dead. My husband was profoundly struck when he saw my diary corresponding exactly to the news in the letter I had that moment received in his presence.”

    Mrs. T. states that she has never experienced a hallucination of vision on any other occasion.

    Mr. T. has confirmed to us the accuracy of this narrative; and Mrs. T. has shown to one of us a memorandum of the appearance of two figures under date November 18th, in her diary of the year 1863; and a newspaper obituary confirms this as the date of the death. We learn from a gentleman who is a near relative of M. N.’s, that M. N., though long lost sight of, was afterwards heard of, and outlived his father.

    If we regard this vision as telepathic, the agent can apparently only have been the dying man; and the case would then seem to be an extreme instance of the very rare type where the agent’s personality does not appear, but some idea or picture in his mind is reproduced in the percipient’s mind with a force that leads to an actual percept. For, as the narrator herself suggests, had she bodied forth the idea of M. N. from her own unaided resources, she would almost certainly have pictured him with the aspect that had been familiar to her. But though we have to draw on the father’s mind for the unfamiliar features, we must not forget the possibilities of agency below the threshold of consciousness (pp. 78–9, 230). And it is at least worth suggesting that the percipient’s mind brought its own affinities to bear—exercised, so to speak, a selective influence; and that thus it was rather owing to her special interest in the son than to the conscious occupation of his father’s mind with him, that the telepathic impulse which was able to affect her took this particular form. As to the appearance of the second figure, it may possibly have been also telepathically produced; but I prefer to lay stress on it simply as one of the numerous indications that these waking percepts are really dream-creations, not objective presences.

    We obtained the next case through the kindness of Miss Beale, Principal of the Ladies’ College, Cheltenham, to whom it was sent some years ago by the narrator, Miss T. J. C.

    {i-427}

    (169) “When I was between 13 and 14, I went to spend a few days at the house of some friends, where I shared a room with a companion a year older. Happening to awake one night, I saw distinctly the figure of a man (in what might have been a loose dressing-gown) standing before the dressing-table with his back towards the bed, and holding out one hand as if feeling his way. I remember rubbing my eyes to convince myself I was not dreaming, and on my looking up a minute after, the figure was gone. This startled me, and I awoke my companion. She, however, tried to persuade me it must have been her brother (the only man in the house), and that he had probably come in to look what o’clock it was by an old watch which always stood on the dressing-table, and was considered a great authority in the house. (I forgot to say there was bright moonlight shining into the room.) Only half convinced I fell asleep again, and at breakfast next morning asked C. (my companion’s brother) what he had been doing in our room the previous night. He said he had certainly not been there, but asked what I had seen, and on my telling him, looked so startled and pained that I did not pursue the subject.

    “A few days after this, his mother told me that C. had seen the figure in his room the same night on which I had seen it in mine, and had recognised it as that of a very great friend and old shipmate of his own. When C. left the navy on account of ill-health, this friend got leave to spend a few days on shore with him, and on parting with him, said, ‘Well, whoever dies first will come and see the other.’ On the day on which Mrs. B. spoke to me of the occurrence, C. had heard of the death of his old shipmate. It had taken place on board ship, off the coast of Spain, on the night on which the apparition was seen by C. and myself.

    “T. J. C.”

    Miss C. writes to us:—

    “1, Clarendon Place, Stirling.

    “February 28th, 1884.

    “The above story was sent by me to Miss Beale some years ago. The ‘C.’ mentioned in it has been dead for many years, and his mother’s memory is so much impaired by age and infirmity as to make her evidence of no value. I do not know that I can add anything to what I have already written. The occurrence is as fresh in my memory as when it happened. I was almost a child at the time, and no idea of my having seen a spirit ever entered my head, until Mrs. B. spoke to me of the death of her son’s friend. The two rooms (the one in which ‘C.’ slept and that in which my companion and I slept) were on the same floor, and near each other.”

    In conversation, Miss C. told me that she had never experienced a hallucination of vision on any other occasion. The figure which she saw corresponded with “C.”’s description of what he saw, except that she did not see the face.

    This case, if correctly reported, contains the remarkable feature of double percipience; which, however, will be more conveniently discussed at a later stage (Chap. XVIII.). Evidentially, I may observe, the narrator’s recollection of what she learnt about “C.”’s experience {i-428} makes it more probable that she is accurate as to the coincidence, than if she were merely recalling a childish experience of her own.

    We owe the following case to the Rev. T. Williams, Rector of Aston-Clinton, Tring. The first note, written down by Mr. Williams from his sister’s account of the occurrence, was copied from his diary by the present writer.

    (170) “Mrs. Stewart, sister-in-law of Jane, my sister’s servant, came up to ask if any news from home. She said, with her husband in bed—moonlight—chest of drawers between window—saw her mother standing—felt perfectly awake—she hid her face—a third time looked up—heard [? saw] nothing, but heard men calling up—knew exact time. She came up to my sister’s and related this the same day—said dreading to hear knock at door all day—fearing to hear of something having happened to her mother. Her friends, who lived at Church Stretton, came a month after to christening of her baby; in mourning—said mother’s sister, who exact image of her mother, had died at the very time of her vision—but friends did not tell Mrs. Stewart, because of her condition. This written from my sister’s account, who saw Mrs. Stewart on the day of the vision, and heard account of what seen from herself.” The date 1880 is added.

    The following account is from the husband of the percipient, who is herself dead. His mother’s name is also appended to the statement.

    “April, 1885.

    “Mrs. Stewart, the wife of a carpenter, living in Abergavenny, Monmouthshire, and who [Mrs. S.] is since dead, was, in the year 1874, in bed, and early one morning, being sure she was awake (for she had just heard the railway men being called to their work by the call boy), she looked up to see the time, and in one corner of her room she saw distinctly what she thought was her mother, intently looking at her. She was startled, and hid her face. On looking again the vision was still there, but on looking up a third time it had disappeared. Mrs. Stewart came up that day to see a sister-in-law who was in service near the town, to ask if she had had any tidings from her home (the impression the vision had made was so great), but nothing had been heard. Time passed on, and all seemed forgotten, when some of her friends came up to Abergavenny, to the christening of a little baby, born in the meantime. They were in mourning, and inquiries were made as to the friend mourned for, when it was told that on the night Mrs. Stewart thought she saw her mother, a sister of the mother’s, to whom she bore a great likeness, had died about the hour named, at some distance off; but they did not tell Mrs. Stewart of the death until some weeks after it happened, as Mrs. Stewart was in delicate health and much attached to her aunt.

    “JOHN STEWART.”

    Miss Williams, of Abergavenny, writes on July 1, 1885:—

    “Mrs. Stewart was not an excitable woman, had never had any hallucination of the senses, and was a quiet, somewhat silent person. Her mother-in-law is now living in Abergavenny, and is a very sensible, respectable, practical woman. She probably heard Mrs. Stewart speak of the occurrence soon afterwards, and was anxious to add her testimony to {i-429} the statement. I probably mentioned the statement to my brother in 1880, and he set it down in his notebook.”

    In reference to this last sentence, Mr. Williams says:—“I am more inclined to think that I heard of it within a day or two after it happened, and that if I added the date 1880, it must have been the date of my copying it into my notebook from some loose memoranda.”

    Here we have a singular feature—an appearance which suggested not the agent but a person closely resembling her. The case thus stands in a sort of midway position between the more normal cases and the class of unrecognised phantasms, of which several specimens have already been given (pp. 218, 384, 409, 427). The same peculiarity occurs in the next case. The narrator, Miss R., was willing to have her name and address published; but her family disliked the idea, and we have acted in accordance with their wishes.

    “May 8th, 1879.

    (171) “In the year 1861 my parents were living in Soho Square, and I and my brother Alfred, aged 24, were living with them. On the 15th October my brother went to spend the evening at the house of an old schoolfellow, where it was not unusual for him to remain for the night, in order to avoid coming home at a late hour. It was customary for him, if he happened to come home after my parents had gone to bed, to go quietly to my mother’s bedside and to give her a kiss if she were awake, and if not, to leave his hat upon the dressing-table as a sign that he had been there.

    “She went to bed on October 15th without expecting his return that night, but after her first sleep she awoke up suddenly and saw him, as she thought, standing at the foot of the bed; she said softly, ‘I am not asleep, my dear,’ but he went away instead of going to kiss her; and this surprised her.

    “On the morning of the 16th October, at breakfast time, she said to me: ‘Where is Alfred?’ I replied, ‘He did not come home last night, mamma.’ She answered, ‘Oh, yes, he did; and he came into my room when he was partly undressed, but he did not speak to me as usual.’ In the course of an hour my brother came in, and my mother asked him if he had been into her room during the night. He assured her he had not been home. She said, ‘It is very strange, for I am quite convinced that someone was standing at the foot of my bed when I awoke in the night.’

    “At about mid-day a letter arrived to inform us that our cousin, Frank, only a few years older than my brother Alfred, had died at 1 o’clock that morning in London. My mother instantly exclaimed, ‘It was Frank whom I saw! I can recall him to mind distinctly as I saw him, and though at the time I thought I was looking at Alfred, yet I thought there was something strange in his appearance, and I could not understand why he came in to see me without his coat on.’”

    We find the date of death, October 16th, 1861, confirmed by the obituary in the Times.

    On March 20th, 1884, the narrator informed Mr. Podmore as follows:—

    {i-430}

    “Before writing this account, I wrote a letter to my cousin’s family to confirm my recollection of the time at which he died, and received an answer to the effect that he died at 1 a.m. There was no very great likeness between my brother and my cousin; merely a general family resemblance. Both were fair: but Frank was taller than Alfred, and had a fine beard, whilst Alfred had but a slight one.

    “M. E. R.”

    Miss R.’s brother says:—

    “March 20th, 1884.

    “I remember this circumstance, but attach no importance to it, and detect nothing of the marvellous in the narrative.

    “G. A. R.”

    The next case is from Mrs. Duthie, housekeeper to the Rev. J. C. Macphail, of Pilrig Manse, Edinburgh, who writes:—

    “December 8th, 1885.

    (172) “My son has shown me the paper signed by our housekeeper, Mrs. Elizabeth Duthie, and has told me of your desire to be assured of her reliability. Mrs. Duthie has been with me for more than 30 years, and I know her to be one on whose statement the fullest reliance may be placed.

    “J. CALDER MACPHAIL.”

    Mrs. Duthie writes:—

    “Pilrig Manse, Edinburgh, August 22nd, 1885.

    “In August, 1883, the family of the Rev. J. C. Macphail had all gone to the country, leaving me alone in the house. An intimate friend of mine, a Miss Grant, who lived in Aberdeen, had been for some time seriously ill, and I was anxious about her, though I did not know that death was near. On Sunday night, the 26th of August, about 8 o’clock, I retired to my room, which is separated from the rest of the house, with a flight of stairs leading up to the door. I got into bed, and was lying half-asleep, with my face to the wall, when I felt that someone was bending over me, looking into my face. I opened my eyes, and looked up into the face of my friend Miss Grant. I started up in bed, and, looking round, saw Miss Grant’s figure leaving the room. I then got out of bed, and going to the door, looked down stairs, but no one was to be seen. I went down the stairs into the kitchen, but no one was there, nor was there a trace of anyone. I looked at the clock, and saw it was a few minutes past 9, and then went back to bed, feeling very uncomfortable, and certain something had happened to my friend. All next day (Monday) I felt unhappy about it, and waited anxiously to hear of my friend; but, as there was no one else in the house, I did not mention my experience of the previous night to anyone. That night I received information from Aberdeen that my friend had died at 9 o’clock on the previous night—at the very time I had seen her form in Edinburgh.

    “I have never had a hallucination of the senses on any other occasion.

    “ELIZABETH DUTHIE.”

    Mrs. Duthie’s vivâ voce account, given to the present writer a year later, exactly corresponded with the above. She is quite certain that her eyes were open when she saw the face.

    In answer to inquiries Mrs. Duthie says:—

    “I am quite certain that this experience fell on a Sunday, though I forget the exact day of the month; and I could not have imagined that it {i-431} fell on the Sunday after I got the news, for I heard of the death the very next day.”

    She has sent us a printed notice which she received, to this effect:—

    “22, Thistle Street, Aberdeen.

    “27th August, 1883.

    “Helen Grant died here last night at 9 o’clock.

    (Signed) “WM. GRANT.”

    Mr. G. W. Macphail writes:—

    “Mrs. Duthie told my mother of her strange experience less than a month after the event, and I learnt it shortly after from Mrs. Duthie.”

    The next case is a deposition made by Mrs. Still, (known in her professional capacity as Mrs. Byrne), who was introduced to Mr. Myers by Mrs. Longe, of Coddenham Lodge, Cheltenham.

    “Cheltenham, December 27th, 1882.

    (173) “Mrs Byrne was stewardess on the steamer ‘Lyra,’ Captain Gilpin, in the River Plata line of steamers. One morning—probably between 6 and 7, but she had no watch—she was lying in her berth. She awoke, and saw Captain Gilpin’s head passing slowly along her berth and looking at her. This was a familiar gesture on his part, as he used to be friendly with Mrs. Byrne, and ask her to sit on a seat outside his cabin, and used to look through his window in this way when he thought she was sitting there. Mrs. Byrne got up at once, and went into the pantry, and there heard that Captain Gilpin had been killed (though not instantaneously) by the fall of a spar at 6 that morning.”

    An extract from the official log-book, obtained by us from the General Register and Record Office of Shipping and Seamen, shows that the accident to Captain Prince Gilpin took place at 5.30 a.m., February 19th, 1878, on the “Laplace,” not the “Lyra.” He was crushed against the engine-room skylight by a heavy sea; and his death was due to fracture of the ribs and injuries to the lungs. This would quite correspond with Mrs. Byrne’s statement that his death was not instantaneous.

    [The coincidence here must have been very close; as there cannot have been more than a short interval between Captain Gilpin’s death and Mrs. Byrne’s natural time for rising, and in this interval, apparently, the vision occurred. The short period within which the whole contents of the narrative are comprised is further of importance as making the case an easy one to carry correctly in the memory; and it seems very unlikely that the percipient should have come to imagine that she got up immediately after her vision and ascertained what had occurred, if the vision really took place on some other morning. Mrs. Byrne had been on two previous voyages with Captain Gilpin. She has experienced one other visual hallucination, which may have been purely subjective.]

    The lady who narrates the following case desires that her name may not be published.

    “May, 1885.

    (174) “An attack of rheumatism and nervous prostration left me far from well for some weeks last spring, and one night I had a strange {i-432} unaccountable vision which has left a vivid impression upon my memory. I had gone to bed early and was lying awake alone, with a night-light burning in order in some degree to dispel the gloom. Suddenly across the lower end of the room passed Major G.’s figure, dressed in his usual everyday costume, neither his features nor his figure any whit altered. It was no dream, nor was I in the least delirious or wandering, therefore a conviction seized me that something must have occurred; in consequence I particularly marked the hour, when the clock struck 11 shortly afterwards. The next morning I was not the least surprised when my sister handed me a note from Miss G. announcing her brother’s death, and was fully prepared before reading it to find that he had passed away before 11 the previous evening—which presentiment, strange to say, was fully verified; Major G. having died at a quarter to 11. Major G. had returned in a bad state of health from Egypt, where he had been serving in the campaign of 1883. For some time he appeared to recover and was able to go about and enter into society during the winter, but during the last month the old symptoms had returned, and gradually he grew worse and worse, until no hopes of his recovery were entertained. Though not personally intimate with him, we were well acquainted with his family, and naturally his case formed a topic of conversation among us. We had also received bad accounts a few days before and were aware that he was in a critical condition; nevertheless at the time of his death he had been quite out of my thoughts and mind. I had never before had any apparition of any description whatsoever, nor has this one been followed by any other.

    “C. P.”

    Miss Scott Moncrieff, of 44, Shooter’s Hill Road, Blackheath, says:—

    “As I was at [the town where Miss P. lives] at the time, I can myself so far confirm the story as to mention that, on the day after it occurred, we heard that the young lady had been so shaken in her nerves by her illness that she had been seeing what you would call a ‘hallucination,’ and was going to Malvern for change of air.”

    She adds that Miss P. was staying with her when the above account was written, and that as to the date, “both she and I remembered that it was on a Thursday near the end of March or beginning of April.”

    We find from an obituary notice that Major G. died on Thursday, April 3rd, 1884.

    In an interview with Mr. Myers, December 26th, 1885, Miss P. added the following details:—

    “Major G.’s phantom was in his ordinary walking costume—hat and ulster—in which Miss P. was accustomed to see him. The figure passed quickly across the end of the room without turning its head, but the face as well as the figure were distinctly recognisable. The figure made no noise, and disappeared as it reached the wall.1 1 The mode of movement and of disappearance here described are not infrequent in visual hallucinations. In my collection (p. 392), besides about a dozen cases where the disappearance was through a door, behind a curtain, into a corner, and so on, I find four where it was respectively through the wall, into the wall, through the window, and into a bookcase. Movement of some sort, as will be seen later, is an extremely frequent feature of both subjective and telepathic phantoms. Miss P. at once conjectured that Major G. must be passing away; but she felt no fear. Although {i-433} Major G. was known to be fatally ill, there was no expectation of his death from day to day. He was not prominently before Miss P.’s mind. Miss P. was somewhat out of health at the time, but never suffered from any kind of hallucination of sight or hearing. She did not mention the incident to her family for fear of ridicule.

    Miss P.’s sister (to whom the incident was first told) said that she remembered receiving next morning the letter as to Major G.’s death; and also remembered that some time later Miss P. told her of the incident.

    [Here the knowledge of the percipient that Major G. was in a critical state is, of course, an element of weakness; but it remains a remarkable coincidence that she should have had her one experience of a sensory hallucination at the exact hour of his death.]

    The next account is from Mr. Runciman, of Oak Villa, Geraldine Road, Wandsworth.

    “May 5th, 1884.

    (175) “On the morning of December 2nd, 1883, at about 7 o’clock in the morning, I had a dream which merged into a waking hallucination as follows:—I dreamt Mr. J. H. Haggit was lying on my bed, beside me, outside of the bedclothes. I dreamt I saw him there, and I also thought I saw him there after dreaming. I arose and rested on my right elbow, looking at him in the dusky light. There was a very small jet of gas burning in the room. I reflected, ‘Am I awake, or is this a dream?’ I cannot yet answer this question to my own satisfaction; I cannot tell when my dream merged in my waking thoughts. I only am sure that as the figure disappeared I was as wide awake as I am now. He was dressed in grey tweed, as I had been used to see him actually dressed.1 1 See pp. 539–40. He was turned from me so that I could only partially see his face. Yet I was certain it was he. I was alarmed and shocked to find my dream a reality—as I then thought it. I was about to speak when, in a twinkling, the image of Mr. H. was gone. I was leaning on my right arm and half raised from the bed. It was only half light, our gas burning but turned low. I mentioned the matter on that day to Mr. G. Aynsley, of No. 3, Glover Terrace, South Shields. I was oppressed during the whole day by the unusual experience of the morning, and hence spoke to the above and another twice about the incident.

    “I had a note, next day I think, saying that Mr. H. died about 6 hours after his fancied presence in my bed.

    “I knew that Mr. H. was afflicted, as he had been for 8 years or so, by bronchial asthma. As he had lived so long in spite of great suffering, I quite thought he would live longer. I had no idea he was near death.

    “I believe this was a merely natural occurrence. I am not orthodox in religion.

    “THOMAS RUNCIMAN.”

    We find the date of the death confirmed by the obituary of the Darlington and Stockton Times.

    Mr. Aynsley corroborates as follows, on May 20, 1884:—

    “3, Glover Terrace, South Shields.

    “I remember hearing Mr. Thomas Runciman speak of a vivid dream {i-434} and hallucination which he had had on the day that Mr. Haggit died. He told me that he dreamt that he saw him lying on the bed beside him, in his ordinary dress, but very pale and haggard. He was so impressed that he awoke, and saw him quite plainly there. I ascertained afterwards that he had died about 6 hours after, on the day that Mr. Runciman related the circumstance.

    “GEORGE AYNSLEY.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Runciman writes:—

    “With regard to my having had any other hallucination, I have had others, but lapse of time and inattention have quite dimmed the remembrance of them. They were of a different kind to this last case. They were, I should say, simply ‘nightmare’ or ‘daymare.’ That is, they were such, that I quite believe I was asleep while experiencing them. In the last case I had not a peculiar sense of breaking out of sleep at once, and with a snap, as it were. I render my idea but imperfectly in the preceding sentence—perhaps I would more truly describe myself as breaking free, not from what was sleep, but from a tyrannous mistake as to my circumstances at the time. This sense was absent in the last case. I believe I might be awake, I even think I was awake, with the image of a dream still strongly on my mind. But in the earlier cases I concluded long ago that I was asleep and vividly dreaming till the image disappeared. Briefly, I cannot be sure in the latter case that I was asleep, although all experience would go to say I was. In the earlier cases many years ago I concluded that waking had caused what looked real to disappear. But do not think for one moment that I consider the last case any less a delusion than the former. I only try to describe my experience and belief at the moment of hallucination. It is difficult to define the difference in these cases.”

    In conversation with our colleague, Mr. R. Hodgson, Mr. Runciman mentioned that he found afterwards from the servant that at the time of his hallucination Mr. Haggit was apparently suffering intense agony. The figure was not part of his dream at all; he saw it when he woke. It appeared to be lying almost on its right side, between Mr. Runciman and his wife, with the left side-face exposed and eye open, but the body was motionless, though it seemed to Mr. Runciman to be alive. In addition to the low gaslight, the dusky light of the morning was coming through the window, the blind of which was up. The light was sufficient for Mr. Runciman to see the time by his watch. He tells us that he made a written note of the experience, but does not remember whether this was done before he heard of the death. He has searched for the note, but cannot find it, and thinks that it must have been lost at the time of a removal.

    § 7. I will now give some examples where two senses were concerned. The following, from Mr. D. H. Wilson, of Rosemont, Hyères, includes an impression of weight as well as of sight. The case belongs to the group where the agent is comatose (pp. 230, 406).

    “1876.

    (176) “My mother told me one morning, when I went to see her, that in the previous night she had had a startling experience. She was awakened by feeling a heavy weight on her feet, and on sitting up saw the form of her {i-435} husband (my father was then thousands of miles away) seated on the bed, in his nightshirt, and having the appearance of a corpse. After a few moments the form vanished. I recommended my mother to record this experience in her diary, and she did so. In due course she was informed by her husband that on that particular night he was in a state of coma, having been delirious for some days, and his life was quite despaired of by the doctors.

    ” D. H. WILSON.”

    In answer to our inquiries, Mr. Wilson wrote in February, 1884:—

    “My mother (who is no longer alive) had never seen anything of the kind previously, to the best of my knowledge.” He thinks that the occurrence was in the winter of 1862.

    Mr. Wilson’s sister, Mrs. Kimber, of 3, Roland Gardens, S.W., has given us a completely concordant account, but cannot recall how long after the incident it was that her mother told her of it. She says, “At the time of the apparition, all hope of his [her father’s] life had ceased.”

    In the following cases the sense of touch becomes more definite; and in the first of them, if memory can be trusted, even the sense of smell was concerned—projected, as we may suppose, like the other sensory features, from the percipient’s own mind.1 1 This feature occurred in case 18, p. 191, which, however, differed in the point that the smell represented what was occupying the agent’s mind. I may remark that, except in disease, subjective hallucinations of smell—or at any rate cases that can be clearly identified as such—seem very rare; I have only two first-hand specimens in my large collection—besides one or two where a hallucination of smell has survived as the consequence of a dream. In one case of this latter sort (which I cannot obtain first-hand for publication), a distinct smell of death followed on a dream which is alleged to have coincided with the unexpected death of the person dreamt of. Mrs. Brooke, of Woodlands, Kenford, Exeter, narrates:—

    “June 29th, 1884.

    (177) “I have a very vivid recollection that, towards dawn (?) on the morning of August 3rd, 1867, I was roused from my sleep to find my brother, an officer in the 16th Lancers, then quartered in Madras, standing by the bed. My impression is that he bent over me, kissed me, and passed quietly from the room, making signs to me not to speak, and that I was full of joy, thinking he had returned home unexpectedly, and lay awake till the maid called me, when my first words to her were that my brother had come home and I had seen him. I remember my bitter disappointment when at last made to believe that this was not so, and that it was quite impossible I could have seen him; also that I was scolded and silenced for holding to my story.

    “I cannot remember how much time elapsed before the news came by telegram that my brother died suddenly of jungle fever on August 2nd; full particulars did not reach us for weeks later, and it was not till long afterwards that I put two and two together, as the saying is, and, found that, as I then and now firmly believe, my favourite brother came to me at the hour of his death.

    “The date I fixed by reference to a childish diary I then kept, long since destroyed, but I cannot give you the exact hours. I know by letters that my brother died soon after 10 o’clock p.m. on August 2nd, and I {i-436} know that my room was not quite dark when I saw him, and that I did not fall asleep again before morning on August 3rd.

    “M. A. BROOKE.”

    The Army List confirms Aug. 2, 1867, as the date of death. The vision seems to have followed the death by 9 or 10 hours.

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Brooke says:—

    “I fear that at this distance of time, 17 years, I shall not be able to find anyone who remembers my mentioning my vision of my brother, unless it might be the maid, who was with me for more than 15 years, and I will write to her and find out if she recollects it.

    “I have never had any ‘hallucination of the senses,’ on any other occasion than that you know of.”

    [In this other case what seemed to be seen was the unaccountable opening of a locked door—which, as I have before remarked, is a known form of hallucination. See p. 102, note.]

    In a personal interview with Mrs. Brooke, Professor Sidgwick obtained the following additional details:—

    She was 13 years old. She was quite sure it was not a dream. It was quite impossible that it could have been some one else, mistaken for her brother. The room seemed to be full of a peculiar scent which her brother was fond of. She had written to the maid who, however, said, in reply, that she had only a vague recollection of the incident.

    We must not forget that “borderland” impressions, or rather, perhaps I should say, dreams which the dreamer mistakes for waking percepts, are probably commoner in early youth than in later years: and in such a case as Mrs. Brooke’s, therefore, the evidential superiority which I have pointed out as distinguishing waking from sleeping experiences could not rightly be insisted on. At the same time, whatever name we give them, we have no grounds for thinking that imaginary percepts so vivid and convincing as those here described fall to the lot of any considerable proportion of children.

    In the next case the imagery supplied by the percipient’s mind is very marked, and reminds us of some of the former dream-cases. The narrator is Miss Schmidt, of Ducklington Rectory, near Witney.

    “June, 1884.

    (178) “On New Year’s Eve, 1852, I awoke about 12.40 a.m. and found my room so brilliantly illuminated that I imagined I had forgotten to put out my candle, and that something must have caught fire. I got up and, on looking round, saw at the foot of the bed a coffin resting on chairs, on each of which was a silver candlestick with a large wax taper alight; in the coffin was a figure of my father. I put out my hand and touched him, when it became quite dark. I felt for my matchbox and lighted a candle, looked at my watch and wrote down the time. The next morning I told my friend, with whom I was staying in Paris at the time, and on the morning of the 2nd of January we received a letter from Marseilles, saying that my father had died suddenly at 12.40 on New Year’s Eve, and {i-437} that he had expressed such a strong wish to see his youngest child (i.e., myself) again just before his death.

    “E. A. SCHMIDT.”

    On one, and only one other occasion in her life, Miss Schmidt has seen an appearance of an unusual kind; this, however, was seen on different occasions by several persons, and, whatever it was, can scarcely be taken to prove any special liability to hallucinations. She was requested to put us in the way of procuring the corroboration of her friend, who is a Russian. On March 12th, 1885, she writes:—

    “I have taken all the steps I feel I can justifiably take with regard to securing for you the testimony of the Princess D. [name given]. It has already given me a great deal of awkward unpleasantness when inquiring at the Russian Embassy, &c., as the Prince and Princess are much mixed up in politics, and Russians are, as perhaps you know, not a little suspicious of the inquiries of strangers.”

    The most remarkable feature in this case is the light. The appearance of a dark room as being filled with light is a form of hallucination (or of hyperæsthesia) which is occasionally

    experienced on waking, apart from any further abnormality. I have received at least five well marked instances of the sort, not including those where there has been a further development of the hallucination—a luminous figure, or a figure in addition to the light.1 1 It is recorded by Despine père, De l‘Emploi du Magnétisme Animal (Paris, 1840), p. 240, that his patient, Estelle, saw all the objects in a perfectly dark room. A friend tells me that she has on several occasions, when feverish, had a “borderland” hallucination of a cat, which she has actually pursued about the room. On all these occasions the room, which was in reality dark, has appeared light—the light fading out as the hallucination vanished. The full interest of this point will appear later. (See Chap. XII, § 7.)

    The next case was first printed in the Spiritual Magazine for February, 1863. The narrator is the late Mr. George Barth, of 6, Highfield Villas, Camden Road, N.

    (179) “On the 14th of May, 1861, our son George, a most excellent and religious youth of 19 years, was removed from this to the spirit-world. Perceiving that the time of his departure was near, his mother and I alone watched by his bedside. When the last breath had been taken in and expired, I quietly remarked, ‘He is now gone.’ His mother inquired the time, and then observing the rising sun just shining over the blind of the room, which had an aspect to the east, she said, ‘See! the natural sun is just rising as our dear boy is rising to his Heavenly home.’ I have an object in noting the rising of the sun at the moment of his departure.

    “Mr. Williams, of Romford and Bishopsgate Without, a highly intelligent and worthy man, is united to our eldest daughter. At this time he was staying at his house in the City, his wife having been only a few days previously confined. He was sleeping in a room, the window of which faced the east. He states that he was soundly asleep, his hands outside the bedclothes, when he was suddenly aroused by feeling each of his hands firmly grasped and pressed. He instantly sat up, and by the {i-438} bedside stood George, holding his hands and smiling in his face with a look of peculiar sweetness and kindness. George was attired (seemingly) in his nightdress. Mr. Williams was not at all alarmed; he knew it was George in the spirit, and his presence filled his brother-in-law with a calm feeling of peace and happiness, which remained for many hours. They thus held hands and looked on one another for a minute or longer; then the grasp relaxed, and George’s spirit1 1 See p. 409, note. faded away.

    “Mr. Williams noticed that the rising sun was shining into his room over the blind. His impression was, and still is, that he saw George by this light and not by any other. At 8 o’clock Mr. Williams went to his wife’s room and told her, in the presence of his mother and the nurse, that George was dead. ‘Have you heard from father?’ was the natural query. ‘No; but I have seen George—he came for a minute this morning at sunrise.’ ‘Oh, nonsense! you have been dreaming, James.’ ‘Dreaming! I never was more awake in my life. I not only saw him, but I felt his hands pressing mine.’ ‘Nonsense, James; I know, poor boy, how ill he is, but father does not expect him to go yet. I still hope to be up and able to see him.’ Mr. Williams quietly rejoined, ‘You will see, dear. Mind, we shall presently have a letter or messenger from papa, telling us.’ In an hour later Mr. Williams received the letter which he expected.

    “Mr. Williams and George were mutually much attached; in all his boyhood anxieties his brother James was George’s confidant and friend. Hence a parting visit and a parting smile, and last friendly grasp of the hands was that which a departing spirit might be glad to give to his friend and brother; but he could not go in the body, nor give it while his body kept him.

    “GEORGE BARTH.”

    The Times obituary confirms the date of the death.

    Two daughters of Mr. Barth write to us as follows:—

    “Delmar Villa, 520, Caledonian Road.

    “April 20th, 1882.

    “The extract you send from the Spiritual Magazine was written by my dear father, in order to give a correct account of my brother George’s appearance to my brother-in-law, Mr. James Williams. The incident was spoken of at the time it occurred amongst us all in my father’s house; likewise I visited my sister and brother-in-law the day following George’s death, and heard the account from himself.

    “My father’s reason for sending the notice to the magazine arose from some friend having published an incorrect statement.

    “CHARLOTTE WALENN.”

    “3, Park Place West, Gloucester Gate, N.W.

    “July 29th, 1884.

    “I was a very young child at the time of my brother George’s death. The only confirmation I can give you is the fact of hearing my father speak of the occurrence to friends interested in such matters, on several occasions, just as it is stated in his narrative. My eldest sister, Mrs. Williams, has been dead some years, but my brother-in-law is still alive, and will, no doubt, give you any help in the matter.

    “ALICE BARTH (Mrs. Frederick Usher).”

    The account was sent to Mr. Williams, who resides at Fern Bank, {i-439} Crowborough, Tunbridge Wells. He made no corrections in it, and referred to it in a manner which implied its substantial accuracy; but he declined any further correspondence on the subject.

    The following account is from Mr. George J. Coombs, Sheriff’s Officer for the County of Nottingham. He tells me that he enjoys singularly robust health, and he is certainly as free from superstitious fancies as can well be conceived.

    “Journal Chambers, Pelham Street, Nottingham.

    “December 28th, 1883.

    (180) “In the middle of the month of June, 1880, my aunt left Salisbury and went to the Washington Hotel, Liverpool, where I joined her from Nottingham, for the purpose of seeing her off to America, on board the Allan Line steamer, Circassian, the following day.

    “Her business was to realise some property. She was getting into years, and very much pressed me to accompany her, but I was unable to leave my business for so long a time. She, however, made me promise to meet her on her return, and said it was her intention to spend the winter at Nottingham before returning to Salisbury.

    “About the 25th July following, at 4 o’clock in the morning, while in bed, I suddenly awoke and said to my wife, ‘Someone has taken hold of my hand; the hand was quite cold. I believe it was my aunt; I saw her rush out of the room.’ The door was open on chain, and I immediately jumped out of bed to see, and the chain was still on. I said to my wife, ‘My aunt is dead, and she has come again over the water,’ to which she replied, ‘You are dreaming; you had too much supper last night’; to which I said, ‘No, I am positive of the impression.’

    “I received a letter from a solicitor in Hamilton, about a fortnight afterwards, announcing my aunt’s decease, and a reference to the dates convinced my wife that she died at the very time I had the visitation. When I left my aunt in the steam tug which accompanied the Circassian down the Mersey, her farewell words were, ‘I shall see you first when I come back.’

    “GEORGE J. COOMBS.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Coombs adds that the vision was not distinct, but that the hallucination is unique in his experience. In conversation, he described the impression as extremely striking and startling. The door was so chained that it was impossible for anyone to enter the room.

    Mrs. Coombs corroborates as follows:—

    “July 25th, 1884

    “I very well remember the morning when my husband awoke early, and said he saw his aunt rush out of the bedroom, and that she had taken hold of his hand; also that, when the news of Mrs. Rumbold’s death came from Hamilton, the remark was made that it was the very date my husband narrated his dream. I cannot fix the date without an Almanac of 1880, but it was our Village Feast Monday morning, which is, I believe, the third week in July.

    “S. A. COOMBS.”

    We asked if it was possible to obtain corroboration as to the date of the death. Mr. Coombs sent us the solicitor’s letter; but this letter assumes {i-440} knowledge of the death, and was not written

    till September 27th. The letter received by Mr. Coombs “about a fortnight” after the death, and which must be the one by which the coincidence was fixed, is the following. It is undated, but the postmarks are Hamilton, July 21st, and Nottingham, August 5th, 1880.

    “188, King Street East, Hamilton, Canada.

    “DEAR SIR,—I am sorry to have the painful task to inform you of the death of your aunt, Mrs. Rumbold. She came to me on a visit on July 3rd, feeling very poorly. I thought it must be over-fatigue, and probably after a rest she would be better. She continued getting worse and lingered on till the 19th.—Yours truly,

    “A. JARVIS.”

    [Monday in the third week of July, 1880, fell on the 19th, which is so far in favour of the accuracy of Mrs. Coombs’ memory. It seems practically beyond doubt that at the time that the news arrived, Mr. Coombs, as well as his wife, fixed the date of the dream as Monday the 19th; and the fact that in his letter to us, written more than 3 years afterwards without reference to documents, he says “about the 25th,” is, therefore, unimportant.

    We learn, however, from Mrs. Jarvis that Mrs. Rumbold died at 4 p.m.; so that the impression, though falling, of course, within a time of most serious illness altogether unknown to the percipient, preceded the actual death by about 16 hours.]

    In the next case, the sense of touch was associated with that of hearing. Though the evidence is that of an uneducated witness, the facts are well-evidenced; and it is at any rate a primâ facie mark of accuracy that the want of exact coincidence of time is expressly noted. The first part of the account was written down by a careful assistant at Bangor.

    “December, 1883.

    (181) “My present housemaid’s mother, Ellen Williams, one night in 1872, distinctly and suddenly felt the pressure, as of some one’s hand upon her breast, at the same time heard the voice of her son, ‘Ffoulk,’ then a lad at sea, saying, twice ‘Mother, mother.’ She was not asleep, and she told her husband at once that she was sure it was her boy’s voice, and that she feared there was something the matter with him. When they saw notice of the arrival of the ship in Liverpool, they wrote at once. A reply came from the captain that the boy had died of yellow fever, six days out from Rio de Janeiro, giving the date, which corresponded exactly with the mother’s note of the occurrence. She is still living in the same place, near Port Dinorwic, in Carnarvonshire. She never had any similar experience before or since, and has no objection to the mention of her name.”

    In answer to inquiries our informant writes:—

    “I fear Mrs. Williams could not write the details herself, but she might dictate to another. Her daughter tells me she was then a child at home, and remembers that her father, who has since died, did all he could to convince his wife that her fears were groundless, and would not let {i-441} her dwell on the subject. They did not hear of the death till some months after, and the captain sent the date, which was copied into the family Bible.”

    And later she adds:—

    “I have had an interview with Mrs. Ellen Williams, in the presence of her daughter, and have translated exactly what she said in Welsh. She insisted upon the night of the 4th being the time of her impression. The captain’s statement that the 6th was the date of death makes a material difference. I copied the spelling of Pernambuco as it was written on the fly-leaf of the Bible.”

    The following is the percipient’s testimony:—

    “January 9th, 1884.

    “I hereby declare that on the night of the 4th of February, 1872, about 1 o’clock, I distinctly saw my son Ffoulk, looking very weak and ill, and felt the pressure of his hands and heard his voice, saying, ‘Mother! mother!’ I did not know if I was asleep. I believed not. I mentioned it at once to my husband, who did not understand my feelings.

    “We did not hear till the following Good Friday of his death, which the captain said took place on the 6th of February, I do not know at what hour.

    “Witness my mark, Ellen Williams her + mark.

    “In the presence of my daughter, who also testifies that I spoke of it at once, and commonly, and remained in great anxiety until the news reached us.

    “MARY WILLIAMS.”

    The record in the family Bible stands:—

    “Ffoulk died at sea, 6th of February, 1872, in lat. 5.51 S., long. 34.35 W., of the yellow fever, on board the barque ‘Barbadoes,’ on his passage from Pernabucca to Liverpool.”

    Our original informant adds:—

    “June 25th, 1884.

    “I recollect pressing the question at the time as to whether Ellen Williams had ever had any impression or hallucination of any kind, and she positively denied ever having experienced such, except on that one occasion.”

    [The two days’ interval between the impression and the death, if correctly remembered, of course weakens the case for evidential purposes. Still, the impression almost certainly corresponded with a time of unforeseen and desperate illness.]

    § 8. Lastly, we have a group where the two higher senses of sight and hearing were both concerned. The following account is from Miss Kate Jenour, of 23, Belsize Square, South Hampstead, N.W.

    “November, 1884.

    (182) “On the 4th of May, 1883, when on board H. M. S. Spartan, on my way to Capetown, I was awoke by hearing someone in my cabin, which I alone occupied, when to my surprise I saw the figure of a friend of mine standing by my berth. It then disappeared, and by the first mail after my arrival at Capetown, I received the news of my friend’s death, {i-442} which took place at 10.30 p.m. on that night. I told 2 or 3 passengers on board, who made a note of it.”

    In answer to inquiries, Miss Jenour says:—

    “I was certainly awake; I had no sense of awaking afterwards, but the sense of waking before I saw the figure, my first impression having been that the steward had come in to shut the port-hole. I had a light burning in my cabin. The figure looked quite solid and natural, and was in day-dress. I knew the girl to be consumptive, but had not thought of her as likely to die, and indeed had not been thinking about her at all; she was an acquaintance and neighbour, but not an intimate friend.

    “I think the vessel was about half-way to the Cape. Next day I described what I had seen to my cousin, Mr. Jenour, Captain Wait, Mr. Frames, who is now a lawyer in Grahamstown, and Mr. Hope Hall. I was so impressed that I could not help speaking of it, in spite of expecting to be laughed at: had it been a dream, I should have thought nothing of it.

    “I am certain I mentioned the date of my vision in my first letter to my father, written when I got to the Cape, and before the news of the death reached me; and I am also certain that when I received the news of the death, I noted, and my cousin noted, that the dates were the same. I cannot now be sure of the exact day.

    “I have had no other such waking vision except once, soon after, at Capetown; when I saw the figure of a dressmaker whom I knew in England, and who (as I learnt on my return to England) had died about the same time; but the date was not fixed.

    “K. J.”

    We find from the obituary in the Times that the death took place on May 2, 1883.

    Miss Jenour’s cousin is unfortunately at a distance, and his address cannot at present be ascertained. Captain Wait writes, in April, 1886, that he does not recall Miss Jenour’s mention of the incident. The fact of the coincident death not being then known, such a narration might naturally make very little impression. I wrote to ask Mr. Frames if he remembered any singular announcement made by Miss Jenour during the voyage; but he replied in the negative.

    Miss Jenour’s father writes on Nov. 1, 1885:—

    “I can positively state that by the next mail to the Cape, after the death of a young friend of ours, I wrote to my daughter; but before my letter can have reached her, she, on arriving at Capetown, wrote to me to say that the lady in question had appeared to her in her cabin, at sea, between Madeira and the Cape, and that she mentioned the fact the following morning to her relatives and friends on board. On comparing dates, it was certain that the appearance was on the same day that the lady died. Since then my relatives have confirmed this in every particular.

    “H. J. JENOUR.”

    Mr. Jenour is certain that his daughter’s letter contained the date of her vision, and he has kindly searched for the letter. He writes, on Dec. 1, 1885:—

    “The letter I most wanted I cannot find, but have one dated June 5th, in which my daughter again refers to Miss B.’s death, and adds, ‘On the {i-443} 2nd of May,1

    1 The date of the dream in the first account, the 4th of May, was given from memory only, under the impression that the death had occurred on that day—not from any independent record. in the night, or rather morning,2 2 The vision took place soon after midnight—which of course would make its actual date May 3. I awoke up and saw Edith standing by my bed. I told about it at the time.’ The lady died at half-past 10 o’clock at night.”

    Mr. Jenour tells me that it was the close coincidence of time that specially struck him, and he mentioned the circumstance to others. Miss Jenour is equally confident that the coincidence of time was noted in Capetown; though, as she has mentioned, her memory does not retain the exact date. We find from the Times that the Spartan left Plymouth on the 20th of April, and arrived at Capetown on the 10th of May; therefore her recollection that “the vessel was about half-way” is not far wrong.

    The next case is from Mrs. Richardson, of Combe Down, Bath.

    “August 26th, 1882.

    (183) “On September 9th, 1848, at the siege of Mooltan, my husband, Major-General Richardson, C.B., then adjutant of his regiment, was most severely and dangerously wounded, and supposing himself dying, asked one of the officers with him to take the ring off his finger and send it to his wife, who at that time was fully 150 miles distant, at Ferozepore. On the night of September 9th, 1848, I was lying on my bed, between sleeping and waking, when I distinctly saw my husband being carried off the field, seriously wounded, and heard his voice saying, ‘Take this ring off my finger, and send it to my wife.’ All the next day I could not get the sight or the voice out of my mind. In due time I heard of General Richardson having been severely wounded in the assault on Mooltan. He survived, however, and is still living. It was not for some time after the siege that I heard from Colonel L., the officer who helped to carry General Richardson off the field, that the request as to the ring was actually made to him, just as I had heard it at Ferozepore at that very time.

    “M. A. RICHARDSON.”

    The following questions were addressed by us to General Richardson, whose answers are appended.

    (1) Does General R. remember saying, when he was wounded at Mooltan, ‘Take this ring off my finger, and send it to my wife,’ or words to this effect?

    “Most distinctly; I made the request to my commanding officer, Major E. S. Lloyd, who was supporting me while my man had gone for assistance. Major Lloyd, I am sorry to say, is dead.”

    (2) Can he remember the time of this incident? Was it morning, noon, or night?

    “As far as memory serves, I was wounded about 9 p.m. on Sunday, the 9th September, 1848.”

    (3) Had General R., before he left home, promised or said anything to Mrs. R. as to sending his ring to her, in case he should be wounded?

    “To the best of my recollection, never. Nor had I any kind of presentiment on the subject. I naturally felt that with such a fire as we were exposed to I might get hurt.”

    {i-444}

    Four years after the above was written, Mrs. Richardson gave me vivâ voce a precisely accordant account. She described herself as a matter-of-fact person, and does not have frequent or vivid dreams.

    The details as to the ring seem fairly to raise this case out of the category of mere visions of absent persons who are known to be in danger, and with whom the percipient’s thoughts have been anxiously engaged.

    The next case was received towards the end of 1882, from Mr. J. G. Keulemans, who has already been mentioned more than once (pp. 196, 235, 255).

    (184) In December, 1880, he was living with his family in Paris. The outbreak of an epidemic of small-pox caused him to remove three of his children, including a favourite little boy of 5, to London, whence he received, in the course of the ensuing month, several letters giving an excellent account of their health.

    “On the 24th of January, 1881, at half-past 7 in the morning, I was suddenly awoke by hearing his voice, as I fancied, very near me. I saw a bright, opaque, white mass before my eyes, and in the centre of this light I saw the face of my little darling, his eyes bright, his mouth smiling.1 1Mrs. Luther, of Adelaide Crescent, Brighton, has supplied us with a very close parallel to this form of impression, in a case which we do not include in our evidence, since the vision, though coinciding with the death of the person seen, may have been due to the percipient’s state of anxiety about him. The incident was related to Mrs. Luther by her friend, Miss D. Brooke (since dead), within a year of its occurrence. “Suddenly her attention was called from the thoughts of her young friend, which filled her mind at the time, by a bright light shining in the looking-glass. She thought some one must have entered the room, but on looking at the glass, she saw in the midst of the bright light which therein appeared, her young friend, with a peaceful, happy smile upon his face. As she looked, it and the light gradually disappeared, and she was left again in comparative darkness.” See also cases 163 and 178 above, and compare the disc of light in case 220. The apparition, accompanied by the sound of his voice, was too short and too sudden to be called a dream: it was too clear, too decided, to be called an effect of imagination. So distinctly did I hear his voice that I looked round the room, to see whether he was actually there. The sound I heard was that of extreme delight, such as only a happy child can utter. I thought it was the moment he woke up in London, happy and thinking of me. I said to myself, ‘Thank God, little Isidore is happy as always.’”

    Mr. Keulemans describes the ensuing day as one of peculiar brightness and cheerfulness. He took a long walk with a friend, with whom he dined; and was afterwards playing a game of billiards, when he again saw the apparition of his child. This made him seriously uneasy, and in spite of having received within 3 days the assurance of the child’s perfect health, he expressed to his wife a conviction that he was dead. Next day a letter arrived saying that the child was ill; but the father was convinced that this was only an attempt to break the news; and, in fact, the child had died, after a few hours‘illness, at the exact time of the first apparition.

    Mrs. Keulemans says:—

    “May 29th, 1885.

    “I remember that, the day when little Isidore died, my husband said that he felt strongly impressed that there was something wrong {i-445} with the little boy in London. It was in the evening that lie asked me whether I had received any news from my mother about Isidore. I replied that no letter had come, and asked him why he wanted to know. He made the same remark as before, but would not further explain himself. I tried to expel his gloomy forbodings [sic] by referring to a letter we had from my mother, stating that Isidore was very happy, and was singing all day long. My husband did not seem pacified. When the letter mentioning his illness came, my husband was very much dejected, and told me that it was no use trying to make a secret of it, as he knew the worst had happened. He said afterwards that he had seen a vision.

    “A. KEULEMANS.”

    The second apparition in this case may be regarded as a sort of recrudescence of the first. (See, however, Chap. XII, § 6.) With respect to this feature of repetition after a good many hours or days, I may mention that I have but one example of it in my collection of purely subjective hallucinations, and, except in very markedly pathological cases, it seems to be extremely rare—rarer than the more immediate repetition of which I spoke in connection with case 159, above. It is perhaps allowable to surmise its connection with a special character of intensity in some of these telepathically produced impressions. Other telepathic examples are Nos. 213 and 240.

    In the next example the repetition was of the more immediate sort, recalling cases 159 and 160, above. The account is from Mrs. Sherman, of Muskegon, Michigan, and was received through the kindness of Mr. F. A. Nims, solicitor, of that city, who has known Mrs. Sherman and her family for years.

    “Muskegon, Michigan.

    “November 18th, 1885.

    (185) “On the 4th of July, 1868, my sister Lizzie and myself left Detroit and went to Saginaw, for the purpose of making a short visit with friends there. Our train was due in Saginaw about 7 p.m., but through detention did not arrive

    there until between 10 and 11. Owing to the lateness of the hour of arrival, we did not go to the residence of our friends, but to the Bancroft House, then the principal hotel in that city. The weather was very warm, our ride had been very dusty, and we were very tired. We had supper, and soon after retired. My sister and I occupied the same room and bed. It was nearly or quite 12 o’clock when we retired. As I now recollect, I went immediately to sleep. I was awakened by feeling what seemed to be a hand on my shoulder. I saw my brother Stewart standing by the bedside, and I had an impression at the same time that my brother-in-law Phillip Howard was also in the room. My brother said to me: ‘Kate, mother wants you! get up and go home.’ I at once became very much excited and awakened my sister, and told her that I had seen Stewart and what he had said, and that I felt sure that mother was sick or in trouble, or that something unusual had happened to her. We got up, and immediately after heard the clock strike one. There {i-446} was bright moonlight that night, and all objects in the room and outside the windows were plainly visible. There had been a menagerie in town that day, and it was yet in the neighbourhood, and we could hear the noises of the animals, and talked about them. My sister did not share in my alarm or anxiety, and ridiculed what she called my ‘Ghost Story,’ and we soon retired again. My mind was somewhat troubled with what had occurred, and I did not go to sleep quite so soon as my sister did, but I did go to sleep again, and the air being somewhat cooler, before going to sleep I had pulled the sheet up over my neck. While asleep I was again awakened by feeling the sheet pulled down off me,1 1 I need hardly point out that this sensation is no more a proof of an objective presence than any other feature of the hallucination. and I again saw my brother Stewart, and he repeated the same language as on the first occasion. At this time his appearance was very much more persistent than before, but his face seemed to retire and gradually fade away.2 2 Compare p. 444, note; and see Chap. xii., § 10, and Vol. ii., p. 97, first note. He looked pale and ill, but at that time my concern and anxiety was on account of my mother. I supposed that she was threatened with some serious illness, and that the appearance had relation to that. I again aroused my sister and told her what had occurred, and we both got up and dressed, and did not retire again that night. I am not sure that I mentioned the circumstance to any of our friends that day. If I did, I am not in a position now to obtain the verification of it.

    “We returned home on the afternoon of Monday, the 6th of July, arriving there between 6 and 7 o’clock. We found our father and mother very much disturbed in consequence of a telegram which they had received to the effect that Stewart was dying. When my mother communicated the news to us, I answered ‘He is dead’; for then the significance of what had occurred at Saginaw first flashed upon me. It was but a very short time after this, the same evening, that we received another telegram giving the tidings of his death. My sister Lizzie had received a letter from him but a day or two before we went to Saginaw, in which he promised to make us a visit in the following October, and there was nothing to afford any ground for anxiety on his account in the letter. As I have been since informed, he died about a quarter before 1 o’clock on the morning of the 5th of July, about the time of his first appearance to me, as near as I can ascertain.

    “I have a letter from my sister Lucy, the wife of Phillip Howard, at whose house he died, giving full particulars of his death, from which it seems that he was taken suddenly and violently ill on the 3rd or 4th of July, of what was supposed to be yellow fever.

    “During his illness he talked a great deal about our mother, and seemed in his delirium to be watching for her and to think that she was coming to see him. He died, as stated, that Sunday morning, and was buried by order of the authorities on the afternoon of the same day.

    “You inquire if I have ever had any previous hallucination of that kind. I have never had but one; that occurred when I was 7 years old. At that time a young girl, a relative and playmate of mine, was ill with some form of fever. I had not been allowed to see her for two or three days. On waking one morning, I saw or dreamed she came and kissed me and bade me good-bye. This was before I had arisen. My mother {i-447} soon afterwards came into the room, and I told her that —— had come and kissed me and bid me good-bye. Within a few minutes after this some one of the family came from the house where the little girl resided, and said that she was dying. My mother immediately went over to the house, which was not far off, and when she arrived there the little girl was already dead.

    “These are the only cases of what you call ‘hallucination’ that have occurred in my experience.

    “The occurrences at Saginaw were real, and I have never had a doubt about my brother, in some way or form, appearing to and communicating with me.

    “KATE SHERMAN.”

    Mrs. Sherman’s sister, Mrs. Park, corroborates as follows:—

    “Muskegon, Michigan.

    “I have read the foregoing statement signed by my sister, Mrs. S., and am able from my own recollection to confirm the same, except, of course, that I did not myself see my brother, Stewart Paris, or his apparition, at the same time that my sister did.

    “At the time of the occurrences at Saginaw, I supposed what my sister said that she saw to be a dream, or something of that character, and gave the matter no serious thought or consideration until our return home the next day, when we learned of our brother’s illness and death.

    “I remember, however, that what my sister said she saw made a very strong impression upon her, and that she said, and seemed to believe, that some serious illness or misfortune had occurred or was about to occur to our mother.

    “ELIZABETH O. PARK.”

    Mr. Nims adds that he had hoped to get a statement from Mrs. Paris, mother of Mrs. Sherman and Mrs. Park; but “while she remembers hearing about the vision on her daughters’ return from Saginaw, she is unable to say whether it was before or after the news of the death.”

    The next case is from Miss Bibby, of Chaceley Lodge, Tewkesbury.

    “1883.

    (186) “In the early autumn of 1860, when I was between 19 and 20, I was staying with friends who lived near Rugby. I had gone to bed and fallen asleep, and was awakened by a consciousness of some one being in the room. I saw, as I imagined, my grandfather standing at the foot of the bed. He was then, as far as I knew, at his own house a few miles out of Liverpool. Immediately the figure moved to the side of the bed, the curtains of which had not been drawn. The figure did not, so far as I remember, touch either the bed or the curtains. The only remark he made was ‘Good-night, Miss Nellie, Ma’am’—he was always in the habit of calling me ‘Nellie’ and sometimes in fun, ‘Miss Nellie, Ma’am,’ quoting the way in which Irish servants used to address my grandmother, after whom I was christened. He was the only person who ever called me ‘Miss Nellie’ or ‘Nellie,’ my father having a great objection to all pet names.

    “I soon fell asleep again, and next day mentioned the circumstance to my friends, and the day after received from my father the news of my grandfather’s sudden death, about the time when he had appeared to me

    {i-448}

    So little did I anticipate such news that before I broke the black seal on my father’s letter I exclaimed, ‘Dear me, I fear poor Edward has gone,’ alluding to my youngest brother who had been ailing for some time.

    “ELLEN BIBBY.”

    [The corroboration of the friends with whom Miss Bibby was staying cannot unfortunately be obtained, as she has lost sight of them.]

    The next account is from Miss Hosmer, the celebrated sculptor.

    (187) “An Italian girl named Rosa was in my employ for some time, but was finally obliged to return home to her sister on account of confirmed ill-health. When I took my customary exercise on horseback I frequently called to see her. On one of these occasions I called about 6 o’clock p.m., and found her brighter than I had seen her for some time past. I had long relinquished hopes of her recovery, but there was nothing in her appearance that gave me the impression of immediate danger. I left her with the expectation of calling to see her again many times. She expressed a wish to have a bottle of a certain kind of wine, which I promised to bring her myself next morning.

    “During the remainder of the evening I do not recollect that Rosa was in my thoughts after I parted from her. I retired to rest in good health and in a quiet frame of mind. But I woke from a sound sleep with an oppressive feeling that someone was in the room. I reflected that no one could get in except my maid, who had the key of one of the two doors of my room—both of which doors were locked. I was able dimly to distinguish the furniture in the room. My bed was in the middle of the room with a screen round the foot of it. Thinking someone might be behind the screen I said, ‘Who’s there?’ but got no answer. Just then the clock in the adjoining room struck 5; and at that moment I saw the figure of Rosa standing by my bedside; and in some way, though I could not venture to say it was through the medium of speech, the impression was conveyed to me from her of these words: ‘Adesso son felice, son contenta.’ Now I am happy, I am content. And with that the figure vanished.

    “At the breakfast table I said to the friend who shared the apartment with me, ‘Rosa is dead.’ ‘What do you mean by that?’ she inquired; ‘You told me she seemed better than common when you called to see her yesterday.’ I related the occurrence of the morning, and told her I had a strong impression Rosa was dead. She laughed, and said I had dreamed it all. I assured her I was thoroughly awake. She continued to jest on the subject, and slightly annoyed me by her persistence in believing it a dream, when I was perfectly sure of having been wide awake. To settle the question I summoned a messenger, and sent him to inquire how Rosa did. He returned with the answer that she died that morning at 5 o’clock.

    “I was living in the Via Babuino at the time.

    “The above has been written out by Miss Balfour, from the account given by Lydia Maria Child [to whom Miss Hosmer had narrated the facts] in the Spiritual Magazine for September 1st, 1870, with corrections [of a trifling kind] dictated by me, July 15th, 1885.

    “H. G. HOSMER.”

    {i-449}

    The account given by Miss Child, which Miss Hosmer pronounced correct at the time, gives a few more details, tending to show that she was quite awake for an appreciable time before her vision. “I heard in the apartments below familiar noises of servants opening windows and doors. An old clock, with ringing vibrations, proclaimed the hour. I counted one, two, three, four, five, and resolved to rise immediately. As I raised my head from the pillow, Rosa looked inside the curtain and smiled at me. I was simply surprised, &c.”

    [Miss Hosmer does not remember the exact date of the occurrence, but says it must have been about 1856 or 1857. The old lady with whom she was residing is dead.]

    We received the following account from the Rev. J. Barmby, of Pittington Vicarage, Durham, who writes:—

    “December 29th, 1884.

    (188) “What follows was communicated orally to the Rev. J. T. Fowler, Librarian and Hebrew Lecturer in the University of Durham, by Mr. Clarke, one of the principal tradesmen in Hull, on the 9th of October, 1872. Mr. Fowler took notes in writing of what Mr. Clarke told him at the time, which notes he handed to me in the same month of October. I put them into the following form after receiving them, and have no doubt of their substance and details being exactly given. The events related had occurred about four years previously to Mr. Fowler’s interview with Mr. Clarke.”

    “Mr. Clarke, of Hull, had known for twenty years a Mrs. Palliser, of the same place. She had an only child, a son called Matthew, who was a sailor. Being of the age of 22, he had sailed from Hull to New York. About a month after his departure, Mrs. Palliser came to Mr. Clarke in tears, and said, ‘Oh, Mr. Clarke, poor Mat’s drowned.’ Mr. C. said, ‘How have you got to know?’ She replied, ‘He was drowned last night going on board the ship, in crossing the plank, and it slipped; I saw him, and heard him say, “Oh, mother.” She stated that she had been in bed at the time, but was sure she was wide awake: and that she had seen also her own mother, who had been dead many years, at the bedfoot crying, and making some reference to the event. Mr. C. said to her, ‘Oh, it’s all nonsense, I don’t believe anything of the sort.’ She earnestly persisted in her conviction, and called on Mr. C. perhaps half-a-dozen times during the ensuing week. In order to pacify her, he undertook to write to the agent of her son’s ship at New York. This she had wished him to do, thinking that he, as a business man, would know better how to write than herself. After the despatch of the letter, Mrs. P. kept calling on Mr. C. about every week, to ask if he had heard anything. In about a month’s time a letter arrived from New York, addressed to ‘Mrs. Palliser, care of Mr. Clarke.’ It was opened by Mr. Clarke’s son, in the presence of Mrs. Palliser, who, before it was opened, said, ‘Aye, that’ll contain the news of his being drowned.’ The letter conveyed the intelligence that Matthew Palliser, of such a ship, had been drowned on such a night, through the upsetting of a plank, as he was going aboard the ship. The night specified was that of Mrs. P.’s vision.

    “Mr. Clarke described Mrs. Palliser as ‘a well-educated woman, a very respectable old lady who had seen better days,’ about 65 years of age. She {i-450} had, he said, been a widow for some years before her son was drowned. She was then living in a passage leading out of Blackfriars Gate, in Hull. He had seen her ‘the day before yesterday.’ She had told the story ‘thousands of times,’ and it was well-known in Hull.”

    The Rev. J. T. Fowler, of Bishop Hatfield’s Hall, Durham, writes:—

    “November 26th, 1884.

    “I know nothing about the case I mentioned to Mr. Barmby beyond what I gave him in writing.

    “Mr. Clarke, a tradesman in Hull, told me of the case of Mrs. Palliser, and got her to come to his office, in Queen Street, Hull, for me to take down from her own lips the notes I gave to Mr. Barmby. I took great pains to get the whole of the story correctly.

    “J. T. FOWLER

    Mr. Clarke writes:—

    “Winterton Hall, Doncaster.

    “January 20th, 1885.

    “Widow Palliser was a woman who had seen better days, and worked for my firm, Clarke and Son, Clothiers, Queen Street, Hull. She had an only son, Matthew. I assisted her in getting him to sea. One morning she came to me with tears rolling down her cheeks and said, ‘Mat’s dead; I saw him drowned! Poor Mat, the last words he said were, “Oh! my dear mother.” He threw up his hands and sank to rise no more.’ I asked how she knew. She said, ‘I saw him going on board his ship, and the plank that he walked upon slipped on one side, and he fell overboard between the quay and the ship, and was drowned. My own mother, who had been dead many years, came to the foot of my bed and said, “Poor Mat’s gone; he’s drowned.”’1 1 Mr. Clarke is quite confident that Mrs. Palliser spoke of her experience as a waking one. I then said, ‘Why, Mat’s in New York’ (I always felt interested in this woman and her son). ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘he was drowned last night at New York; I saw him.’

    “Mrs. P.’s object in coming to me was to ask if I would write to the agent in New York, to ascertain the facts. I said I would, and wrote stating that a poor widow had an only son on board such a ship, and she had a vision that an accident (I said nothing about drowning) had happened to her son, and I would take it as a great favour if he would ascertain and tell me all particulars. In about 3 to 5 weeks (she came day by day to ask if we had received a reply, always saying that she knew what the answer would be), at length, the letter arrived. We sent for Mrs. P., and before the letter was opened by my son, I said to her, ‘What will be its contents?’ She at once and decidedly said that ‘Mat was drowned on the very night that she saw him, and in going on board the ship the plank slipped, and he fell overboard between the quay and the ship.’ So it was. Mrs. P. was then wearing mourning for Mat.

    “My son and half-a-dozen young men can verify this if needful.2 2 In conversation, Mr. Clarke’s son has completely confirmed the account.

    “Mrs. P. died soon after.

    “M. W. CLARKE.

    “Reproduction of the letter received from the agent of the ship, as nearly as I and my son can remember:—

    “‘New York, date unknown.

    “‘I have made inquiries of Matthew Palliser, age about 20, and learn {i-451}

    that he fell off a plank in going on board his ship, and got drowned on. …’ The date was the same as Mrs. Palliser said.

    “‘The mate has charge of his chest, and will give it to his mother when the ship arrives in Liverpool.’”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Clarke adds:—

    “April 6th 1885.

    “We have no copy of the agent’s letter, but both my son and myself and others are certain that Mrs. P.’s vision and the agent’s account of the accident were the same, both as to the time and cause, viz., that Mrs. P. saw her son slip off the plank in going on board his ship, and that he was drowned between the quay and the ship; agent’s account that he fell off the plank and was drowned, at the time mentioned, between the ship and the quay. Mrs. P. died soon after the event, which in my opinion shortened her life.”

    [In the absence of a written note, we cannot of course be perfectly certain that Mrs. Palliser did not read back the details of the plank and the quay into her vision after the arrival of the news, and that Mr. Clarke is right in his recollection of having heard these details from the first. But there can hardly be a doubt that the vision was described as a very impressive one before the arrival of the news; and Mr. Clarke’s interest in the matter may fairly be supposed to have made him careful in his scrutiny of the dates.]

    If correctly reported, this case curiously combines a sort of clairvoyant vision1 1 See pp. 266, and 368–9. with a more ordinary apparition, the figure at the foot of the bed—the latter being of an eminently “borderland” type. Such dream-like combinations (see pp. 425–6) have a very special bearing on the connection which I am seeking to establish between sleeping and waking telepathic percepts.2 2 For a purely subjective waking hallucination which represented a living and a dead person, see p. 499, note.

    The next account—from Mrs.Woodham, of 5, Royal Naval Cottages, Penge—was obtained through the kindness of the Hon. Roden Noel.

    “June 26th, 1884.

    (189) “I had in my service a charwoman, of about 60 years of age, who had served me faithfully for more than 20 years. Her husband had been one of my husband’s coastguardmen, and on his death the poor woman had to work to support herself and four children, two of whom turned out badly. I had helped her as much as I could besides employing her, and found her very valuable in being trustworthy. She regarded me with great affection, and used to say to my daughters that there was no one to her like ‘the mistress,’ as she always called me.

    “In August [a mistake for October] of last summer I had agreed to visit my sister, who resides in Edinburgh, and having fixed the day, a Wednesday, had arranged for Mrs. Halahan to come as usual. My son, who was going with me, persuaded me to set out on the day previous. Mrs. H. arrived, expecting to see me. Strange to say, she was very much taken aback and moved, and exclaimed, ‘The mistress gone without seeing {i-452} me!’ She went to my house as usual during my absence (about a month). One day, while working at my married daughter’s house, she was taken suddenly ill, about 6 o’clock in the evening—was conveyed home in a cab, and died next morning.

    “Meanwhile my daughters did not mention to me the death of my dear servant, but only that she was ill, knowing it would grieve me; but just at the time of her death (10 days before I returned home) I was sleeping in the room with my sister in Edinburgh, when, in the dusk of the morning, I was awakened by a loud knock, and saw the figure of a woman in a loose dress, standing at the side of the bed, looking towards me. I sat up, and said emphatically, ‘Who are you, and what do you want?’ I repeated the question twice, which awoke my sister, who asked who I was speaking to? I replied, ‘To the woman standing there.’ Immediately the figure melted away like a shadow. I was so impressed with what I had seen that I went up to the room on several successive evenings, wondering whether that shadow-like form would again appear, but it never came. On returning home, the first question I asked my daughter was about my old servant, as, thinking she was ill, I wished to go to see her. I was astonished and grieved at the news of her death. All at once the truth flashed across my mind, and I exclaimed, ‘Why, I saw her myself,’ and then related to my son and daughter the above facts. My description was so clear and vivid that they were equally impressed as to its truth, and feel as sure as I do of the occurrence being a fact.

    “I never saw anything of the sort before, nor have I or my family ever believed in ghosts; but they implicitly believe this, knowing that I am in no way fanciful. I feel sure that my dear servant (who was, I find, speechless for some hours before her death) had me on her mind. I can only think that the dusk of the morning and the darkness of the room (between 5 and 6 in the morning, the hour at which she died) prevented my recognising the features, but I can truly vouch for the above facts.

    “ELEANOR E. WOODHAM.”

    The account of the narrator’s sister (March 5, 1886) is that Mrs. Woodham awoke her in the dusk of the morning by saying twice, “Who are you?” and when asked to whom she was speaking, replied, ‘Don’t you see that woman standing there?” pointing to the side of the bed; then, on her sister’s remarking, “You must have been dreaming,” she replied, “I have been awake for some time, and distinctly saw her there.”

    In conversation, Mrs. Woodham assured the present writer that she has never had any other visual hallucination. The dress of the phantasm, so far as observed, sufficiently corresponded with Mrs. Halahan’s usual aspect; but the only at all distinctive point was the covering of the head—not a cap but a loose wrap or shawl. Mrs. Woodham was once, when a girl, woke in the same way by a loud knock which could not be traced to any objective source; and this experience, she says, precisely coincided with the death of a relative in the house. It is noteworthy that though her sister is a very light sleeper, and though it was very near her usual hour of waking, the loud knock did not wake her; this is at any rate some proof that it was hallucinatory. Mrs. Woodham is able to fix the hour of her experience, as she did not go to sleep again, and the work of the household began soon after. Her son and daughter {i-453} personally confirmed the narrative as to the points in which they were concerned; and Miss Woodham remembered that the hour of the death was stated to her to have been 6 a.m. At my request she went to see Mrs. Halahan’s daughter, who confirmed the fact that this was the hour. Thus, supposing the days to have been the same, the coincidence was extremely close. Mrs. Woodham is not certain of the exact number of days which elapsed between her experience and her return home, but thinks they did not exceed a fortnight; and she did her best at the time, by going over the events of these intervening days, to fix the date of her vision; but all that could be fixed with certainty was a very close approximation with the death; which an In Memoriam card, copied by Miss Woodham, fixes as October 23, 1883.

    The evidential weight of this case is of course reduced, not only by the uncertainty as to the day of the vision, but by the fact that the figure was not recognised. But theoretically, as I have pointed out above (p. 221), the mere lack of recognition would not be a serious difficulty. If, as we have seen reason to think, a telepathic disturbance may take place below the threshold of consciousness, if its manifestation may be delayed for hours, if it may first reveal itself in semi-automatic movements, or in an idealess cry (as in case 147)—there seems no reason why, when it takes more distinct sensory form, this form should not be itself an imperfect development, an embodiment of an idea that has only partially been apprehended. This, however, will become clearer in connection with the whole subject of the development of telepathic hallucinations (Chap. XII.).

    The next and concluding case is from Mrs. Lightfoot, a lady who is none the worse witness because she takes not the slightest interest in our work. The names and dates were filled in by the present writer, immediately after a personal interview, January 30, 1884.

    “51, Shaftesbury Road, Ravenscourt Park, W.

    “January 11th, 1884.

    (190) “In giving the following experience, I may premise that as a child, and since, I have comparatively had but little knowledge (as a personal experience) of fear; and in the existence of ghosts I have always disbelieved.

    Did I ever see or hear sights or sounds for which, on examination, I could not account, I have always come to the conclusion that they arose from natural causes which were beyond my reach of inquiry—hence I always refused to accept anything, without proof, and I may add, that I have rarely been convinced.

    “Some 10 years ago, when in India, I contracted a great friendship, which was reciprocated, for a lady, Mrs. Reed, the wife of an officer. She had not been very strong, but when I parted from her with the intention of returning to England, no danger (the word had not even been mentioned) was anticipated, and for some few months after my return I heard from her, bright and cheerful letters enough. In them she certainly spoke of {i-454} her health not being good, but nothing more. Then after a time her letters ceased, but I heard very regularly from others at the same place, and they mentioned that her health was gradually getting worse, and that she would probably be ordered to England for a thorough change, but still I heard no sound of fatal ending, and I was looking forward to her return with a great degree of pleasure.

    “It was my practice not only to go to bed very late, but also for the last half-hour to pick up a book, the most uninteresting and dry that it was possible to find, and so try to soothe the mind. The moment I commenced to really feel sleepy, I would lower the gas to almost a pin’s point (for I did not care to extinguish it, as I had a child of 3 sleeping in the same room), and then I could always compose myself comfortably to a sleep into which I could then fall in a very few minutes.

    “On the night of September 21st, 1874, I had followed this exact routine. I had put aside my book, lowered the gas, and at a little after midnight I was sound asleep. As I knew afterwards, I must have slept about 3 hours, when I was suddenly aroused (and was, so far as I know, perfectly wide awake) by a violent noise at my door, which was locked. I have some recollection of feeling astonished (of fear I then had none) at seeing or rather hearing within the instant my door thrown violently open, as though by someone in great anger, and I was instantly conscious that someone, something—what shall I call it?—was in the room. For the hundredth part of a second it seemed to pause just within the room, and then by a movement, which it is impossible for me to describe—but it seemed to move with a rapid push—it was at the foot of my bed. Again a pause; for again the hundredth part of a second, and the figure-shape rose. I heard it, but as it got higher its movements quieted, and presently it was above my bed, lying horizontally, its face downwards, parallel with my face, its feet to my feet, but with a distance of some 3 or 4 feet between us.1 1 This rather bizarre form of impression has a close parallel in the case of a purely subjective experience, described to me by Mrs. Pirkis, of the High Elms, Nuffield, Surrey, who has never had any other hallucination. She was one night sleeping with her sister—both being in perfect health—when, suddenly waking, she saw a figure kneeling over her sister, “a foot or something less above her, in reversed position, face towards the foot of the bed. It was a beautiful picture. I lay watching it, I should say, for about 4 or 5 minutes, till it melted away as I looked.” This for a moment, whilst I waited simply in astonishment and curiosity (for I had not the very faintest idea of either who or what it was), but no fear, and then it spoke. In an instant I recognised the voice, the old familiar imperious way of speaking, as my Christian name sounded clear and full through the room. ‘Frances,’ it repeated, ‘I want you; come with me. Come at once.’ My voice responded as instantaneously, ‘Yes, I’ll come. What need for such a hurry?’ and then came a quick imperative reply, ‘But you must come at once; come instantly, and without a moment’s pause or hesitation.’ I seemed to be drawn upwards by some extraordinary magnetic influence, and then just as suddenly and violently thrown down again.

    “In one second of time the room was in a deathly stillness, and the words, ‘She is dead,’ were simply burnt into my mind. I sat up in bed dazed, and now, for the first time, frightened beyond measure. I sat very still for a few moments, gradually making out the different forms in the room, then I turned the gas, which was just above my head, full on, only {i-455} to see that the room was totally unchanged. At the foot of my bed, at some distance from it, was the child’s iron cot. I got up and looked at him; he was sleeping quite peacefully, and had evidently been totally undisturbed. I went to the door, to find it fast locked. I opened it, and gazed into the passage—total silence and stillness everywhere. I went into the next room, where there were sleeping two other children and their nurse, to find equal quietness there. Then I returned to my room, and I must confess it, with an awful fear oppressing me. She had come once—might she not come again? I wrote down the date and the hour, and then opening shutter and window only looked out for the welcome dawn.

    “I went down to breakfast that morning, but said nothing of the details of my dream,1 1 Though the narrator twice uses this word, she certainly did not regard her experience as a dream. only mentioning that I had had a very bad and a very vivid one. Afterwards I found I could settle to nothing, and at last was becoming positively so ill that I was obliged to go back to bed. That same afternoon, curiously enough, a sister came to see me, who had been abroad with me, and whilst there had known and liked this same friend. She saw I was much upset about something of which I did not care to speak, and, by way of cheering me up, began telling me news of various mutual friends. At last, during a slight pause, she said, ‘By-the-way, have you heard anything lately of Mrs. Reed? when last I heard she was not very well.’ Instantly came my reply, ‘Oh, she is dead,’ and it was only my sister’s look of blank horror and astonishment that recalled me to myself. ‘What do you mean, when did you hear?’ came from her in rapid utterance, and then I bethought me, how indeed did I hear—who had told me? But tell her the dream I could not, so I merely answered, ‘You will see that I am right when you look in the newspapers—how I have heard of it I will tell you some other time,’ and directly I changed the conversation. The visit did good, however, for I got up and went out with her, and I can only say that the impression my manner and words made upon her was so deep that, the moment she arrived home, she sat down and wrote to a lady in the West of England—one who knew us all, and who heard by every mail from her husband, who was in the same place as our friend. My sister told her exactly what I had said, and begged that she would at once send her particulars, since I had not done so. By return came the reply:—

    “‘I cannot, dear Lady B., in the least understand your letter, nor what your sister can possibly mean. The last foreign mail only came in this morning’ (after the date, of course, of my dream), ‘and so far from being “dead” my husband tells me Mrs. Reed is much better; therefore, where Mrs. L. (myself) can have obtained her news is beyond my comprehension, for it is quite impossible that she can have had later news than mine, in fact, not so late, since my foreign letter arrived after your visit to her.’ [This is not a copy but a reminiscence of the letter.]

    “And so the matter rested, but within a month from the date of my dream came the news of Mrs. Reed’s death, on September 21st.

    “I have but little now to add. The bereaved husband returned to England and called upon me. He gave me some details of the last days, and on my asking whether he remembered her last words, he turned to me {i-456} with quite a look of surprise, and said, ‘Why, Mrs. Lightfoot, I believe your name was the last she mentioned.’ Further, it was many months afterwards before my sister again broached the subject, but at last one day she said, ‘I do wish you would tell me how you knew of Mrs. Reed’s death.’ Of course I then told her, and, I may add, that so deep was the impression produced upon her that even in her last illness, which occurred 7 or 8 years afterwards, she spoke of it. For myself I never really recovered the shock for a long time, and even now the impression is as vivid as though it only happened yesterday.

    “FRANCES W. LIGHTFOOT.”

    Both the Calcutta Englishman and the Pioneer Mail (Allahabad) give September 20th, 1874, as the date of Mrs. Reed’s death. Mrs. Lightfoot has unfortunately not kept her note of the day and hour. As she has now no independent recollection of the date of her experience, but only remembers the fact of the coincidence,

    and as it is practically certain that she heard the correct date of the death, the 20th, which has since become converted in her memory to the 21st, it seems tolerably safe to assume that her experience fell on the night of the 20th, that is, on the early morning of the 21st—not on the night of the 21st, as stated in the account.

    In answer to the question whether this was the only occasion on which she has had a sensory hallucination of this kind, Mrs. Lightfoot answered “Yes.” She adds that her sister, Lady B., “mentioned the matter at once to several friends and relatives.” The sister has since died.

    [In conversation, Mrs. Lightfoot confirmed again the fact of having had no sort of visual hallucination on any other occasion. She once, and once only, has had another remarkable auditory experience, when the sudden hearing of her Christian name saved her from a terrible fall in the dark. The origin of the sound was carefully inquired into and could not be ascertained.

    As a proof of the absolute conviction produced in her that her friend was dead, she told me that she had prepared a birthday present to send her, and the box was actually soldered up, and had been going by the next mail; but she found it impossible to send it.

    She had been under the impression that the time of death exactly coincided with her vision; but she had reckoned difference of longitude the wrong way. Mrs. Reed’s husband informed her, on her inquiry, that the death took place at 11, that is 11 p.m. (as she thinks of September 21st, but no doubt of September 20th); and the vision was probably, therefore, 8 or 9 hours after it.

    My impression of Mrs. Lightfoot entirely corresponds with her own description of herself—that she is a practical person, and without any sort of predisposition to frights or visions. The present one gave her a most severe shock, the effects of which lasted for some time.]

    In this chapter, various points of interest or difficulty have been passed over with very inadequate comment. It seemed better, however, not to forestall the more complete discussion of the relation of telepathy to sensory impressions, which will shortly follow.

    {i-457}

    CHAPTER X.

    HALLUCINATIONS: GENERAL SKETCH.

    § 1. WE are now approaching the most important division of our subject. So far the impressions, possibly or probably telepathic, that we have considered, have been (1) the non-externalised sort (chiefly ideal or emotional, but sometimes with a physical element) occurring during the hours of normal waking life; and (2) this sort, and also the externalised sort, occurring either in sleep or in a bodily and mental state which, though not that of sleep, is yet to some extent distinguishable from that of ordinary waking life. The class, then, that remains to be considered is the externalised sort—impressions of sight, hearing, or touch—occurring to persons who are quite clearly wide awake. The reader will not now need to be told to what family of natural phenomena I am about to refer this class. Something is presented to the percipient as apparently an independent object (or as due to an independent object) in his material environment; but no such object is really there, and what is presented is a phantasm. Whatever peculiarities such an experience may present, there can be no mistake as to its generic characteristics: it is a hallucination.

    It is naturally only with one particular species of the great family of hallucinations—the veridical species which psychology has so far not recognised—that I am here directly concerned. But it is not easy to treat the single species satisfactorily, without either assuming or supplying a certain amount of information with regard to the family to which it belongs. To assume this information would hardly be safe; for though most educated persons may have a general idea what hallucinations are, the idea is not always the result of very close or critical study. It seems better then, to err, if at all, on the side of excess, and to devote one chapter to a brief general sketch of the subject; in attempting which I shall endeavour to avoid side {i-458} issues, and to confine myself to points that will aid comprehension in the sequel.

    Is it possible to treat Hallucinations as a single class of phenomena, marked out by definite characteristics? The popular answer would no doubt be Yes—that the distinguishing characteristic is some sort of false belief. But this is an error: in many of the best known cases of hallucination—that of Nicolai, for instance—the percipient has held, with respect to the figures that he saw or the voices that he heard, not a false but a true belief; to wit, that they did not correspond to any external reality. The only sort of hallucination which is necessarily characterised by false belief is the purely non-sensory sort—as where a person has a fixed idea that everyone is plotting against him, or that he is being secretly mesmerised from a distance. Of hallucinations of the senses, belief in their reality, though a frequent, is by no means an essential feature; a tendency to deceive is all that we can safely predicate of them.

    If we seek for some further quality which shall be distinctive of both sensory and non-sensory hallucinations, the most hopeful suggestion would seem to be that both sorts are idiosyncratic and unshared. However false a belief may be, we do not call it a hallucination if it has “been in the air,” and has arisen in a natural way in a plurality of minds. This is just what an idée fixe of the kind above mentioned never does: A may imagine that the world is plotting against him; but B, if he spontaneously evolves a similar notion, will imagine that the world is plotting not against A, but against himself. Instances, however, are not wanting where the idée fixe of an insane person has gradually infected an associate;1 1 A distinct description of folie à deux seems to have been first given in 1860, by Baillarger, in the Gazette des Hôpitaux. The subject was developed in 1873 by Lasègue and Falret, in an essay reprinted in Lasègue’s Etudes Médicales. See also E. C. Seguin in the Archives of Medicine (New York, 1879), i., p. 334; Dr. Marandon de Montyel, in the Annales Médico-psychologiques, 6th series, Vol. v., p. 28; and G. Lehmann in the Archiv für Psychiatrie (Berlin), Vol. xiv., p. 145. and as contact between mind and mind is, after all, the “natural way” of spreading ideas, we can make no scientific distinction between these cases and those where, e.g., the leader of a sect has instilled delusive notions into a number of (technically) sane followers. But again, hallucinations of the senses are also occasionally shared by several persons. Most of the alleged instances of this phenomenon are, no doubt, merely cases of collective illusion—an agreement in the misinterpretation of sensory signs produced by a real external object; but wide inquiries have brought to light a certain number of {i-459} instances which I regard as genuine collective hallucinations, neither externally caused nor communicated by suggestion from one spectator to another. If then sensory and non-sensory hallucinations agree in being as a rule unshared, they agree also in presenting marked exceptions to the rule—exceptions easy to account for in the latter class, and peculiarly difficult in the former. The conclusion does not seem favourable to our chance of obtaining a neat general definition which will embrace the two; and in abandoning the search for one, I can only point, with envy, to the convenient way in which French writers are enabled not to combine but to keep them apart, by appropriating to the non-sensory species the words délire and conception délirante.

    Let us then try to fix the character of hallucinations of the senses independently. The most comprehensive view is that all our instinctive judgments of visual, auditory and tactile phenomena are hallucinations, inasmuch as what is really nothing more than an affection of ourselves is instantly interpreted by us as an external object. In immediate perception, what we thus objectify is present sensation; in mental pictures, what we objectify is remembered or represented sensation. This is the view which has been worked out very ingeniously, and for psychological purposes very effectively, by M. Taine;1 1 De l’Intelligence, Vol. i., p. 408, &c. but it is better adapted to a general theory of sensation than to a theory of hallucinations as such. To adopt it here would drive us to describe the diseased Nicolai—when he saw phantoms in the room, but had his mind specially directed to the fact that they were internally caused—as less

    hallucinated than a healthy person in the unreflective exercise of normal vision. I prefer to keep to the ordinary language which would describe Nicolai’s phantoms as the real specific case of hallucination. And I should consider their distinctive characteristic to be something quite apart from the question whether or not they were actually mistaken for real figures—namely, their marked resemblance to real figures, and the consequent necessity for the exercise of memory and reflection to prevent so mistaking them. The definition of a sensory hallucination would thus be a percept which lacks, but which can only by distinct reflection be recognised as lacking, the objective basis which it suggests.2 2 Objective basis is to be taken as a short way of naming the possibility of being shared by all persons with normal senses. But in that case, how far will the definition fairly allow for collective hallucinations? This question will be considered in Chap. xviii. I may mention that, owing to the special difficulties which collective hallucinations present, I have not included them in the statistics given above, pp. 392–3, and below, pp. 503, 510. {i-460} It may be objected that this definition would include illusions. The objection could be obviated at the cost of a little clumsiness; but it seems sufficient to observe that illusions are merely the sprinkling of fragments of genuine hallucination on a background of true perception. And the definition seems otherwise satisfactory. For while it clearly separates hallucinations from true perceptions, it equally clearly separates them from the phenomena with which they have been frequently identified—the remembered images or mental pictures which are not perceptions at all. It serves, for instance, to distinguish, on the lines of common sense and common language, between the images of “day-dreams” and those of night-dreams. In both cases vivid images arise, to which no objective reality corresponds; and in neither case is any distinct process of reflection applied to the discovery of this fact. But the self-evoked waking-vision is excluded from the class of hallucinations, as above defined, by the point that its lack of objective basis can be and is recognised without any such process of reflection. We have not, like Nicolai, to consider and remember, before we can decide that the friends whose faces we picture are not really in the room. We feel that our mind is active and not merely receptive—that it is the mind’s eye and not the bodily sense which is at work, and that the mind can evoke, transfigure, and banish its own creatures; without attending to this fact, we have it as part of our whole conscious state. Dreams of the sensory sort on the other hand are pure cases of hallucination, forcing themselves on us whether we will or no, and with an impression of objective reality which is uncontradicted by any knowledge, reflective or instinctive, that they are the creatures of our brain.

    But, though the definition may be sufficient for mere purposes of classification, it takes us but a very little way towards understanding the real nature of the phenomena. It says nothing of their origin; and, though it distinguishes them from mere normal acts of imagination or memory, it leaves quite undetermined the faculty or faculties actually concerned in them. And when we pass on to these further points, we find ourselves in a most perplexed field, where doctors seem to be as much at variance as philosophers. The debate, most ardently carried on in France, has produced a multitude of views; but not one of the rival theorists seems ever to have convinced any of the others. The contradictions might even seem to lie in the facts themselves; for what single guiding clue shall be found to phenomena of which some occur only in the light, others only in the {i-461} dark; some are connected with hyperæsthesia of the senses, others with blindness and deafness; some are developed, others dispersed, by fixity of gaze; some are promoted by silence and solitude, others by the stir of the streets; some are clearly relevant, others as clearly irrelevant, to the percipient’s mental and moral characteristics? Still progress has been made, to this extent at any rate, that it is now comparatively easy to see where the disputed points lie, and to attack them with precision.

    § 2. It was, of course, evident from the first that there was a certain duality of nature in hallucinations. In popular language, the mind and the sense were both plainly involved; the hallucinated person not only imagined such and such a thing, but imagined that he saw such and such a thing. But the attempts at analysing the ideational and the sensory elements have too often been of a very crude sort; the state of hallucination has been represented as one in which ideas and memories—while remaining ideas and memories and not sensations—owing to exceptional vividness took on the character of sensations. By the older writers, especially, it was not realised or remembered that sensations have no existence except as mental facts; and that, so far as a mental fact takes on the character of a sensation, it is a sensation. This was clearly stated, as a matter of personal experience, by Burdach and Müller; in the French discussions, the merit of bringing out the point with new force and emphasis belongs to Baillarger.1 1 In the long and rather barren debates which took place in the Société Médico-psychologique during 1855 and 1856, Baillarger, no doubt, insisted too strongly on an absolute gulf between percepts (true or false) and the ordinary images of fancy or memory. But his opponents made a far more serious mistake in so far identifying the two as not to perceive a difference of kind, at the point where the sensory element in the mental fact reaches such abnormal strength as to suggest the real presence of the object. Griesinger’s statement (Die Pathologie und Therapie der Psychischen Krankheiten, p. 91), and Wundt’s (Grundzüge der Physiologischen Psychologie, Vol. ii., p. 353) seem too unguarded in the same respect. In a case which I have received, a child of four stopped in her play, looked intently at the wall, then “ran to it, crying out ‘My mother,’ threw her little arms as if it were round a person, saying again, ‘My mother,’ and seemed wonderfully surprised at the fact that there was no substance to clasp.” A child of four does not throw its arms round a memory. Nicolai’s case is here very instructive. He experimented on himself, and found that however vividly he pictured in his mind the persons of his acquaintance, he could never succeed in externalising them in such a way as to make them the least comparable to his phantoms; and his testimony on this point is the stronger in that his particular phantoms cannot have been of the most vivid sort, since he was always able to distinguish them from realities. Even more distinct mental images—the result of a rarer visualising power—may fall far short of hallucination. Raphael, who saw his “Transfiguration” in the air, Talma, who asserted that he worked himself into the necessary state of excitement on the stage by peopling the theatre with skeletons, are not recorded to have ever really localised their images as objects that concealed the walls and the furniture. It is worth noting that probably no recollected visual image was ever so absolutely and flawlessly correct as a good musician’s silent evocation of music, either by memory or by reading of the noted symbols; but even he is far from mistaking his vivid silent impression for actual sonority. I may add that as long ago as 1832 the late Dr. Symonds, of Bristol, drew exactly the right distinction between images and hallucinations. (Lecture reprinted in Miscellanies, p. 241.) It is curious to find the same line drawn in the earliest really scientific attempt to deal with the subject that I have met with—the dissertation against Hobbes and Spinoza in Falck’s De Dæmonologiâ recentiorum Autorum (1692); but Falck still thinks that hallucinations are a mode in which dæmons sometimes manifest their presence. He showed {i-462} that when the hallucinated person says “I see so and so,” “I hear so and so,” the words are literally true. If the person goes on to say “You ought also to see or hear it,” he is of course wrong; but when he says that he sees or hears it, his statement is to be taken without reserve. To him, the experience is not something like or related to the experience of perceiving a real external object: it is identical with that experience.1 1 It may even be superior in distinctness to the percept of a real object; as when a short-sighted person who, during the hypnotic trance, had been impressed with a hallucination representing horsemen at some distance, saw them

    clearly, and remarked on this peculiarity. (Richet, L’Homme et l’Intelligence, p. 234.) See also Mr. Schofield’s case, and the remarks on it, Vol. ii., p. 72. To the psychology of our day this may seem a tolerably evident truth. Still it is easy to realise the difficulty that was long felt in admitting that any experience which was dissociated from the normal functions of the sense-organs could be completely sensory in character. Popular thought fails to see that the physical question which for practical purposes is all-important—whether the object is or is not really there—is psychically irrelevant; and a man who has been staring at the sun will, as a rule, think it less accurate to say that he sees a luminous disc wherever he looks than to say that he fancies it. The best corrective to such a prejudice is the following experiment of Fechner’s.

    Two small slits are made in a shutter, and one of them is filled with a piece of red glass. The opposite wall is therefore lit by a mixture of white and red light. A stick is now placed across the red slit; its shadow is of course cast on the wall; and the part of the wall occupied by the shadow, though illuminated only by white rays from the other slit, appears—owing to the optical law of contrast—a bright green. Let this shadow now be looked at through a narrow tube, which prevents any part of the wall external to the shadow from being seen. Nothing red is now in the spectator’s view, so that there can be no effect of contrast: the red glass may even be removed; none but white rays are passing to his eye from the shadow; yet its colour remains green. And in this case the chances are that, unless previously warned, he will tell the exact truth; he will admit, and even persist, that what he sees is green. He will scout the idea that the green is a mere memory of what he saw before he applied the tube; he will assert that it is presented to him as an immediate fact.

    {i-463}

    And such is assuredly the state of the case; but it is a state which, from the moment that he has put the tube to his eye, is kept up purely as a hallucination, and without regard to the facts of the external world. The delusion is of course instantly dispelled by the removal of the tube—when he perceives that the only light in the room is white, and that the shadow is grey; but for all that, he will probably never doubt again that a genuine hallucination of the senses is something more than “mere fancy.”

    It is impossible to be too particular on this point; for high authorities, even in the present day, are found to contest it. When a person who habitually speaks the truth, and who is not colourblind, looks at an object and says, “My sensation is green,” they contradict him, and tell him that however much he sees green, his sensation is grey. Whether this be a mere misuse of language, or (as it seems to me) a misconception of facts, it at any rate renders impossible any agreement as to the theory of hallucinations. For it ignores the very point of Baillarger’s contention—that images sufficiently vivid to be confounded with sensory percepts have become sensory percepts.

    When once the truth of this contention is perceived, it is also perceived that the previous speculations had been largely directed to a wrong issue; and that the dual character of a false perception is after all no other than that of a true perception. A hallucination, like an ordinary percept, is composed of present sensations, and of images which are the relics of past sensations. If I see the figure of a man, then—alike if there be a man there and if there be no man there—my experience consists of certain visual sensations, compounded with a variety of muscular and tactile images, which represent to me properties of resistance, weight, and distance; and also with more remote and complex images, which enable me to refer the object to the class man, and to compare this specimen of the class with others whose appearance I can recall. If Baillarger did not carry out his view of hallucinations to this length, the whole development exists by implication in the term by which he described them—psycho-sensorial. The particular word was perhaps an unfortunate one; since it suggests (as M. Binet has recently pointed out1 1 Revue Philosophique for April, 1884, p. 393.) that the psychical element is related to the sensorial somewhat as the soul to the body; and so, either that psychical events are independent of physical conditions, or that sensations are not psychical {i-464} events. Ideo-sensational would avoid this difficulty; but the obverse term which M. Binet proposes—cerebro-sensorial—is on the whole to be preferred. For this brings us at once to the physical ground where alone the next part of the inquiry can be profitably pursued—the inquiry into origin. From the standpoint of to-day, one readily perceives how much more definite and tangible the problems were certain to become, as soon as they were translated into physiological terms. So far as the controversy had been conducted on a purely psychological basis, it had been singularly barren. In the vague unlocalised use, “the senses” and other ever-recurring terms become sources of dread to the reader. But as soon as it is asked, Where is the local seat of the abnormal occurrence? and on what particular physical conditions does it depend?—lines of experiment and observation at once suggest themselves, and the phenomena fall into distinct groups.

    § 3. In its first form, the question is one between central and peripheral origin. Do hallucinations originate in the brain—in the central mechanism of perception? or in some immediate condition of the eye, or of the ear, or of other parts? or is there possibly some joint mode of origin?

    For a long time the hypothesis of an exclusively central origin was much in the ascendant. But this was greatly because—as already noted—Esquirol and the older writers did not recognise the sensory element as truly and literally sensation, but regarded the whole experience as simply a very vivid idea or memory. If the central origin is to be established, it must be by something better than arbitrary psychological distinctions. Hibbert and Ferriar, going to the other extreme, contended that the memory was a retinal one; if a man sees what is not there, they held, it can only be by a direct recrudescence of past feeling in his retina. “But,” urged Esquirol, “the blind can have hallucinations of vision; the deaf can have hallucinations of hearing; how can these originate in the peripheral organs?” The obvious answer, that this did not necessarily thrust the point of origin back as far as the cerebrum, does not seem to have been forthcoming; and the opposite party preferred to fall back on definite experiment. They pointed out, for instance, that visual hallucinations often vanish when the eyes are closed; or that they may be doubled by pressing one eyeball. There was not enough here, however, to show that the external organs so much as participated in {i-465} the process, much less that they originated it, even in these particular cases; while for other cases the observations did not hold. The fact that external objects are hidden from view by the interposition of our own eyelids or any other opaque obstacle, has become to us a piece of absolutely instinctive knowledge; and we should surely expect that an object which was but the spontaneous projection of a morbid brain, might still be suppressed by movements and sensations which had for a lifetime been intimately associated with the suppression of objects. And as for the doubling by pressure of one eyeball, it might fairly have been represented as telling against the theory of retinal origin. For the impression—not coming from without—would cover the same retinal spot after the displacement of the eyeball as before; and the natural hypothesis seems certainly to be that retinal identity would, in its mental effect, overpower the sensation of the moved eyeball’s position.1 1 The obliteration by closure of the eyes is certainly not invariable. See, e.g., Dr. Voisin, Leçons Cliniques sur les Maladies Mentales, p. 72. Sir J. F. W. Herschel, in his Familiar Lectures on Scientific Subjects, p. 406, has described some hallucinations of his own, of which “the impression was very strong—equally so with the eyes open or closed.” As regards the failure of lateral pressure to double the image, I do not know whether any clear case has been recorded. Brewster, indeed, speaks of the immobility of the image when the eyeball is displaced; but he made no sufficient distinction between actual Hallucinations and mental pictures; while he had an odd notion that even the latter were “Painted” on the retina. (Letters on Natural Magic, 1868, p. 131.)

    An immense advance was made by Baillarger, who maintained the central origin by really scientific arguments. He pointed out (1) that the external organ may often be affected by local irritants—inflammation, blows, pressure, galvanism—without the production of any more pronounced form of hallucination than flashes, or hummings; that is to say, the peripheral stimulation sometimes fails to develop hallucination, even under the most favourable conditions; (2) that there is a frequent correspondence of hallucinations of different senses—a man who sees the devil also hears his voice, and smells sulphur—and that it is impossible to refer this correspondence to abnormalities of the eye, ear and nose, occurring by accident at the same moment; (3) that hallucinations often refer to dominant ideas—a religious monomaniac will see imaginary saints and angels, not imaginary trees and houses. Hence, argued Baillarger, “the point of departure of hallucinations” is always “the intelligence”—the imagination and memory—which sets the sensory machinery in motion.2 2 Baillarger, Des Hallucinations, pp. 426, 469, 470. He naively admitted that how this action of an immaterial principle on the physical apparatus takes place passes all conception; but it might be forgiven to a medical man, writing forty years ago, if {i-466} he had not fully realised “brain as an organ of mind,” and so did not see that what he took for a special puzzle in the theory of hallucinations, is simply the fundamental puzzle involved in every mental act. Passing him this, we may say that his treatment of the question entitles him to the credit of the second great discovery about hallucinations. He had already made clear their genuinely sensory quality; he now made equally clear the fact that the mind (or its physical correlate) is their creator—that they are brain-products projected from within outwards.

    This is a most important truth; but it is very far from being the whole truth. Baillarger saw no via media between the theory which he rejected—that the nerves of sense convey to the brain impressions which are there perceived as the phantasmal object—and the theory which he propounded, that “the intelligence” {i.e., for us, the brain, as the seat of memories and images), of its own accord and without any impulse from the periphery, excites the sensory apparatus. It seems never to have struck him that there may be cases where the sense-organ supplies the excitant, though the brain supplies the construction—that irritation passing from without inwards may be a means of setting in motion the constructive activity. He took into account certain states of the organ—e.g., fatigue produced by previous exercise—as increasing the susceptibility to excitation from “the intelligence,” and so as conditions favourable to hallucination; but he got no further.

    The facts of hallucination absolutely refuse to lend themselves to this indiscriminate treatment. Following the path of experiment, we are almost immediately confronted with two classes of phenomena, and two modes of excitation. We need not go, indeed, beyond the elementary instances already mentioned. Fechner’s experiment, where green was seen by an eye on which only white rays were falling, fairly illustrates Baillarger’s doctrine—the green being produced not by an outer affection of the eye, but by an inner affection of the brain. But in the case of a person who has been staring at the sun, the “after-image” or hallucination can be clearly traced to a continuing local effect in that small area of the retina which has just been abnormally excited; and it will continue to present itself wherever the eye may turn, until rest has restored this area to its normal condition. A still simpler form of change in the external organ is a blow on the eye; and the resulting “sparks” are genuine though embryonic hallucinations.

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    Such cases as these last are, however, hardly typical; for in them the brain is not truly creative; it merely gives the inevitable response to the stimuli that reach it from below. They are, moreover, normal experiences, in the sense that they would occur similarly to all persons with normal eyes. Let us then take another instance, where the mind’s creative rôle is fully apparent, while at the same time the primary excitation is clearly not central. Certain hallucinations—as is well-known—are unilateral, i.e., are perceived when (say) the right eye or ear is acting, but cease when that action is obstructed, though the left eye or ear is still free. Now this in itself could not be taken, as some take it,1 1 Dr. Régis in L’Encéphale, 1881, p. 51; Prof. Ball in L’Encéphale, 1882, p. 5. for a proof that the exciting cause was not central; it might be a lesion affecting one side of the brain. But very commonly, in these cases, a distinct lesion is found in the particular eye or ear on whose activity the hallucination depends.2 2 Dr. Régis in L’Encéphale, 1881, p. 46; Dr. Voisin in the Bulletin Général de Thérapeutique, December 15, 1868, and Op. cit., p. 68, &c.; Dr. Despine, Psychologie Naturelle, Vol. ii., p. 29; Krafft-Ebing, Die Sinnesdelirien, p. 25; Dr. Koppe’s paper on “Gehörsstörungen und Psychosen,” in the Allgemeine Zeitschrift für Psychiatrie, Vol. xxiv., pp. 18–28 and 39–46. It is then natural to conclude that the hallucination was the result of the lesion, and that the one-sidedness of the one depended on the one-sidedness of the other; and the justice of the conclusion has been proved in many cases by the fact that the hallucination has ceased when the local lesion has been cured. Other cases which strongly suggest a morbid condition of the external organ are those where the imaginary figure moves in accordance with the movements of the eye. The visual hallucinations of the blind, and the auditory hallucinations of the deaf, would also reasonably be referred to the same class—the seat of excitation being then, not necessarily the external organ itself, but some point on the nervous path from the organ to the brain. In the case, for instance, of a partly-atrophied nerve, the morbid excitation would be at the most external point where vital function continued.3 3 Delusions due to visceral disturbances are often quoted as cases of hallucination excited from parts below the brain. Thus a woman dying of peritonitis declares that an ecclesiastical conclave is being held inside her (Esquirol, Maladies Mentales, Vol. i., p. 211). But here there is a prior and independent basis of distinct sensation; so that the experience would at most be an illusion. And it is hardly even that; for one cannot say that the false object is sensorially presented at all; no one knows what a conclave in such a locality would actually feel like; the conclave is merely a délire—an imagination suggested by sensation, but which does not itself take a sensory form. It should be noted, in passing, that a distinct lesion, e.g., atrophy of the globe, of one eye may give rise to hallucinations of the sound eye44 Vienna Asylum Report, 1858, cited by Griesinger, Op. cit., p. 88.—the sight of which then receives, {i-468} so to speak, the rebound of the central disturbance initiated by its fellow.

    § 4. But we may now proceed a step further. The excitation may be external not only in the sense of coming from the external organ, but in the sense of coming from the external world. It may be due not to any abnormality of the eye or the nerve, but to the ordinary stimulus of light-rays from real objects. Some interesting evidence on this point has been lately described by M. Binet.1 1 In the Revue Philosophique, April and May, 1884. His experiments were conducted on five hysterical young women at the Salpêtrière, who, when hypnotised, could be made to see anything that was suggested to them; and also on an insane patient at St. Anne, who had a standing visual hallucination of her own. The results confirmed the rule first enunciated by M. Féré—that “the imaginary object is perceived under the same conditions as a real one”; and to this M. Binet adds the further conclusion, that a sensation derived from a real external source, occupying the same position

    in space as the imaginary object seemed to occupy, was an indispensable factor of the hallucination. Space fails me to describe the results in detail. It is enough to say that a prism applied to one eye doubled the imaginary object;2 2 This observation was first made by M. Féré; see Le Progrès Médical, 1881, p. 1041. that a spy-glass removed or approximated it, according as the object-glass or eye-piece was applied to the patient’s eye; that a mirror reflected the object and gave a symmetrical image of it; and that the optical effect, as regards angles of deviation and reflexion and all the details of the deception, was in every case precisely what it would have been had the object been real instead of imaginary. Here then we seem fairly driven outside the patient’s own organism; the conclusion is almost irresistible that some point of external space at or near the seat of the imagined object plays a real part in the phenomenon. To this point M. Binet gives the name of point de repère; and he regards it as producing a nucleus of sensation to which the hallucination accretes itself. When the point de repère is in such a position as to be reflected by the mirror, then the imaginary object is reflected, and not otherwise; the object is, so to speak, attached to its point de repère, and will follow the course of any optical mutations to which its external nucleus is subjected.3 3 The full explanation of these phenomena seems to be as follows. If the point de repère is not at, but close to, the spot where the imaginary object appears (as seems to have been the case in some of the experiments), there is no difficulty. The point de repère is then itself part of what is all along perceived; and in any effects produced on it by optical apparatus, it will carry the neighbouring object with it by association. If, however, the actual area covered by the object is sufficiently distinguished from its surroundings to act itself as point de repère, and no other possible points de repère exist in the field of vision, the case is different, but can still be explained. It will not be disputed that a slightly longer time is necessary for the formation of the image of a suggested object and the conversion of this image into a percept, than for the experience of sensation from an object actually before the eyes. When, therefore, the operator points to a particular place on the white table-cloth, and says, “There is a brown butterfly,” we may suppose that in the patient’s consciousness a real sensation of white precedes by an instant the imposed sensation of brown. So when the card-board on which a non-existent portrait has just been seen is again brought before the patient’s eyes, it is almost certain that the recognition of it as the same piece of white card-board (known by its points de repère) precedes by an instant the hallucinatory process and the re-imposition of the portrait. That there is this instant of true sensation seems to be shown, indeed, by one of M. Binet’s experiments. The patient having been made to see an imaginary portrait on a blank piece of card-board, this was suddenly covered by a sheet of paper. The patient said that the portrait disappeared for a moment, but then reappeared on the paper with complete distinctness. We may thus fairly conclude that an area which was actually seen before the hallucination was induced in the first instance, will also be actually seen for a moment when vision is redirected to it (or its reflection), after the optical apparatus has been brought into play. During that moment, it will, of course, be seen under the newly-introduced optical conditions; and association may again cause the object which supplants it to follow suit. It is quite possible, however, to suppose that the supplanted area continues further to provoke the hallucination, in the same sense that the white rays provoked the green percept in Fechner’s experiment. The rays which are lost to consciousness continue to excite the sensorium physically; and this physical excitation will have definite peculiarities, corresponding to the distinguishing marks of the area whence it comes. Double this excitation by a prism, or reflect it from another quarter, and the percept which it provokes may naturally be doubled or seen in the new direction. So, if both eyes were employed in Fechner’s experiment (p. 462), might the green percept be artificially doubled.

    {i-469}

    In these cases, it will be seen, the experience was really a sort of monstrous illusion—totally different, however, from ordinary misinterpretations of sensory impressions; for we must beware of confounding the excitation that comes from the point de repère with the sensory element of the hallucination itself. The former is an unnoticed peg for the percept; the latter is its very fulness and substance, and is entirely imposed or evoked by the brain, not supplied to it. The type is too interesting to pass over: at the same time, I am bound to say that it seems to be extremely rare. I have made many endeavours to obtain the prism-effects with hypnotised (but not hysterical) “subjects”; but I have never succeeded, except when some conspicuous real object had first been put under the instrument, and the idea of doubling had thus been prominently suggested.1 1 In this connection, I may quote the following spontaneous case—where the imagination of the percipient may probably have been adequate to conjure up the reflected figure. The account is from Mr. Adrian Stokes, M.R.C.S., of 16, Howell Road, St. David’s, Exeter. “When I was living in Bedford Street North, Liverpool, in the year 1857 (I think), my wife roused me from sleep suddenly and said, ‘Oh! Adrian, there’s Agnes!’ I started up, crying, ‘Where? Where?’ but, of course, there was no Agnes. My wife then told me that she had awoke, and had seen the form of her only sister, Agnes, sitting on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. On seeing this form she felt frightened; but then, recalling her courage, she thought if the figure were real she would be able to see it reflected in the mirror of the wardrobe, which she had in full view as she lay in bed. Directing her eyes, therefore, to the mirror, there she saw, by the light of the fire that was burning brightly in the grate, the full reflection of the form seated on the ottoman, looking at a bunch of keys which she appeared to hold in her hand. Under the startling effect caused by this sight, she called me to look at it, but, before I was awake, the form and its reflection had vanished. It was not a dream, my wife is certain. “When my wife saw her sister sitting at the foot of our bed looking at the bunch of keys, she (the sister) was clad in the ordinary indoor dress of the time. I remember the start of surprise with which I awoke and exclaimed. My wife has never, that I know of, experienced any hallucination or delirium; and is a woman of excellent sense and judgment. She never saw any other vision but that one.’ Professor Bernheim, of Nancy, tells me {i-470} that he has also made repeated trials, and has never confirmed the results of the Salpêtrière. And one further reservation must be made. It is just conceivable that the changes wrought on the imaginary percept were due, not to the optical instruments, but to thought-transference. For M. Binet and his assistants of course knew themselves, in each case, the particular optical effect to be expected. An experimenter who has not expressly recognised the reality of thought-transference would never think of so arranging his experiment that he himself should not know, till after the result, which instrument was in use or what was its position; nor indeed is it easy to imagine how such a condition could in practice be carried out. We have reason, moreover, to think that the hypnotic rapport, which enables the operator to impose a hallucination on the “subject,” is a condition decidedly favourable to telepathic influence. The point seems worth suggesting, if only because thought-transference is a possibility which will assuredly need to be taken into account at many points, in that wide investigation of hysterical conditions which is assuming so much prominence in France. It would be most interesting if a state of hallucination turned out to be one in which the “subject” is specially susceptible to “transferred impressions.”

    § 5. But in any case, imaginary objects which are projected on a convenient flat surface form a very outlying class. For the common run of visual hallucinations, even of those seen in good light, we cannot assume the necessity of any objective points de repère, or any definite external stimulation of the retina.1 1 It should be observed that light may favour, and darkness hinder, the projection of a phantasm, owing to the different effect of the one and the other on the general physiological state. The presence of light might thus be a necessity, quite apart from any distinguishable points de repère; and this may apply not only to a crucial case—as, e.g., where Professor Bernheim made a hypnotic “subject” see a phantom-balloon in a cloudless blue sky—but to the common type of hallucinations which cease when the room is darkened. In the same way the presence of light is occasionally found to be a condition of auditory hallucinations. (Ball, Leçons sur les Maladies Mentales, p. 116.) See also the very interesting case given by Professor P. Jolly in the Archiv für Psychiatrie, Vol. iv., p. 495. His paper is on the production of auditory hallucinations by the application of an electric current in the neighbourhood of the ear. In one case, he shows good reason for attributing the hallucination, not to a stimulation of the auditory nerve, but to a transference to the auditory centre of the stimulus given to fibres of the fifth nerve. For the subjective sounds did not, as in all the other cases, correspond in a regular way to the opening and closing of the current, but appeared under all conditions in which pain was produced. See also Köppe (Op. cit., p. 54) on the same On the contrary, {i-471} they have every appearance of being centrally initiated, as well as centrally constructed. For instance, it is quite as easy to make the patient see objects in free space—say, out in the middle of the room; and such is the common form of spontaneous hallucination, both of sane and insane persons, where human figures are seen. The eyes are then focussed, not on the real objects from which points de repère would have to be supplied, but on the figure itself; which may be much nearer than the wall behind it, and may thus require a very different adjustment of the eyes. For eyes adjusted to the imaginary object, the real objects behind, though in the line of sight, may be quite outside the range of clear vision; and we can scarcely suppose points de repère to excite a percept whose position is such that, for it to be visible, they themselves must cease to be so. And the difficulty of regarding external points of excitation as a necessary condition becomes even greater when the hallucination is a moving one. I refer not to the cases where the imaginary figure follows the movements of the eye, owing to some morbid affection of that organ which acts as a real moving substratum for it, but to those where the eye follows the figure in its seemingly independent course. Here we should have to assume that the point de repère keeps changing; that is, as the imaginary figure passes along the side of the room, in front of a multitude of different objects—pictures, paper, furniture, &c.—the very various excitations from these several objects act in turn as the basis of the same delusive image. There seem no grounds for such an assumption. What is there to produce or to guide the selection of ever-new points de repère? To what external cause could we ascribe the perpetual substitution of one of them for another? On the view that the figure may be centrally initiated, no less than centrally constructed, none of these difficulties occur. Such a figure may just as well appear in the empty centre of the room as on a piece of card-board, and may just as well move as stand still. Stronger still are cases where the hallucination is not in the line of vision. Dr. Charcot has noted a curious form of unilateral hallucination, which occurs sometimes to hysterical patients with {i-472} normal eyes, on the side on which they are hemianæsthetic—animals passing rapidly in a row from behind forwards, which usually disappear when the eyes are turned directly to them.1 1 Le Progrès Medical, 1878, p. 38. It is probable that an attentive regard is a condition for the establishment of points de repère. In the case of M. Binet’s “subjects,” a certain peculiarity in the fixed regard, which might act in this way, is strongly suggested by the following fact. In some cases, after a screen had been interposed between the patient’s eyes and the imaginary object, she continued to see not only that object (say, a mouse), but a real object (say, a hat) on which it had been placed. Thus the hat assumed the property—shared by the imaginary mouse, but unshared by any other real objects—of remaining as a percept in spite of an opaque barrier. Kahlbaum describes a patient who saw the form of his deceased child only when he fixed his eyes steadily on a point. (“Die Sinnesdelirien” in the Allgemeine Zeitschrift für Psychiatrie, Vol. xxiii., p. 7; and see also below, p. 493, second sentence.) But in the general run of spontaneous hallucinations, there is no reason for supposing that the regard has any of this exceptional intentness. Another type where the hallucination passes out of the range of direct vision is presented by Bayle’s case, where a spider used first to appear life-size, and then gradually to expand till it filled the whole room.2 2 Revue Médicale, 1825, Vol. i., p. 34. Sir J. F. W. Herschel describes an analogous experience of his own. The same sort of argument applies to hallucinations where a figure appears repeatedly, but only in one place, while still not an illusion due to any real feature in the place—as in the case of a patient of Morel’s,3 3 Traité des Maladies Mentales, p. 357. who always saw a headless man at the bottom of the garden, or of an informant of my own whose phantasmal visitant confined itself to a particular bed; and also where the percipient is haunted by a figure which can be seen only in one direction, as in Baillarger’s case of a doctor who could not turn without finding a little black cow at his side.4 4 Baillarger, Des Hallucinations, p. 312; Ball, Leçons sur les Maladies Mentales, p. 73. The mind may locate its puppet according to its own vagaries; and this last experience is very like a sensory embodiment of the well-known delusion that somebody is always behind one.

    We find, however, our clearest examples of the central initiation of hallucinations, when we turn to cases where excitation from the outer world is plainly absent. This class includes phantasms seen in complete darkness,5 5 Sir J. F. W. Herschel mentions that some of his own hallucinations could be seen with open eyes only if the darkness was complete. (Op. cit., p. 407.) Some of Nicolai’s visions could only be seen when the eyes were shut; and this was also a feature of a very interesting case recorded by Dr. Pick (in the Vienna Jahrbuch für Psychiatrie for 1880, Vol. ii., p. 50), where nevertheless the figures seen gave an impression of complete externality, and were often addressed by the patient. Schüle records a similar instance. (Handbuch der Geisteskrankheiten, p. 128.) In the Gazette Medicale de Paris for March 21, 1885, Professors Bernheim and Charpentier describe some experiments made in a dark room, where—points de repère being necessarily absent—the visual hallucinations of hypnotic “subjects” proved not to be modifiable by optical instruments in the way above described. and also hallucinations of pain, and probably the large majority of auditory hallucinations, which have so far been {i-473} disregarded. Here the alternative is simple. The initiation must either occur in the brain, or be due to some morbid or abnormal condition of the outer sensory apparatus. We have already duly noted the latter mode as a frequent one. But the fact that certain hallucinations have been undoubtedly due to injury of the external organ does not establish, or even strongly suggest, the existence of a similar condition in cases

    where it defies detection.1 1 For statements of the opposite view see (as well as M. Binet’s papers above referred to) Professor Ball, in L’Encéphale, 1882, p. 6., and Maladies Mentales, p. 111, &c.; and the classical paper of Dr. Régis on unilateral hallucinations, L’Encéphale, 1881, p. 44. As a rule, where the abnormal condition has been made out, hallucinations have not been its only result. The ulceration of the cornea which initiates visual hallucinations has begun by affecting the vision of real objects. Illusions, or false perceptions of colour, usually precede the appearance of more distinct phantasms.2 2 Dr. Max Simon in the Lyon Médical, Vol. xxxv, p. 439; Voisin, Op. cit., p. 70. So, in cases of more transient abnormality—such as the illusions hypnagogiques mentioned in the last chapter—other signs precede the hallucination. The observer, whose eyes are heavy with sleep, begins by seeing luminous points and streaks, which shift and change in remarkable ways; and it is from these as nuclei that the subsequent pictures develop. Mr. James Britten, of Isleworth, tells me that, as a boy, he often saw in the dark a distant, tiny point of light, which approached and became an eye, then turned into a face, and then, coming nearer, “developed into a mass of very horrible faces,” quite unlike any that he had ever seen or imagined. Similarly one of the seers of “Faces in the Dark” (St. James’s Gazette, February 10th, 15th, and 20th, 1882) described the frequent vision of a shower of golden spangles, which changed into a flock of sheep. Now, since our physiological knowledge leaves no doubt that the points, streaks and spangles are due to the condition of the retina, it is safe in such cases to conclude that this condition has initiated the hallucination. But it is not equally safe to conclude that the process must be the same for cases where the points, streaks and spangles are absent. I do not forget that even a normal eye is subject to affections which escape attention until a special effort is made to realise them. But wherever the hallucination can be gradually traced in its development from more rudimentary sensations, these last seem to be very distinct and exceptional things, unknown in ordinary experience. Moreover, the vision itself is commonly of a changing kind—the features developing rapidly out of one another; {i-474} often also of a swarming kind—detailed landscapes, elaborate kaleidoscopic patterns, showers of flowers, lines of writing on a luminous ground, and so on.1 1 Galton, Inquiries into Human Faculty, pp. 159–63; Maury, Le Sommeil et les Rêves, p. 331. Probably the first clear description of these phenomena is that given by Vair, Bishop of Pozzuolo, De Fascino Libri tres (Venice, 1589), p 112. The following cases—the first from Mrs. Willert, of Headington Hill, Oxford, the second sent to me by the Rev. J. A. Macdonald, of Manchester, in the words of his wife—are as good specimens as could be found. Mrs. Willert wrote on Dec. 20, 1883:— “The pictures I see generally appear at night before going to sleep, always in complete darkness, and I believe usually when I am rather tired. I can see them with my eyes open, but the colours are much less brilliant than when my eyes are shut. I am quite conscious at the time of the unreality of the scenes—indeed, they seem to be very much like the constantly changing slides of a magic lantern, and I should say of the same size; when they disappear everything is black again. I see all kinds of things, generally in quick succession; never, however, blending into one another. I can never recall the same picture however much I try. I see landscapes, interiors and exteriors of houses, &c., and single objects, such as flowers, books, boots, feathers, pots, &c., &c., and sometimes figures—of which, however, I can never distinguish the faces. Once or twice I have seen a little scene enacted. I remember one distinctly. I saw a man in the dress of the last century riding down a lane. As he came forward, two men, also on horseback, rushed out on him from behind some trees and knocked him down. I longed to know the end of this little story, but it disappeared. I am never conscious that the things I see have any connection with what I have been thinking of, nor do I ever remember to have recognised a place I know amongst the many landscapes I see.” Mr. Willert tells me that his wife can always narrate these visions as they pass, and is certainly wide awake at the time. Mrs. Macdonald says:— “For many years I have been accustomed to see multitudes of faces as I lie awake in bed, generally before falling asleep at night, after waking up in the morning, or if I should wake in the middle of the night. They seem to come up out of the darkness, as a mist, and rapidly develop into sharp delineation, assuming roundness, vividness, and living reality. Then they fade off only to give place to others, which succeed with surprising rapidity and in enormous multitudes. Formerly the faces were wonderfully ugly. They were human, but resembling animals, yet such animals as have no fellows in the creation, diabolical-looking things. So curiously and monstrously frightful were they that I cannot conceive whence they could have come if not from the infernal world. I could not, certainly, at other times, by any voluntary effort of imagination, conjure up anything even remotely approaching their frightfulness. Latterly the faces have become exquisitely beautiful. Forms and features of faultless perfection now succeed each other in infinite variety and number.” I will add one more experience, which would, I think, be specially hard to refer to the Licht-staub of the eye, inasmuch as it had an obvious cause of another sort. A friend wrote to me on Sept. 29, 1885:— “Between sleeping and waking this morning, I perceived a dog running about in a field (an ideal white-and-tan sporting dog, ‘bred out of the Spartan kind,’ &c.), and the next moment I heard a dog barking outside the window. Keeping my closed eyes on the vision, I found that it came and went with the barking of the dog outside; getting fainter, however, each time.” Now, compare such experiences with ordinary cases of “ghost-seeing” in the dark. A man wakes in the night, and sees a luminous figure at the foot of his bed. Here the hallucination comes suddenly, single and complete, to a person whose eyes are open and unfatigued; it is not preceded by any peculiar affection of vision, is not developed out of anything, and does not move, or swarm, or develop fresh features; nor does it fulfil the test of hallucinations due to the state of the external organ, by moving as the eye moves.2 2 M. Binet treats all “ghost-seers” as so paralysed with terror that they do not move their eyes from the figure—which leaves it open to him to guess that the figure would move if their eyes moved. Brewster (Natural Magic, p. 130) had the same idea. To Wundt, also, stationary hallucinations that can be looked away from seem unknown as a distinct and fairly common type, and he inclines to regard them as mere illusions. Brewster’s own case of Mrs. A., and the well-known cases given by Paterson (Edinburgh Medical and Surgical Journal, January, 1843) would alone suffice, I think, to refute this view. See also Kandinsky’s and Schroder van der Kolk’s experiences (Archiv für Psychiatrie, 1881, p. 461, and De Pathologie en Therapie der Krankzinnigheid, p. 27). I have in my possession a good many examples where the imaginary figure has been looked away from and back to again. (See for instance, Mr. Turner’s case, quoted below, p. 491.) The Rev. P. H. Newnham tells us of three occasions, during the autumn of 1883, on which he saw and recognised in church the figures of persons who proved not to have been there. In two of the three cases the figure thus seen had peculiarities which made it quite unmistakeable, and was observed in the same place more than once during the service, just as any real member of the congregation might have been. The third case is this:— “I went, as usual, to the school, about a quarter-of-an-hour before service, and either spoke or nodded to all the teachers present. I particularly noticed one in whom I am much interested, sitting with her class, nodded to her, and she smiled back again. Subsequently, in church, I noticed her again, and counted her (I always count my congregations) twice over; once when I counted the entire number present; once when I counted children
    and adults separately. It turned out, however, that the girl had not been present. I think I was never so surprised in my life. I made several inquiries, but there was no mistake. She had been detained at home, much to her vexation and annoyance, during the whole afternoon on which I had seen her in two different places, and had had my eye upon her, practically, the whole time.”

    {i-475}

    Such visions are commonly explained—and often, no doubt, with justice—as due to nervousness or expectancy. But nervousness and expectancy act by exciting the mind, not by congesting the retina; they work on the imagination, and their physical seat is not in the eye but in the brain. We should conclude, then, that the brain initiates the hallucination; and that nocturnal visions, which vary so greatly both in themselves and in the general conditions of their appearance, vary also in their seat of origin.

    The auditory cases are even plainer. For here the hypothesis of points de repère seems quite out of the question. It has never been observed that the hallucinations occur when the attention is being fixed on particular external sounds, or begin or cease synchronously with the beginning or cessation of such sounds: in fact silence seems to be a specially favourable condition for them. The only alternative, therefore, to supposing them to be centrally initiated, is to suppose some abnormality in the external organ itself. Such an abnormality has often been detected; and even when not absolutely detected, it may sometimes be inferred from other symptoms. Thus, an enlarged carotid canal, or a stoppage which produces an unwonted pressure on the vessels, will first make itself felt by hummings and buzzings; hallucination then sets in, and imaginary voices are heard which we should naturally trace to the local irritation that produced the former sounds.1 1 The abnormality may be of the most transient kind. Thus on one occasion I myself distinctly traced the illusion of hearing steps accompanying my own to the recurrent variations in the blood-flow of the ear, caused by the very act of stepping. But I may add that hummings are sometimes experienced where no cause whatever can be discovered in the condition of the ear; and thus may possibly themselves be centrally initiated. (See Köppe, Op. cit., p. 50.) But the analogy is not obvious between these {i-476} cases and those where there are no hummings and buzzings, and no grounds for supposing that there is a stoppage or lesion of any sort. Among a numerous, though much neglected, class of phenomena—the casual hallucinations of the sane—the commonest form by very far is for persons to hear their name called when no one is by. The experience is often remarkably distinct, causing the hearer to start and turn round. It is not at all connected with conditions that produce blood-pressure, such as lying with one ear closely pressed on the pillow; it comes in a sudden and detached way, and apparently at quite accidental moments. Another experience, which I have myself occasionally had when going to sleep, but without any external pressure on the ear, is for sentences which are floating in one’s head to take on a slightly externalised form—a central “ illusion hypnagogique,” in contrast to the visual sort which are due to the Licht-staub of the retina. And when we come to insane cases, we find a more positive refutation of peripheral origin. A well-known form of hallucination occurs in the form of dialogue; the patient returns answers to the voices that haunt him, and is answered in turn. He can regulate the course of his own delusion. Dr. V. Parant has recently reported the case of an asylum-patient who, when thwarted or annoyed, would go to special spots to consult imaginary advisers; the replies that she received—it need hardly be said—always corresponded with her own desires and prejudices. Another insane woman used to play “odd and even” with an imaginary prefect of police, whose guesses were always wrong.1 1 Ann. Médico-psych., 6th series, Vol. vii., p. 379; Ball, Maladies Mentales, p. 98. See also Kahlbaum, Op. cit., p. 10; the cases described by Michéa in the Ann. Médico-psych. for 1856, p. 389; and M. Sandras’ own experience in the same journal for 1855, p. 542. We clearly cannot suppose here an intermittent abnormality of the ear, which always sets in by chance at the very moment when the imaginary speaker’s replies fall due. It may be added that even where a distinct morbid cause can be traced, it is as often as not a central cause. After a long course of alcohol a man begins to hear voices; but alcohol, while admittedly affecting brain-tissue, has no recognised tendency to affect the ear.

    Again, we have to remember the clear relation which often exists between sensory hallucinations and more general ideas and delusions.2 2 Lélut, L’Amulette de Pascal, p. 101; Krafft-Ebing, Op. cit., p. 19; Griesinger, Op. cit, pp. 97–8; Wundt, Op. cit, Vol. ii., p. 356; Dagonet, Les Maladies Mentales, p. 94. This remark, which is a common-place of alienists, applies far beyond the limits of insanity. One of the commonest {i-477} incidents of the witch-cases is the apparition of the supposed witch to the victim. The explanation of this phenomenon must surely be sought in the pre-occupation of feeble and excitable minds with a particular terrifying subject. And these cases present a further feature, the importance of which has, I think, escaped notice, and which points still more decisively to a purely cerebral origin. They comprise the most remarkable examples on record of hallucinations of pain. The verdict of the victims’ senses often was that the witch was not only visibly present, but was torturing them.1 1 Mather, Wonders of the Invisible World (Boston, 1693), p. 105; Magnolia Christi Americana (London, 1702), pp. 68, 69, 72, 75; Deodat Lawson, Further Account of Tryals of the New England Witches (London, 1693), p. 2; Sadducismus Triumphatus (London, 1689), p. 375; Sadducismus Debellatus (London, 1698), p. 3; Boulton, Complete History of Magick (London, 1715), Vol. ii., p. 31; Durbin, A Narrative of Some Extraordinary Things (Bristol, 1800, p. 17; Zwei Hexenprocesse in Ballenstedt (Quedlinburg, 1863), p. 56. The pains were often distinctly localised, and were specifically described—as beating, scratching, pinching, biting; while the parts affected were, of course, not being externally excited more than any other part of the body.

    A further argument for the central initiation of many hallucinations of the distinctly morbid sort may be drawn from the course which the morbid process takes. The first stage is often not a sensory hallucination at all; it is a mere delusion; the patient thinks that plots are being concocted against him. After a time his secret enemies begin to reveal themselves, and he hears their abusive and threatening language. We surely cannot ascribe the sensory experience here to a lesion of the ear which happens to occur independently, but regularly, at this particular stage; it follows, on the other hand, in the most natural way, if we regard it as imposed from within, as soon as the disease has gone far enough for the mind to clothe its imaginary fears in a more vivid form. Specially conclusive in this respect are the cases where voices begin to address the patient in the most internal way, without sound, and only after a time take on a distinctly audible character.2 2 Griesinger, Op. cit., p. 91. The bearing of this fact on the theory of central origin has been noted by Mr. Sully, Illusions, p. 119. But of all the cases in point the most interesting are those where one type of hallucination assails one side of the body and another the other.3 3 See Dr. Magnan’s account in the Archives de Neurologie, Vol. vi., p. 336. They confirm what was said above—that the mere fact of a hallucination being unilateral, or peculiar to one side of the body, though suggesting a defect in the external organ, is by no means a

    {i-478} proof of it.1 1 Cf. Dr. A. Robertson in the Report of the International Medical Congress, 1881, Vol. iii., pp. 632–3. A gentleman who writes to me from the Junior United Service Club, and who describes himself as “a military physician of long foreign service and not of superstitious tendencies,” says that as a youth he was once transported with passion during an argument. “There was a large knife lying on the table, and I distinctly heard a voice whisper into my right ear, ‘Take up that knife and use it.’ I glanced over my shoulder involuntarily for the speaker”—who of course was not visible. There was no question of lesion here, either of the sense-organ or of the brain; for my informant has never had any other hallucination in his life. That a whisper should thus be located in one ear is specially natural; since it corresponds with our usual way of receiving real whispers. The double sensory experience follows with exactness the course of the delusions. The patient first suffers from melancholy and discouragement; this develops into a belief that he is surrounded by enemies: and he then hears insulting voices on the right side. To this unhappy stage succeeds in due course one of exaltation and self-esteem; the patient believes himself to be some royal personage. And now encouraging and eulogistic voices present themselves on the left side. “The good and the evil genii form a sort of Manicheism which governs him.” Here the imagination, as its operations become more complex and establish an opposition of character between its creatures, takes advantage (so to speak) of the fact that the body has two opposite sides; it locates friends and foes just as they might be located in a picture or a play which represented an impending contest. It will scarcely be maintained that by accident the left ear began to be locally affected just at the time when the development of the plot necessitated the entrance of the friendly power upon the scene. Another case involves the sense of touch. A man, after praying for a year that his actions might be Divinely guided, heard a voice say, “I will save thy soul”; and from that time forward he felt his left or his right ear touched by an invisible attendant, according as he was doing right or wrong.2 2 Démonomanie des Sorciers, Paris, 1582, pp. 11–12. For a wonder (see p. 177) Bodin gives the case at first-hand; and there is no reason to doubt its truth. Did the auditory hallucination coincide by chance with the commencement of local irritation in the pinna? Dr. Magnan adds three examples of alcoholism, where abuse and threats were heard on one side, praise and consolation on the other. In these cases there were crises of fury, in which hallucinations of all the senses took place, involving both sides alike, and masking the more ordinary condition. On the decline of these crises, the opposed auditory hallucinations recommenced. It seems impossible to resist Dr. Magnan’s view, that the poison, distributed through the whole brain, provokes at times a general crisis; but that when this subsides, it localises its action at the weakest spot. Should this happen to be the auditory centre on one side, a single {i-479} unilateral hallucination would be the result; but if both centres remain affected the projection may assume the complex two-sided form.

    But perhaps the strongest cases of all in favour of a purely central initiation yet remain—the cases of hallucination voluntarily originated.1[☼] 1 It is odd to find involuntariness not infrequently taken as the distinctive abnormality in hallucinations (Falret, Op. cit., p. 281; Buchez and De Castelnau in the French debates of 1855–6); and the odder, inasmuch as not only may hallucinations be voluntary, but the mental pictures and memories, from which they are to be distinguished, are often of course involuntary. Wigan’s instance has often been quoted, of the painter who, after carefully studying a sitter’s appearance, could project it visibly into space, and paint the portrait not from the original but from the phantasm.2 2 The Duality of the Mind, p. 124. He ended by confounding the phantasmal figures with real ones, and became insane. Baillarger reports another painter, Martin, as having similarly projected pictures, which so interested him that he requested anyone who took up a position in front of them to move.3 3 See also Cardan, De Varietate Rerum, (Basle, 1557) p. 314, who says he has always been shy of mentioning the peculiarity—“Cum volo, video quæ volo, oculis, non vi mentis.When I wish, I see what I wish, by eyes, not by the power of mind.” Kahlbaum (Op. cit., p. 33), and Maisonneuve (Recherches et Observations sur l’Epilepsie, Paris, 1803, p. 295), give each an instance; and Sir H. Holland (Chapters on Mental Physiology, p. 47) says that he has met with several cases. One of the seers of “Faces in the Dark” reported that he could produce the vision of the spangles and sheep at will. His case differs, however, from those given in the text. For, in the first place, his vision was one of old standing; and, in the second place, his retina must have been pretty constantly in the abnormal state. I should thus ascribe the phenomenon to a concentration of attention on actual visual sensations, which fell by habit into the familiar lines. It would be interesting to know whether, after the spangles had appeared, it was possible to check their development into sheep. And I may add that in one of the cases of persistent dream-images mentioned in the last chapter, my informant, Lieut.-Colonel Hartley, of Hartley, near Dartford, remarks, “I can always produce this phenomenon, if I know that I am dreaming, by opening my eyes, which wakes me, but the dream-image persists.” I confess that I should have been tempted to regard the voluntary cases as conclusive evidence of central initiation, had I not found so high an authority as Professor Ball explicitly claiming them as hallucinations provoked by an “abnormal sensation.”4 4 Op. cit., p. 122. This error (as it seems to me) depends on what has become a very common misreading of the term “psycho-sensorial.” The theory so designated is often described as “théorie mixte”—the “mixture” being of the “imagination” and of some prior “abnormal sensation,” which sets the imagination to work. But hallucinations (as we have seen) are psycho-sensorial in virtue not of their antecedents, but of their content—because they are things actually seen and actually heard. The “sensorial” element in them is not the incentive or the raw material of the abnormal activity, but its product. He does not tell us what the abnormal sensation is, or what causes it. He contents himself with pointing out that hallucinations are very like dreams; that some dreams are (and, therefore, apparently, all {i-480} dreams must be) provoked by external stimulation—say a knock at the door; and that we can sometimes direct the course of a dream at will: ergo, it is easy to see how some people may start a hallucination at will. It would be more to the purpose if he would introduce us to a dreamer who can designedly start a pre-arranged dream by knocking at his own door.

    § 6. There is only one other point, in relation to the question of origin, that needs special attention; and that concerns hallucinations of what may be called the lowest or most rudimentary grade. There is a class of experience which all the writers who describe it1 1 I find that I must except Dr. Dagonet (Op. cit., p. 92); who, however, is certainly wrong in regarding the phenomena in question as necessarily indicative of insanity. agree to treat as a quite unique type, and of which frequent examples have been observed among religious mystics, and persons who believe themselves to be in direct communication with spiritual guides. They describe a voice which is yet soundless, which

    utters the “language of the soul” inside them, and which they hear by means of a “sixth sense,” and without any apparent participation of the ear. “I should hear the voice just as well if I were stone deaf,” such a person will say; my ear has nothing to do with it.”2 2 Köppe, Op. cit., p. 34. Owing to the absence of a definable sensory quality, Baillarger distinguished this class as psychic3 3 The term must, of course, not be confounded with our special sense of the word “psychical,” explained on p. 5, note. hallucinations, in opposition to psycho-sensorial; and M. Binet himself, who insists on an external or peripheral basis for all other hallucinations, is inclined to treat these as exceptional, and to grant them an origin from within. As one who holds that that is equally the origin of a large number of the undoubted psycho-sensorial hallucinations, I cannot recognise this exception; and to me the class in question is of interest, not as distinguished from the psycho-sensorial family, but as a true species of that genus, presenting the sensorial element reduced to its very lowest terms. I regard it as the first stage of a graduated series—the embryonic instance of the investiture of an image or representation with a sensory or presentative character. In proportion as the sensorial element in hallucination is attenuated and dim, or full and distinct, will the perception appear internal or external; and these cases are simply the most internal sort, between which and the most {i-481} external sort there exists various degrees of partial externalisation. This view has surely everything to recommend it. We can but take the perceiver’s own account—that he has a distinct impression of words; and that this impression has an actuality which clearly separates it from the mere image or memory of words. How can this separation be conceived, except by recognising the presence of a genuine, though faint, sensorial element?1 1 Of what exactly this element may consist is another question. Dr. Max Simon (in the Lyon Médical, Vol. xxxv., pp. 435, 486) has made the suggestion that what is felt is a muscular impulse to form the words, rather than the sound of them—an impulse exhibited in its extreme form in the irrepressible continuous vociferation of mania; and on this account he even refuses to regard the experience as hallucination at all. It is quite possible that the constitution of the phantasmal words may be a complex one, and may include an embryonic sense of muscular impulse. But it seems certain that the patient’s sensation is of something other and more than this. For him the words are not suggested or initiated, but actually and completely impressed. The impression is not recognised as impulse any more than as sound; but it is an impression of objective reality. Here, then, we surely trace the characteristic hallucinatory element. The close connection between the auditory and speech centres is well illustrated in the following case of undoubted hallucination, recorded by Holland (Medical Notes and Reflections, 1840, p. 232). A slight concussion of the brain having produced a temporary inability to find the right words and to speak coherently, the patient was some days later amused by hearing, as it seemed close to his ear, a dialogue in which the phrases exhibited precisely similar defects. (See Dr. A. Pick’s remarks in the Prager Medicinische Wochenschrift for October 31,1883.) The question is of importance to my argument; for to admit a genuine sensory element in the most “internal” species of hallucination—which all agree to be centrally initiated—will practically be to admit a similar initiation for other psycho-sensorial hallucinations.

    The Rev. P. H. Newnham, of Maker Vicarage, Devonport, already so often mentioned, has supplied me with some examples which are eminently in point. He has had on several occasions “psychic” hallucinations in the ordinary sense—an impression of words which “seem to be formed and spoken within the chest.” But he has also experienced and clearly distinguished another type of hallucination—a soundless voice, which yet seems to speak into his right ear (he is deaf of the left ear), and which thus produces the sense of externality, though not of actual sound. We must surely recognise this as the stage just above that of “psychic” hallucination.2 2 The most interesting case known to me of the speaking “within the chest” forms another instructive link, since the internal voice is expressly described as audible, and as producing a strong impression of a second person’s presence. A Yorkshire vicar, whose name I may mention but not print, writes to me:— “In the autumn of the year 1858, I was staying at Invercargill, the most southern part of New Zealand. There was only one hotel there in those days, kept by a Dane. There was no village of any kind; the place was as wild as could be. When I had been about two days at this inn, I heard myself addressed by name, and found that the speaker was one of the sailors who had worked the vessel in which I had sailed from England to New Zealand. He was a man I knew well, because he was on one occasion put in irons for mutinous language, on our passage, and I had often spoken with him both before and since that event. When the ship reached the Heads, as the entrance to Port Chalmers is called, this man, with five or six others of the crew, deserted, taking the ship’s whale-boat in the darkness of the night, and leaving it on the beach. “In the evening I went into the large kitchen of the hotel, where this man and several others were sitting round the fire, smoking and drinking. The landlord was there, and we were all very friendly together. I found that three or four of the men were also some of the men who had deserted, though I did not remember them at first. They told me they were going in the morning to the Island of Ruapuke, where there was a missionary, as one of the party wished to be married, and there was no minister on the mainland in that neighbourhood. I said I should rather like to see the mission-station, and they said they meant to stay there a day or two before returning, as there were a great many wild boars in the island, and would have some hunting, sleeping in their boat at night. They told me they had plenty of provisions—meat, fish, bread, and so on, besides beer and spirits, and one or two bottles of champagne for the wedding breakfast. They said it would be necessary to start about 4, as it was high water on the bar about 5, and the bar was a very shallow one at the point they desired to cross it. They were all most eager for me to join them, and I had thoroughly entered into the spirit of the thing, and promised to go if they would call me. I remember rising up to go to bed, and saying, ‘Well, as I shall have to be up before 4, I won’t sit up any longer.’ It was then about 11. They said they were all going to ‘turn in’ directly, and would rouse me up, never fear; ‘Don’t you be afraid, we won’t go without you,’ or words to that effect. “I left them with the fullest intention of going with them I ever had of doing anything in my life. The thing was settled. That was why I was going to bed, otherwise I should have stayed another hour at least. I had no candle on the way, but usually struck a match when I reached the bedroom, and lit the candle in the room. When I left the kitchen I walked through a good-sized room, or second kitchen, and into the front part of the inn, and came to the staircase. I had got up about four or five stairs, when someone or something said, ‘Don’t go with those men.’ There was certainly no one on the stairs, and I stood still and said, ‘Why not?’ The voice, which seemed as if some other person spoke audibly inside my chest (not to the ear), said in a low tone, but with commanding emphasis, ‘You are not to go.’ ‘But,’ said I, ‘I have promised to go.’ The answer came again, or rather I should say the warning, ‘You are not to go.’ ‘How can I help it?’ I expostulated, ‘they will call me up.’ Then most distinctly and emphatically the same internal voice, which was no part of my own consciousness, said, ‘You must bolt your door.’ All this time I had stood still on the staircase. I did not even remember there was a bolt to the door, for I recollect just for a moment thinking I must and would go, and then such a strange feeling of mysterious peril that I wondered how I should secure the door in case there was no lock or bolt. On reaching the room I lit the candle, and felt very queer, as if some supernatural presence was very near me. There was a strong common iron

    bolt to the door, I discovered on examination. As a proof that there had been no mere revulsion of feeling, I may mention that even now I hesitated whether to secure the door or not, so anxious was I to go, and so accustomed in those days (I was only 19 years old) to doing my own will at all hazards. At the very last moment (it was quite a ‘toss up’ which it should be) I bolted the door and got into bed. A great calm succeeded the past agitation, and I soon fell asleep. “The next thing I heard was about 3 in the morning (I suppose) a hammering at the door, as I had expected. I was wide awake, but gave no reply. Then I heard voices, and the door violently shaken and kicked at. I did not speak, for I knew I should have been over persuaded if I had called out. I did not mean to go. At last, after a thundering noise, I heard them cursing and swearing, as well as shouting. But I lay still as a mouse. So at last they gave it up and went away. I lay awake some little time wondering whether, after all, I had not been foolish, and then fell into a sound sleep. “About 9 o’clock I went down into the breakfast-room, where a military gentleman, a captain or a colonel, was at his breakfast. As I entered the room, he said, ‘Have you heard what has happened?’ ‘No,’ said I, ‘I am just down.’ ‘Why,’ he said, ‘it seems that a party left this hotel this morning for Ruapuke, and their boat has been capsized on the bar, and they are every one of them drowned.’ I said, ‘Why, I was to have gone with them, and very nearly did.’ ‘Then,’ said he, ‘you’ve had a lucky escape.’ I told him I had had a kind of warning not to go, and had bolted my door, &c.; but I did not tell him all the details. “Two or three of the men’s bodies were washed up on the beach that day, and the rest in a few days more. Not one of them was saved, and if I had been with them I must have perished without a doubt.” And we meet with {i-482} exactly parallel degrees of visual externalisation. I have received several accounts from persons who profess to see with the “spiritual eye,” and whose language betrays the struggle to describe something {i-483} that is indescribable—seeing that is not seeing, a perception of objects which yet are not perceived as in the external world. And just higher in the scale we have the stage of Blake’s visionary experiences. He constantly saw slightly-objectified figures with which he was on such familiar terms as to take their likenesses; but on only one occasion in his life did he see a “ghost”—i.e., have a completely objectified hallucination—which so terrified him that he rushed out of the house.1 1 For further examples of different degrees of externalisation, see Chap. xiv, § 1.

    In the same connection, it is of interest to observe that below even the lowest stage of sensory hallucination there is a type of delusion which may take a very distinct form, and which looks like potential hallucination—namely, the sense of a presence, felt not merely in the general way which probably every one has experienced, but as the presence of a particular person. It is well exemplified in the following account, from Mr. W. de V. Wade, of The Downs, Dunmow:—

    “About 4 years ago I awoke about 2 o’clock in the morning, with a curious feeling that a great friend of mine, who is in India, was in my room. I do not think I had been dreaming about him. I felt an irresistible impulse to call out his name, and, although I was wide awake, it took me some moments to realise that he could not be in the room. It was quite dark, and as soon as I had satisfied myself that it was merely a delusion, I went off to sleep again. Some time in 1882, I was thinking about my brother, who is in America, before I went to sleep. In the middle of the night I suddenly woke up, with the feeling that he was in the room and had spoken to me. I actually listened for a second or two, in the anticipation that he would speak again. Hearing nothing, I controlled a great inclination to call out his name, and then, after arguing to myself that it must be all nonsense, I went to sleep.”

    Another of my correspondents has had a similar impression with respect to a sister. “On one or two occasions the feeling has been so strong that I have got up and left the room.” The close connection between a vivid sense of presence and actual hallucination is further shown by examples where the one developes into the other. Thus, Mr. Joseph Kirk, of the Audit Office, Royal Arsenal, Woolwich, informs me that a niece of his had, one night, an overwhelming sense of an unseen visitant, which lasted some time before it culminated in a clear auditory impression, the words, “I must go now—good-night.” Another informant—a lady of vigorous practical intelligence—experienced lately a similar subjective conviction of a particular friend’s presence (probably due to the fact that she was apprehending {i-484} news of this friend’s death), and then saw her form, “standing in a natural attitude and looking straight at my face. The colour of her dress and cap, and the fashion of both, were absolutely familiar to me.” In such a process as this, we seem to see the central origin absolutely laid bare.

    § 7. The general conclusion from the foregoing paragraphs is plain—that hallucinations of the senses may be spontaneously initiated by the brain; that they are often a pure projection of the brain from within outwards. The hypnotic “subject” will smack his lips over the sweetness of sugar when there is nothing in his mouth—will sniff with delight at a piece of wood when told it is a rose. When the brain does for sight and hearing what it there does for taste and smell, we have a percept which differs from an ordinary external percept only in lacking the objective basis which it suggests. And looking back from this point, we can completely account for the fact noticed in the preceding chapter, that hallucinations occur with disproportionate frequency to people who are in bed. For it is only natural that images should assume the unwonted vividness of sensations especially at those moments when the external organs of sense are not occupied with other sensations. We know that the sort of day-dream which comes nearest to hallucinations is favoured by repose of the sense-organs; that when we want to call up the vivid image of a scene, to make it as real—as sensorial—as possible, we close our eyes. One step farther, and we realise the complete continuity of the waking and the sleeping phenomena. Dreams are by far the most familiar instances of the projection by the mind of images that are mistaken for realities: indeed, it is just because they are so familiar, and waking hallucinations comparatively so rare, that there is a danger of overlooking the psychological identity of the two classes. We might call dreams the normal form of hallucination, or waking hallucinations the pathological form of dreaming; and we might present the waking-dreams of haschisch-poisoning and of starvation1 1 See the interesting case of Mr. Everts, in Scribner’s Magazine for November, 1871. Dagonet considers that fasting, meditation, and solitude favour hallucinations by “diminishing the impressionability of the senses” to external stimuli. (Op. cit., p. 93.) as a sort of intermediate link. The normal dream disappears when sleep departs; having been able to impose its images as realities only because in sleep our sensory faculties are to a great extent benumbed, and {i-485} images cannot therefore be compared with actual presentations. Thus the normal dream cannot survive the corrective which the contact of the waking-senses with the external world supplies; it fades like a candle at sunrise; and its images, if they survive, survive as images and nothing more, memories of a vanished world. The hallucination, or pathological dream, on the other hand, does not require to be thus guarded from comparison with real presentations; its “images” are able to resist the normal corrective, for they are often as fully charged with sensory quality as the external realities which compete with them.

    § 8. I may now proceed to an altogether different question—namely, at what part or parts of the brain the constructive process takes place, and in what it can be conceived to consist. The distinction that has so long occupied us, between central and peripheral initiation, may henceforth be dismissed; for wherever initiated, hallucinations are assuredly constructed by the brain from its own resources. An initiating stimulus may probably come from any point on

    the line from the external organ to the central terminus, along which a nervous current passes in our normal perception of objects. But that stimulus will clearly not determine what the imaginary object shall be, or invest it with any of its qualities: it will merely set the constructive machinery in motion; and the same stimulus—the same inflammation of the eye or ear—may set the machinery in motion a hundred times, and each time evoke a different hallucination. Where then, and what, is this constructive machinery? It would be out of place here to attempt any minute account of the various theories, which have for the most part rested on anatomical observation; and the more so, that their details are still sub judice. But in a more general way the problem can be stated, and even I think to some extent determined.

    There can be no doubt that certain sensory centres are connected in a special way with hallucinations. This follows, as soon as the full sensory character of the phenomena is recognised; for that character can only be the psychical expression of physical changes at the “sensory centres”—the spots where (in the ordinary crude but convenient language) impressions are transformed into sensations. As to the exact locality of these spots, there is a conflict of views which may be to some extent reconciled if we regard the process as taking place in several stages. Some (Luys, Ritti, Fournié) believe the principal scene of action to be the large mid-way masses called {i-486} the optic thalami; others (Schroder van der Kolk, Meynert, Kahlbaum, Kandinsky) would place it lower down—the centre for vision, for instance, in the corpora quadrigemina; while others again (Hitzig, Ferrier, Tamburini) locate it higher up, in the cortex itself. But the authorities are generally agreed in connecting the several forms of sense with several limited areas, distinct from the larger tracts associated with the most highly developed phenomena of intelligence.

    A diagram may make the relation of the parts clearer.

    Let A represent the retina of the eye,image which in itself has no more power of seeing than a mirror has. Let B represent the group of cells in the brain which constitutes the sensory centre—say the “visualising centre”—and which is excited into activity whenever sight takes place. And let C represent the cortical or exterior substance of the hemispheres of the brain, part of which is excited into activity whenever any of the higher psychical faculties—intelligent perception, imagination, comparison, memory, volition—are called into play. A is connected with B by the fibres of the optic nerve, and B is connected with C by other nerve-fibres. Now any disturbance of the cells at B which reaches a certain intensity will be accompanied by the sensation of sight; and when this disturbance is propagated onwards in the natural course from B to C, this sensation will develop into a complete percept—an object for the mind—which can be reflected on, compared with other objects, and remembered. But the indispensable event—the disturbance or discharge at B—may itself originate in several different ways. It may be excited (1) normally, from A, by the stimulus of external rays of light, which makes us see surrounding objects; (2) accidentally, from A, by the stimulus of a blow on the eye, which makes us see sparks; (3) pathologically, or by morbid irritation at A, or on the line of nerve A B; and (4) pathologically or abnormally, but spontaneously, at B itself.

    Now for one view of the construction of hallucinations these data are sufficient. We have only to suppose that in cases (3) and (4) the agitation at the sensory centre falls readily into certain lines and combinations, so as not only to produce a large variety of sensations—colours, if it be the visual centre, sounds, if it be the auditory one—but to arrange these elements in various definite groups. Everything will now proceed precisely as if these effects had been due to the presence of a real object. The excitation will pursue its ordinary upward course {i-487} to the highest parts of the brain, and will lead to intelligent perception of the sensory group as an object; while, in the most complete or “external” form of hallucinations, it is possible that by a yet further process a refluent current passes downwards to the external organ,1 1 Krafft-Ebing, Op. cit., p. 11; Despine, Etude Scientifique sur le Somnambulisme, p. 328; Tamburini in the Revue Scientifique, 1881, p. 139; Wundt, Op. cit., Vol. ii., p. 356. This point, however, can hardly be said to be established. The mere subjective fact of the reference to the external organ would not prove (as Tamburini seems to assume) that the organ had been actually excited by a refluent current. Nor (for the reason given on p. 465) can a proof be found in the fact that pressure on the side of one eyeball doubles the phantom—a result which must be attributed either to the doubling of some point de repère, or to the association of the sense of lateral pressure with the doubling of real objects. Nor does the fact that “hypnagogic illusions,” hallucinations which consist in the surviving of dream-images into waking moments, and hypnotic hallucinations, can give rise to after-images (as noted by H. Meyer, Gruithuisen, and MM. Binet and Féré, respectively), imply more than the brief continuance of excitation at the central cells. A stronger case, at first sight, is that described by Dr. Pick, of Prague, where only the upper halves of imaginary figures were seen with the right eye; and where it was ascertained that the field of vision was defective over nearly the whole of the upper half of the right retina, to which, of course, the lower half of the figure would have corresponded, but in which the ophthalmoscope revealed no abnormality. But even this is not conclusive as to a refluent current; for Dr. Pick may be right in supposing that some lesion of the nerve-fibres connected with this portion of the retina had led to functional inactivity of the corresponding part of the centre itself. I may add, for what it is worth, an observation of Sir J. F. W. Herschel on his own hallucinations seen in the dark, that “the forms were not modified by slight pressure [of the eye], but their degree of visibility was much and capriciously varied by that cause.” to which the perception is referred, just as though its object were really acting on the eye or ear from outside. There then is the full-fledged hallucination; and its creative machinery, according to this view, lies wholly in the sensory centre.

    But there is another view. I have noted four ways in which the machinery may be set in motion; but there is a fifth possible way. The excitation may come downwards from C—from the seats of ideation and memory. And clearly this sort of excitation will have a dominance of its own. It will have its own psychical counterpart—an idea or a memory; and when it sets the sensory machinery in motion, that machinery will not now produce or combine a group of sensations determined by its own activity; but will merely embody, or as we might say execute, the idea or memory imposed on it. Here, then, the only machinery which is in any sense constructive is situated in the higher ideational tracts. But as long as the nervous activity is confined to the ideational tracts, though there is construction, there is no hallucination. That word is never used to describe the mere image or memory of an object; and in serving as a basis to such an image or memory, however vivid, the cells at C are merely performing their normal functions. It is only when the activity escapes downwards, with such force as strongly to stimulate the cells at the lower centre, that sensation floods {i-488} the image, and we get the delusive percept or hallucination. The force of this downward current may exhibit all degrees. It is probable that even for the barest idea or memory of an object there is some slight downward escape, causing a slight reverberation at B; and where, as in rare morbid cases,1 1 In the Archives de Neurologie, Vol. vi., p. 352, there is cited “un cas de suppression brusque et isolée de la vision mentale des signes et des objets, a case of sudden and isolated suppression of mental vision of signs and objects where the suppression extended to dreams. “Je rêve seulement paroles, tandis que je possédais auparavant dans mes rêvers [sic

    ]la perception visuelle.”I dream only words, whereas before, I had visual perception in my dreams the escape is wholly barred, all power of calling up visual images is lost. With every increase in the force of the escape, there will be a rise of sensory quality, and a nearer approach to absolute hallucination; and every stage will thus be accounted for, from the picture “in the mind’s eye” to the phantom completely externalised in space. On this view, the provenance of the phenomenon clearly cannot be assigned to a single locality: the hallucination is constructed at one place, but it only becomes hallucination at another. We do not dispute whether a photograph comes into existence in the camera or in the developing-room.

    § 9. Here, then, are the two possibilities: (1) that hallucinations are produced by an independent activity of the specific sensory cells—the sensations which arise there being perceived as objects when the nervous current passes upwards to the higher parts of the brain; (2) that the part played by the specific sensory cells is only a response to what may be called ideational excitation, propagated downwards from the higher tracts where the image has been formed.

    In attempting to decide between these possibilities, not much assistance is to be had from direct pathological and physiological observations. These have been mainly directed to an end rather the converse of mine—to utilising the facts of hallucination for fixing the locality of the centres, by inspection of the brains of persons who have been in life markedly hallucinated; and even so not very successfully; for cerebral pathology, as Ball trenchantly remarks, has a way of lending itself to the demonstration of whatever one wants.2 2 Lesions rarely confine themselves neatly to specific areas. We find Dr. Luys, the chief advocate of the optic thalami as the primary seat of hallucinations, admitting the constant spread of lesions from the thalami to the cortex (Gazette des Hôpitaux, December, 1880, p. 46); and Dr. W. J. Mickle (Journal of Mental Science, October, 1881, p. 382,) considers—as the result of a number of very careful necropsies—that in cases of hallucination “thalamic disease plays a less important part than cortical.” But on the other hand, he did not find that the lesions were definitely associated with the spots on the cortex which Ferrier and the advocates of restricted cortical localisation mark out as the visual and the auditory centres; while lesions at these spots—the angular gyrus and the first temporo-sphenoidal convolution—seem to be found in cases where no hallucination has been observed. (Journal of Mental Science, October, 1881, p. 381, and January, 1882, p. 29.) This want of correspondence will seem less surprising, if we remember that in the vast number of casual hallucinations nothing that could be called a lesion exists; that for the delusions of sleep, of the delirium of fever, of fasting, of the early stages at any rate of haschish and opium-eating, only the general physiological explanation can be given that they are due to some change in the constitution or distribution of the blood; and also that the more persistent hallucinations of the insane belong, as a rule, to the earlier period of irritation, rather than to the later one when marked lesion has supervened, and dementia is creeping on. Even if we take subsequent cortical lesion as a sign that the weak spot existed from the first in the highest part of the brain, this would be no proof that the specific sensory centre is cortical. If lesions are not bound to be locally restricted, much less are irritations; and there is nothing to refute the supposition above made, that, when the hallucination occurs, a current has passed downwards to the lower centre—the mischief in the cortex having been primarily an excitant of ideational activities only, and the hallucination being due (as Dr. Mickle well expresses it) to “a tumultuous disorderly reaction of disturbed ideational centres upon sensorial.” The same may be said of the artificial irritation of the “cortical centres” during life. Ferrier regards the movements which result when an electrical stimulus is applied to these areas, as an indication that visual or auditory sensations (i.e., hallucinations) have been evoked. We may quite accept this interpretation, but still suppose that the primary seat of the sensation was not the spot where the stimulus was applied, but a lower centre on the path along which the irritation passed. We are thus thrown back on less direct {i-489} arguments, derived from the nature of the hallucinations themselves. And I think the mistake has again been in imagining that one or other of two alternatives must be exclusively adopted—that either the lower or the higher origin of hallucinations is the universal one. All, I think, that can be fairly said is that, while the first mode of origin is a probable one for some cases, the second mode is a certain one for others.

    For simple and recurrent forms of hallucination, much may be said in favour of the lower origin. It is in accordance with all that we know or conjecture as to nerve-tissue, that certain cell-modifications and radiations of discharge would be rendered easy by exercise; and thus the changes to which any morbid excitement gives rise might naturally be the same as have often before been brought about by normal stimulation from the retina or the ear. The elements would fall readily, so to speak, into the accustomed pattern. An object which has been frequently or recently before the eyes, a word or phrase that has been perpetually in the ear—these may certainly be held capable of leaving organic traces of their presence, and so of establishing a sort of lower memory; as markedly shown, for instance, in cases where uneducated persons have in delirium recited passages of some strange language, of which the sound but not the sense has at some past time been familiar to them. That this lower memory should act automatically seems natural enough when we remember how large a part even of the higher memory is also automatic: an unsought word, suddenly reverberating in the {i-490} sensorium, is on a par with the images that emerge into consciousness without our being able to connect them with our previous train of ideas. Now it is remarkable how large a number of hallucinations are of this primitive type. I mentioned above that, among the sane, the commonest of all cases is to hear the name called; and even with the insane, the vocabulary of the imaginary voices often consists of only a few words, usually threatening or abusive, but sometimes quite neutral in character.1 1 On this subject see Dr. V. Parant in the Ann. Médico-psych., 6th series, Vol. vii., p. 384; Kahlbaum, Op. cit., p. 5; and Kraepelin’s paper, “Ueber Trugwahrnehmungen,” in the Vierteljahrschrift für Wissenschaftliche Philosophie for 1881, p. 225. These embryonic hallucinations often develop into more complex form; Ball, Op. cit., p. 67. So of optical hallucinations. With the sane, a large number consist in the casual vision—an after-image,2 2 This is a convenient description; but it must not be held to imply any retinal affection, of the sort that Hibbert, Ferrier, and Brewster supposed. See p. 487, note. as we might say—of a near relative or familiar associate. A friend, who has had considerable experience of the persistence of a dream-image into the first few moments of waking, tells me that “sometimes these images return during the day, or continue appearing, always suddenly, for several days after.” The Rev. Robertson Wilson, writing from the United Presbyterian Manse, Strath Devon House, Dollar, tells me that at a time when he was in disordered health owing to overwork, he used to take long excursions, and especially interested himself in the inscriptions in country churchyards.

    “One day, after having spent a considerable time in inspecting a village churchyard, what was my horror and consternation to find, on leaving it, that wherever my eyes rested I could descry nothing but monumental inscriptions. The dust on the roadside somehow seemed to form itself into letters. The macadamised highway seemed written all over with mourning, lamentation, and woe: and even when I turned my gaze to the stone dykes on either side of the way, it was only to find that, by some subtle chemistry of my brain, the weather-stains and cracks shaped themselves into words which I could plainly decipher, and found to be of the same nature as those which I had recently been reading in the churchyard. Every time that autumn and winter that I paid a visit to a churchyard, the experience recurred; and on more than one occasion also without that exciting cause.”

    The Rev. G. Lyon Turner, Professor of Philosophy at the Lancashire Independent College, Manchester, tells me that he saw one night suspended from the ceiling of the room, which he knew to be plain,

    “A large chandelier with some 10 scroll-shaped branches, and the jets shining brightly through the ground-glass globes at the end of each. I at once recognised the chandelier as a duplicate of the chandelier which hung {i-491} in the college chapel connected with the Countess of Huntingdon’s college at Cheshunt, where I received my training for the ministry. I moved my head, to see whether the phantom moved too. But no, it remained fixed; and the objects behind and beyond it became more or less completely visible as I moved, exactly as would have been the case had it been a real chandelier.” Mr. Turner woke his wife, who naturally saw nothing.

    Another correspondent saw a spectral figure enter his room and stand at the foot of his bed. “Of course I put my head under the bed-clothes, and yet I saw it.” It seems so unlikely that the imagination would attract its visitor “under the bed-clothes,” that one prefers to suppose a mechanical continuance of reverberation at the lower centre; and the more so that the spectre was a sort of after-image, based on the memory of a picture. More persistent cases are still frequently of a single object. I have mentioned the doctor and the black cow, and the headless man at the bottom of the garden; similarly a lady, when in bad health, always saw a cat on the staircase; and among the insane, a single imaginary attendant is tolerably common.1 1 Blandford, Insanity and its Treatment, p. 155; Kahlbaum, Op. cit., p. 3; Binet in the Revue Philosophique for May, 1884, p. 500. Wherever such simple cases are not connected with any special délire or any fixed set of ideas, they may, I think, be fairly (though of course not certainly) attributed to an activity following the lines of certain established tracts in the sensorium. We might compare this locality to a kaleidoscope, which when shaken is capable of turning out a certain limited number of combinations.

    On the other hand, hallucinations produced at the will of the percipient must first take shape above the sensory centres. For it is indisputable that the idea of the object to be projected—the picture, face, sentence, or whatever it may be—must precede its sensory embodiment as a thing actually seen or heard; and the idea, as well as the volition, is an affair of the higher tracts. And apart from these rare voluntary specimens, the astonishing variety and complexity of more common cases—whether visual appearances or verbal sequences—seem absolutely to drive us to a higher seat of manufacture; for they demand a countless store of elements, and limitless powers of ideal combination. The patient listens to long discourses, or holds conversations with his invisible friends; and what is heard is no echo of former phrases, but is in every way a piece of new experience. So, too, the number and variety of visual hallucinations which may occur to a single person, sometimes even within the space of a few minutes, is astonishing. The physiologist Bostock, who had many hallucinations {i-492} at a time when he was suffering from nervous exhaustion, says that he did not in a single instance see any object with which he had been previously acquainted. Nicolai, who was never otherwise than perfectly sane, and who eventually recovered, continually saw troops of phantoms, most of them of an aspect quite new to him; and in insanity such a phenomenon is common enough. So, too, the seers of Faces in the Dark (p. 473), who had in the course of their lives seen many thousands of phantasmal faces, had never seen one that they recognised. Mrs. Macdonald, quoted above, has only occasionally recognised a face; and another of my correspondents, who has been similarly troubled, says, “The faces I have seen have always been unknown faces.” Even in the perfectly casual hallucinations of the sane and healthy, what is seen is less commonly a mere revival of an object which the eyes have previously encountered than an unrecognised person.1 1 The following case is of special interest; being the most marked instance of a mere revival that I have encountered; while at the same time clearly due to a train of thought and memory involving the highest cerebral tracts. The account is from the Rev. P. H. Newnham. “One of my parishioners is an old woman, now in her 85th year. Though poor and in receipt of parish relief, her education has been good. She retains her faculties in almost undiminished power. She is always bright and cheerful, and I never saw any very aged person at all her equal for a wholesome common-sense. I am very much attached to her; and for some years past have always sent her a little present on her birthday (January 5th), and have visited her either on the day itself, or as soon after it as possible. “This year [1885] I visited her on January 6th, and after I had offered the usual congratulations, she said, with a little air of injured innocence, ‘It’s 2 years since you came to me on my birthday,’ or words to that effect. I felt quite sure she was mistaken, and told her so; but she was confident she was right; and I did not contest the point; but when I said good-bye, added as a last word, ‘Mind, I can’t believe about those 2 years.’ On returning home I referred to my parish books, and found that her birthday in 1884 fell on Saturday, and that being unable to go down and see her myself, I had sent my curate to her, with a message and our little gifts. “On April 14th, being down in the village where she lives, she called on me in my class-room, and begged me to come and see her, as she had something particular to tell me. On my going to see her, she reminded me of our conversation on January 6th, and of my parting words; and said that she now knew she had ‘told me a great story,’ and wanted to beg my forgiveness. And how she had found out her mistake was as follows:— “On the night of March 24th she went to bed early, but could not sleep. This was unusual with her. She lay awake over 3 hours, with no desire to sleep. She could not understand it; but lay very quiet and happy, thinking of nothing particular. All at once my late curate passed into the room, and stood at the foot of her bed. (This gentleman had left me on January 8th, having obtained an appointment as Naval Chaplain.) As she lay in the bed, the curtains shut off the view of the door, so that she cannot say whether he entered the door or not. He stood at the foot of the bed, with a little basket under his arm, and told her that I could not come to see her myself, but would come as soon as I could, and meantime had sent her a present, which he had in the little basket. Having delivered this message, he disappeared. “And then it flashed upon her memory that this was the exact reproduction of an actual scene which had taken place on January 5th, 1884. Everything was the same: position, manner, words, exactly as it had been on that day. And my poor old friend was almost broken-hearted to think how she had forgotten, and said what was untrue about me. “I simply give the narrative as she told it to me. I visited her again a week later and made her repeat the story. She did so without the slightest alteration of facts. I cross-questioned her thoroughly as to details, the mode of entry of the figure, the appearance of it, &c., &c. She simply said that everything was as natural as life; that she was wide awake; that it was no dream or anything of the kind. I pressed her as to the words spoken; whether they were soundless or internally spoken words; but here again she was perfectly clear; the words were spoken aloud, just as they were in the actual occurrence. She was perfectly aware all the time that it was a vision; and never for a moment thought it either the real man, or his ‘ghost.’ She is not in the slightest degree superstitious.” I may add the following parallel though much less elaborate instance. Mr. Alfred Wedgwood, of 20, Shorncliffe Road, Folkestone, describes how, having been trying unsuccessfully in the course of the day to recall the French for “It does not matter,” he saw, just as he was stepping into bed, a sheet of paper a foot broad between him and the sheets, with N’IMPORTE in large letters stretching all across it. He could have sworn that the object was really there, and immediately told his wife of the experience as she testifies. We must, of course, attribute this

    hallucination to the previous gropings after the word. A lady of my acquaintance, {i-493} who has been occasionally subject to seeing figures on awakening from sleep, and who tells me that the experience has had no perceptible connection with health, says that on no single occasion has the face been a known face, though the faces are often so clearly seen that, if subsequently met, they would be at once recognised. Another informant, who says that she can evoke figures at any time by looking intently before her, adds that she “cannot tell beforehand what kind they will be, though able after a minute or two to describe the features and dress to anyone that is by.” Here, then, we have an immense amount of high creative work—of what in psychical terms we should call par excellence the work of the imagination; and this is work which we have good grounds for supposing that the highest cortical tracts, and they alone, are capable of performing. From our experience of the number and mobility of the ideas and images that the mind in a normal state can summon up and combine, we know that the cells of the highest cerebral areas are practically unlimited in their possible groupings and lines of discharge; but we have no right to assume the same inexhaustible possibilities as existing independently in any specific sensory centre—we might almost as well expect a kaleidoscope to present us with an ever-fresh series of elaborate landscapes. The very common implication of two or more senses must also surely be accounted for by supposing a simultaneous excitation of the several centres involved, from a common higher point; for the difficulty, pointed out by Baillarger, of referring the correspondence to simultaneous but independent abnormalities of the external organs applies equally to the specific centres. And over and above all this, there is the connection so frequently observed between the delusions, the conceptions délirantes, of the insane and their sensory hallucinations, which makes it almost impossible not to regard the latter as a {i-494} particular effect of the more widely diffused cerebral disturbance; while even with sane persons of low mental development, we may note in a more general way the prevalence of a particular form of hallucination during the prevalence of a particular superstition—as in the witch-cases above mentioned. The conclusion seems to be that for many hallucinations the mode of origin can be no other than the centrifugali.e., a process in the direction from higher to lower centres.1 1 The view has been maintained that this process consists merely in the removal of an inhibition normally exercised on the sensory centres from above. (See, e.g., Kandinsky in the Archiv für Psychiatrie for 1881.) But this seems to ignore the whole of the facts which support the theory of “ideational excitation.”

    § 10. I have throughout tried to express what I have called the centrifugal theory in such terms that it might be accepted even by those who locate the sensory centres themselves not below, but in, the cortex. According to these physiologists, the whole double transformation, of physical impressions into visual or auditory sensations, and of these sensations into complete perceptions and mnemonic images, would be practically referred to one place. It must be admitted that this view seems at times connected with the want of a due psychological distinction between sensation and perception. But even supposing a specific centre of sensation to be thus equally the seat of psychic functions higher than sensation, it would still be none the less liable to be stimulated by parts of the cortex external to itself; and the nature of many hallucinations would still indicate that they depend on this stimulation, and not on a mere spontaneous quickening of morbid activity in the centre itself. For instance, a girl is violently distressed by seeing her home in flames, and for days afterwards sees fire wherever she looks.2 2 Griesinger, Op. cit., p. 99. For an auditory case, see the account, in the Lyon Médical, Vol. xxxv., p. 437, of a young Frenchman who was rendered insane by the German invasion, and who was then haunted by the sound of guns firing. One must surely trace the hallucination to the distress, and so to an “escape of current” from the seat of ideas and images other than visual ones. Again, in the conditions described above, where the hallucinations faithfully reflect the changes of the whole moral and intellectual bias, the local excitement in the sensory centre would still be traceable to an abnormally strong irradiation from the regions where the highest co-ordinations take place—these regions being themselves, ex hypothesi, already in a state of pathological activity. The other hypothesis would be that the mere hyper-excitability at the centre {i-495} itself made it impossible for images to arise without getting hurried on, so to speak, into sensations by the violence of the nervous vibrations.1 1 This seems to be what Wundt has in view when he speaks of hallucinations as originating, not in an actual irritation, but in a heightened irritability, of the sensory centres (Op. cit., Vol ii., p. 357); and such a state may doubtless contribute to the effect, even where the disturbance is plainly propagated from above. There are even special cases of “ideational excitation” of which an abnormal strain or instability at the lower place seems a more prominent condition than an abnormal pressure at the higher. We might thus explain the echoing hallucinations, where a person finds that what he is reading to himself repeats itself audibly—the occasion for the discharge being here no doubt the slight reverberation which the mere idea of words may be supposed to set up at the auditory centre. (See Kraepelin, Op. cit., p. 356.) Very comparable are the hallucinations which present themselves only when a certain amount of external stimulation is supplied. For example, a man finds an old hallucination of hearing recur when people are talking in his neighbourhood, though able at the same time to distinguish what they are saying (Kahlbaum, Op. cit., pp. 7, 8, 27); another is troubled by insulting voices at night only when the patients in adjoining rooms are audibly speaking or moving (Köppe, Op. cit., p. 49). And with these may perhaps be classed the hallucinations, primarily due to lesions of the eye, which are found to be greatly favoured by a multiplication of external impressions, as by a visit to a busy city (Voisin, Op. cit., p. 71). But then, what should cause images belonging to one particular order of ideas—the order which happens to be diseased—to be picked out for this fate in preference to any others? The hyper-excitable centre in itself, as an arena of images, could have no ground for such a partial selection among the crowd of them which emerge during every hour of waking life. Among the endless and multiform vibrations involved, why should the excessive amplitude that corresponds to sensation be confined to a particular set? A reason must exist. The unique agreement between the sensory hallucinations and the more general moral and intellectual disorder must have its particular physical counterpart; and for this “a strong downward escape of current” is at any rate a sufficiently comprehensible metaphor.

    {i-496}

    CHAPTER XI.

    TRANSIENT HALLUCINATIONS OF THE SANE: AMBIGUOUS CASES.

    § 1. We have briefly surveyed hallucinations in their more general aspects. But before concentrating our view exclusively on the peculiar telepathic species, we shall do well to pause for a little at an important sub-genus to which that species belongs, but of which it forms numerically only a small part—namely, transient hallucinations of the sane.

    These hallucinations, of course, like all others, are the creation of a mind in an abnormal state; but the abnormality may arise in two very different ways. In the large majority of cases it is purely subjective and in some sense pathologic; and the percepts have no objective basis at all outside the perceiving organism. In a comparatively small residue of cases the abnormality is not pathologic or subjective, but consists (it is maintained) in an impression or impulse transferred from another mind. The percepts still conform perfectly to my definition of a sensory hallucination, in lacking the objective basis which they suggest; for that basis would be the actual physical presence of some human body, with its weight, its power of setting the air in vibration by the breath and vocal cords, and all its other attributes. But an objective basis of another sort they have—namely, the exceptional condition of the person whom they recall or represent. Now, having regard to these facts of origin, we might fairly expect that a careful comparison of the purely subjective and the telepathic experiences would reveal a large amount of resemblance, but also a certain amount of difference, between them. And in no way can we better approach the telepathic or “veridical” class than by following out this comparison.

    The available material for the task is, unfortunately, far from abundant; for the purely subjective hallucinations of the sane have met with singularly little attention from psychologists. Here and {i-497} there a medical man, or a writer of repute, has been led to make some observations by finding a “subject” in himself; a few cases of very marked abnormality, where the phenomena have been recurrent and distressful, have become celebrated—students of the literature get to dread the very names of Nicolai and “Mrs. A.”; and the hypnotic cases have an interest of their own, owing to the important place which hypnotism is fast taking in mental science. But no attempt, so far as I know, has been made to obtain wide statistics of perfectly casual cases—of hallucinations in which, if they are still technically pathologic, the abnormality has been of the slightest and most transient kind. The collection which I have formed during the last few years, numbering more than 500 cases, is at any rate large enough to support certain general conclusions.

    § 2. And first, as regards the bodily and mental condition of the percipient. Probably the common view of hallucinations of the sane, so far as they are recognised at all, is that they are in all cases due to disease or morbid excitement, or at the very least to indigestion. Ask the first twenty rational men you meet how they would account for a phantasmal visitant if they themselves saw one: as many as ten perhaps will answer, “I should conclude that I had dined or supped too well.” “Lobster-salad” is an explanation which I have personally heard suggested many times. It may be at once noted, then, as a point of interest—one, moreover, in which the casual and the telepathic classes completely agree—that in not a single instance known to me has the hallucinated person, according to his own account, been suffering at the time from indigestion. Lobster-salad is the parent of nightmares, of massive impressions of discomfort and horror; not, however, as a rule, even in dreamland, of the distinct and minute visualisation, and the clear-cut audition, which constitute the more specific hallucinations of sleep; and certainly not of waking hallucinations. Nor is morbid excitement of a more general sort a frequent, though it is an occasional, condition; and the same may be said of the ordinary nervous exhaustion that follows hard work. We have only to recall that the commonest occasions of all for delusions of the waking senses are the moments or minutes that immediately follow a night’s rest (p. 392). For the majority of cases, the only rule that can be laid down as to the nature of the peculiar disturbance involved is a negative one—that it is not observably connected with any morbid state.[☼]

    {i-498}

    Thus the one of my informants who has had perhaps the most interesting experiences of subjective hallucinations, says, “It is when I am at my best physically, and when my mental faculties are keenly interested in something, that the pictures are most frequent and vivid. They are mostly quite the antipodes of my mental occupation.” A gentleman who has repeatedly had the hallucination of hearing his name called, tells me that this has always occurred during his holidays, when he was specially well and taking much exercise. And out of 489 visual and auditory cases (waking and “borderland”), I find that only 24 occurred to persons who were in a decidedly abnormal physical state—ill, or fainting, or overtired, or under anæsthetics. Certain exceptional though slight derangement there must undoubtedly be; but the hallucination itself is usually the only symptom of it; and as little in the purely subjective as in the telepathic class can we lay our finger on any special predisposing condition.

    The puzzle is the greater in that the phenomenon of waking hallucination in a sane and healthy subject (as the numbers to be presently given will show), is a rare one—rare not merely in the sense of occurring to only a small percentage of the population, but in the sense of occurring to most of these only once or twice in a life-time. One would have expected that any state of the brain which was liable to occur at all without assignable provocation, would be liable to occur repeatedly. We should account it, for instance, a very odd fact if a person had had one or two extremely distinct dreams in his life, and had had no other experience whatever of dreaming. But we can only take the statistics as we find them. And this peculiar rarity of purely subjective hallucinations of the senses at any rate helps to explain a similar peculiarity in the telepathic class. Our telepathic evidence will show that the hallucination which the percipient describes is as a rule the single and unique instance in his experience. Now at first sight this seems strange, inasmuch as many percipients have been in quite as intimate connection with other persons as with the “agent” of their one phantasmal visitation; and some of these persons have died or have passed through a crisis similar to that to which we trace the visitation in the one instance; why then has it never been repeated? The only answer would seem to be that hallucinations, even when telepathic in origin, depend further on some exceptional condition of the percipient himself. And this answer can now be supported by the analogy of the non-telepathic class; where the {i-499} conditions, unnoticed and innocuous to health as they so often are, are yet so exceptional that they may occur only once in a life-time.

    The same observation will further tend, I think, to remove a certain vague prejudice which the telepathic evidence encounters in the minds of persons who have never met with an instance of hallucination of any sort. Such persons can often hardly bring themselves to conceive that a sane, healthy, waking mind can really get momentarily off the rails, and can feign voices where there is silence, and figures where there is vacancy, though ear and eye are both alert and discharging their normal functions. Even supposing transferred impressions possible, they will say, why under their influence should sound and sober senses exhibit a perfectly isolated piece of eccentricity, and just for a minute, once in a life-time, fall victims to delusions such as we commonly associate with sick-beds and madhouses? This vague à priori objection will disappear when the statistics of transient hallucinations are better known; seeing that the isolated piece of eccentricity does undoubtedly occur—how or why we cannot say—in numbers of instances with which telepathy has nothing whatever to do.1 1 This difficulty in believing that isolated cases of distinct sensory hallucination may occur to persons who are in sound bodily and mental health, was shown in some of the comments which followed Dr. Jessopp’s account of his own experience (“An Antiquary’s Ghost-story,” in the Athenæum for January 10th, 1880); for it seemed to be thought that his narrative, as it stood, was incredible, and that he must have been dreaming. I could parallel that case with scores of others, but select the two following as of special interest. The first is from a distinguished Indian officer.

    “I had been taking luncheon with some friends, and after it was over, my host proposed that I and my fellow guest should accompany him to see some alterations he was making in his grounds. After we had been out some little time, looking at these changes, a native servant approached me with a message from my hostess, asking me to go into the house to speak to her. I at once left my friends, and accompanied the man back to the house, following him through the verandah into the room where the luncheon had been laid. There he left me, and I waited for my hostess to come, but no one appeared; so after a few minutes, I called her by name, thinking that she might not be aware that I had come in. Receiving no answer, after once again repeating her name, I walked back into the verandah, where, on entering, I had observed a durzee (or tailor) at work, and asked him where the man was who came in with me. The durzee replied, ‘Your Excellency, no one came with you.’ ‘But,’ I said, ‘the man lifted the chik’ (the outside verandah blind) ‘for me.’ ‘No, your Excellency, you lifted it yourself, the durzee answered. Much puzzled, I returned to my friends in the grounds, exclaiming, ‘Here’s a good joke;’ and then, telling them what had happened, and what the durzee had said, I asked them if they had not seen the servant who called for me shortly before. They both said they had seen no one. ‘Why, you don’t mean to say I have not been in the house?’ I said. ‘Oh, yes; you were in the midst of saying something about the alterations, when you suddenly stopped, and walked back to the house; we could not tell why,’ they both said. I was in perfect health at the time of the occurrence, and continued to be so after it.” The next account is from Dr. Charles M. Smith, of Franklin, St. Mary’s Parish, Louisiana, He narrates that a lady of his acquaintance, Mrs. P., lost her life at Last Island, in the terrible hurricane of August, 1856. “Nearly two months afterwards, on my way to visit a patient in the country, I met Mr. Weeks, a brother of Mrs. P., and in the buggy with him a lady so wonderfully like Mrs. P. that, but for my knowledge of her death, I would have declared it to be herself. The carriage and horses used by Mr. Weeks were easily distinguished by certain well-marked peculiarities from any other in the parish, and I saw these as distinctly as the occupants themselves.” Dr. Smith bowed, and called Mr. Weeks by name, but no notice was taken, and the buggy passed on. Returning home an hour later, he made particular inquiry, and found that no persons in the least resembling those he had seen had arrived in the village; and he afterwards learnt that Mr. Weeks had been at his home 30 miles away at the time. “The conclusion seemed inevitable,” he adds, “that the whole affair was an optical delusion.”

    {i-500}

    § 3. These characteristics, then—(1) the general absence of any obvious predisposing cause, of any assignable abnormality of mind or body, in the person affected, (2) the comparatively small number of persons affected, and (3) the very frequent uniqueness of the affection in the respective experiences of these persons—may be reckoned as distinct grounds of resemblance between the purely subjective and the telepathic classes. Another marked characteristic that they have in common is (4) the usually very brief duration of the phantasm: both sorts of affection are emphatically transient hallucinations of the sane—the majority of cases being almost momentary, and very few probably extending to half a minute. And again (5) the disproportionate number of “borderland” experiences in both classes is a fifth important common point. These five heads of resemblance are those which a broad view of the phenomena at once reveals. Our next step would naturally be to see if more detailed resemblances exist between special groups of cases in the two classes; and every common feature that we find will of course go to strengthen the conclusion that the telepathic phantasms are indeed hallucinations, and not (as some have held) quasi-material appearances. At this point, however, we find ourselves confronted by a problem of considerable difficulty as well as interest, which requires to be carefully considered.

    The difficulty is this. If the characteristics of the two classes of hallucination are to be discussed and compared, it is obviously assumed that we know on inspection which cases ought to be referred to the one class, and which to the other. Now, though the elements of a telepathic case have been made tolerably plain, and in the main the grounds of distinction may be clear enough, the attempt actually to draw a dividing line will very soon show us that at present no such line can be drawn. With the discovery that one person’s senses can be affected by something that is happening to another person at a distance, our point of view is, in fact, altered in relation to the whole subject of transient hallucinations of the sane. Ever since the abandonment of the idea, once widely held, that delusions of the senses were the direct and (in a manner) objective productions of the devil,1 1 See above, p. 179. the universal assumption has been that they are all {i-501} purely subjective phenomena—even the belief in “ghosts” having been really no exception to the rule, since the believers have not regarded these as hallucinations at all, but as independent entities. Now when telepathy of the externalised type is admitted, the first effect, of course, is to destroy the generality of the old assumption by driving it quite decisively off a certain part of the field: it is involved in the new doctrine that a certain number of sensory hallucinations—the majority, namely, of those which have markedly corresponded to real and unforeseen events—can no longer possibly be regarded as purely subjective.1 1 At this point, the truth of the doctrine is of course not assumed to have been proved; the proof is a long cumulative process, which will be carried on to the end of the book. But it would have been intolerably inconvenient, both to writer and reader, to defer all attempts at logical treatment and analysis until the whole of the cases had been presented en masse. I may take leave therefore, by anticipation, to describe as telepathic the incidents which every reader who, in the end, agrees that telepathy is a true fact in Nature, will agree in regarding as almost certainly true examples of it. But the effect does not stop short here. The new vera causa,true cause which has decisively occupied one corner of the field, throws, so to speak, a shadow of doubt over the rest; for while we perceive its reality, we have as yet neither probed its conditions nor measured its range. I have already pointed out (p. 97) that the action of telepathy cannot be dogmatically limited to those most conclusive cases on which our evidential proof of it must depend; and if its reality in the world renders the old doctrine of the subjectivity of hallucinations definitely untenable in some cases, we need not be surprised if in others it renders it doubtful, and doubtful, moreover, in various degrees. Thus, between the hallucinations which are clearly subjective and those which are clearly telepathic, there will be a neutral region, where neither explanation can be adopted with certainty. Now, on all accounts it is important that this neutral region should be recognised and defined. It is important theoretically, because in time we may learn more of the conditions of the phenomena, and may be able to assign them with confidence to this class or that; but even more is it important evidentially, because, till the grounds of doubt are understood, there is always a risk that purely subjective cases will be misinterpreted, and will be reckoned into the cumulative proof of telepathy, or in some other way laid to the account of supernormal influences. It seems advisable, therefore, to take a glance along the whole line of transient hallucinations of the sane, up to the point at which the action of telepathy may appear to be clearly assured. I will make my survey as rapid as possible, being loth to detain the reader among these subjective and dubious cases, {i-502} while the main body of the telepathic evidence is perforce kept waiting.

    § 4. In the first group, the cause of the phenomena is, by exception, quite clear. The hallucination is an after-image—the direct reproduction of some object or sound with which the senses of the percipient have been particularly occupied; and though we may not always be able to say why the reproduction takes place at such and such a moment, the purely subjective character of the experience is obvious. It is sometimes due to mere fatigue of the retina; it occurs, for instance, after long gazing at objects through a microscope. Some examples due to a more central cause have been given in the preceding chapters; e.g., M. Maury’s hypnagogic vision of the beefsteak (p. 390), Mr. Wilson’s visions of the tombstones, and Mr. Turner’s phantom-chandelier (p. 490),—the latter case being remarkable for the length of time which had elapsed since the real object had been seen. Another type is where the original impression has been of a distressing kind. Thus, Dr. Andral reports1 1 Kraft-Ebing, [sic]Die Sinnesdelirien, p. 16. that, having received a shock from the condition of a child’s body in the dissecting-room, he was startled next morning, on waking, by a vivid repetition of the spectacle. I have a similar first-hand case from a friend, who in girlhood suffered for several nights from a hallucination caused by the unaccustomed sight of death; and another where a lady had a vivid waking vision of a servant who had startled her some hours before. The transcript is not always quite literal. Thus, a gentleman tells me that the figure of a deceased friend, whom he had just been seeing in his coffin, appeared to him, but in his living aspect and carrying a portfolio; and another informant—the Rev. J. M. Blacker, of 121, St. George’s Road, S.W.—who one morning had a vision of the upper parts of three cooks in white caps, and was able to trace the impression unmistakeably to a recently seen placard, but noticed nevertheless that the resemblance was only of a general kind. As good auditory examples, I may mention the hallucination of hearing the bells of the Town Hall at Manchester play “Auld Lang Syne,” experienced more than once by a lady when sleeping in a room where she had on former occasions heard the actual performance; and a case where a young lady, who had suffered considerably from the manners of young schoolboy brothers, was afterwards startled, when alone, by such remarks as “Shut up,” and “Get out of the way.”

    {i-503}

    Under the same head may fairly be reckoned such cases as Mr. A. Wedgwood’s (p. 493, note), where the phantasmal object, though not reproducing anything that had recently been before the eyes, was the immediate and indisputable result of a very special train of thought.

    Comparable, again, are representations of an object or a sound which depend on the fact, not that it has been seen or heard, but that it is about to be seen or heard—that the percipient is expecting it; but as in almost all the visual experiences of this sort the object has been a living human form, the cases will fall more conveniently into a later group.

    In the next group the object seen, or the sound heard, is non-human in character, but is no longer traceable to any special previous occupation of the mind or the senses. Such cases are common in insanity and in disease, and the hallucination is then often of a grotesque or horrible sort. They also occur, though forming a decided minority, among the waking hallucinations of sane and healthy persons; but seem then to be rarely, if ever, grotesque or horrible.[☼] The most grotesque case that I have received is a vision of dwarfish gnomes dancing on the wall; but this was seen by a young child. A star, a firework bursting into stars, a firefly, a crown, landscape-vignettes, a statue, the end of a draped coffin coming in through the door, a bright oval surrounding the words, “Wednesday, October 15, Death”—these are the principal phantasms of inanimate objects in my collection. Another known type, described by Sir J. F. W. Herschel, is a geometrical pattern, which sometimes takes very complicated forms. I have also three cases where the hallucination was of a dog, and another where it was of running cats, indefinite in colour and form (this last, however, occurring only when the brain was exhausted). Out of my 302 visual cases (p. 392), only 20 belong to this non-human type. The non-vocal auditory cases are also comparatively few in number—41 out of the total of 187. They comprise tappings, tickings, knocks, and crashes;1 1 Some of these may possibly have been real noises whose cause was not ascertained. But I have included no case where my informant did not himself hold this explanation to be excluded. the sound of footsteps or of a door opening; 7 cases of the ringing of bells, 2 of the striking of clocks, and 7 of music. Such types seem, on the very face of them, to be altogether remote from telepathy; and though we shall find further on that this is not quite universally the case—that there are instances of strong and unique {i-504} hallucinations of light or noise which have too markedly coincided with some external crisis for the hypothesis of telepathic origin to be ignored—the vast majority of these non-human phantasms may be safely pronounced purely subjective affections.

    The same may be said of another smaller group of visual hallucinations which represent fragments of human forms. Thus, two of my informants on waking from sleep, and a third when awake and up, have distinctly seen an imaginary hand and arm;1 1 We have had, however, a telepathic example of this type, in case 161, p. 416. another sometimes sees a little finger in the air; another when recovering from illness, had a vision of decapitated heads; another has suffered at times from an appearance of eyes and part of a face floating by; and with these may be classed, as auditory parallels, cases where what has been heard has been a sound of groaning, or indistinguishable sounds of talking, or short meaningless sentences—a class of which I have some half-dozen specimens.

    We must regard as a separate type the cases where faces or forms appear either in rapid succession or in a multitudinous way. Several varieties of this experience were described in the last chapter (pp. 473–4). I have one other example, where crowds of people and animals made their appearance every night for months; but the percipient in this case was in weak health. We have seen that this type is probably connected with the Licht-staub of the retina, and its subjectivity will not be questioned. It scarcely belongs to the family of transient hallucinations at all, since—alone among the waking hallucinations of persons in apparently normal health—these swarming and changing visions are liable to last for a considerable time.

    And finally we come to the visual cases representing complete and (more often than not), quite natural-looking human forms, usually alone but occasionally in company, and occasionally also with the addition of some independent object, such as a carriage or a coffin; and to the parallel auditory cases where distinct and intelligible words are heard, which are not (as in the first group) mere echoes of vividly-impressed phrases. These phenomena—which comprise the great majority of the whole number of transient hallucinations of the sane—fall at once into two great classes; that where the figure or voice is recognised, and that where it is unrecognised. Of both these classes, as of the previous ones, it {i-505} may at once be said that the majority of the instances included in them are in no way available to prove influence from another mind. Where the figure or voice has been recognised, the absent person whose presence was suggested has generally been in a quite normal state at the time; and where the figure or voice has been unrecognised, no crisis affecting any person nearly connected with the percipient has coincided with the hallucination. The recognised phantasms have, moreover, usually represented persons whom the percipient was habitually seeing in real life—often a relative or a servant living in the same house—so that the delusion may still be explained by the analogy of after-images; or else they have represented dead persons whose memory was dear to the percipient, and whose images might readily be evoked by memory.

    1 1 See above, p. 490. The term “after-image” in connection with the apparitions of dead people was suggested in a paper privately communicated to me by Mr. J. Jacobs. Of the unrecognised phantasms we have no reason to suppose that they represented any one at all, even in those cases—the majority of the whole number—where the non-recognition was not due to any indistinctness in the phantasm, but was of the same kind as when in real life we see a face or hear a voice which we perceive at once to be strange to us. But while as a rule so clearly subjective, these human and well-developed forms of hallucination include also nearly the whole of the instances which will be presented in the following chapters as telepathic. It is naturally among them, therefore, that the ambiguous cases to which I have referred are principally to be found.

    The main grounds of ambiguity (apart from mere uncertainties as to matters of fact, which are not now in question,) are, I think, four in number, and are summed up in the following types2:—2 To be quite complete, this list ought perhaps to include the ambiguity which is involved in the percipient’s failure to connect his impression, at the time, with the supposed agent; but this point is sufficiently noticed elsewhere (pp. 221, 452–3, and Chap. xii, § 5).

    (1) Coincidentally with a “recognised” hallucination, the person whose presence it suggested has been in a condition more or less unusual; but we may fairly doubt whether it was unusual enough to justify even a provisional supposition that it affected the percipient.

    (2) At the time of a “recognised” hallucination, the person whose presence it suggested has been apparently in a perfectly normal condition; but the same hallucination has been repeated, and repeated to different percipients; and the improbability that the independent hallucinations of several persons should by accident {i-506} represent the same person suggests some special power of influence in the latter.1 1 For illustrations of this very rare and isolated type, see Chap. xiv. § 5.

    (3) The person whose presence the hallucination presented has been in a decidedly abnormal condition at a time sufficiently near the time of the hallucination for the correspondence to be observed; but the correspondence has not been exact; and the doubt is whether the amount of discrepancy is such as to admit, or such as to preclude, the hypothesis of a causal connection. The question here is the one which was early raised, when we were considering the elements of a telepathic case (pp. 138–9), and was then left undecided.

    (4) The case is so far suggestive of telepathy that, at or very near the time of the hallucination, some absent person has been in circumstances which might seem to identify him as the agent; but there is also evidence of a condition in the percipient’s own mind which might be regarded as the independent cause of his experience.

    Let us begin with this last head, and inquire of what nature an independent subjective cause of the phenomena now in question is likely to be.

    Though for the most part, as I have said, the predisposing conditions of these rare and transient delusions entirely elude us, just three emotional states can be named which are present often enough to warrant a suspicion that they may be truly efficacious. These are special forms of anxiety; of awe; and of expectancy. We will consider them in order.

    § 5. First, then, as to anxiety. A person who has been brooding over the state of some absent friend or relative suddenly has a hallucination which suggests that person’s presence. Now suppose that the crisis which was apprehended—say the death of the person whose serious illness was the cause of the anxiety—turns out afterwards to have occurred at the same time as the hallucination. Let us take a couple of cases—one auditory, the other visual.

    The following account is from Mr. Timothy Cooper, late of 21, Cadogan Terrace, Victoria Park, E.

    “January, 1882.

    “My father was a Baptist minister at Soham, Cambridgeshire. In the year 1849, being one of a large family, I went from home to begin the battle of life. There was great love between my mother and me. When I had been away about a year, I was sent for in a hurry to see my dear {i-507} mother, who was thought to be dying. I got leave of absence for a week and went home, and the last day before returning to business, while sitting by my mother’s side, I said, ‘Mother, if it is possible, when you pass away will you come and tell me?’ She said, ‘I will if I possibly can.’ On the morning of October 7th, 1850, I awoke and felt like a soft hand touch me, and heard the well-known voice say, ‘I am gone,’ and something seemed to glide away from my side. I awoke the young man who was sleeping with me, and said, ‘My mother is gone. She has just been here and told me so;’ and just as I said it the clock standing on the stairs struck 3. The news came to hand that my mother had died at five minutes to 3.

    “TIMOTHY COOPER.”

    We have verified the date of death in the Baptist Reporter.

    The next account is from Miss Summerbell, of 140 Kensington Park Road, W., who has had no other hallucination of vision. This one was mentioned at once to the friend with whom she was staying.

    “November, 1882.

    “I do not know how far the following story will be considered significant, as I was in much anxiety about the gentleman whom it concerns at the time. I have been for many years on terms of close intimacy with the family of a Dutch nobleman [Jonkheer Huÿdecoper], who reside in Holland. Early in July last, I received a letter from the eldest daughter of the house, saying that her father was seriously ill. From that time I received news of his condition every day. On the 27th July, I received a post-card, saying that he was slightly better. I was staying at the time at the Spa, Tunbridge Wells, and suffering much from neuralgia. On the night of the 27th, I was lying unable to sleep from pain; no doubt I dozed now and then, but I firmly believe that I was awake when what I am about to relate occurred. It was beginning to be light, and I distinctly saw every object in the room. I do not know whether it is necessary to say that in Holland, when a person of distinction dies, a ‘prieur d’enterrement’ is employed. This man is dressed in black, with dress coat, knee-breeches, and cocked-hat, with bands of crape hanging from the corners. It is his office to go to all the houses where the deceased was known, and announce the death. On the morning of which I speak, I saw the door of my room open, and a ‘prieur d’enterrement’ enter. He said nothing, but stood with a long paper in his hand. I remember distinctly wondering whether I had fallen asleep and was dreaming; I looked round and saw the furniture, and the window, with the dim light coming through the closed blind. I looked at my watch; it was nearly 5 o’clock. I looked towards the man, but he was gone. It is nearly 6 years since I lived for any time in Holland, and I had forgotten the custom of announcing deaths; or at least, I had not thought of it for years.” Miss Summerbell’s friend, as it proved, had died about an hour and a half before her vision.

    [We may note here how curiously the idea of death, in working itself out, availed itself of materials that had long been dormant—the slumbering memories which associated Dutch customs with Dutch friends in the percipient’s mind.]

    {i-508}

    Supposing these incidents to be correctly reported, which we have no reason to doubt, what is the most probable interpretation of them? Is the state of mind in which the percipients were a sufficient cause for what they respectively heard and saw? If so, the coincidence between the death and the hallucination would be accounted for by the fact that the very conditions which led to the death were also indirectly (through the anxiety connected with them) the cause of the hallucination. But to answer the question,1 1 A caution may not be out of place against the common habit of deciding such questions off-hand, from a single instance, by mere bias. Some informants have sent us cases of the sort expressly as subjective experiences; others as proofs that the dying person’s thoughts turned to them at the last. But if the proof of telepathy itself requires an accumulated mass of evidence, much more must the decision in these doubtful

    instances. we need some independent evidence of the power of simple anxiety about an absent person to produce a distinct delusion of the waking senses. Anxiety is readily enough assumed as a vera causatrue cause of such delusions, just as lobster-salad is; but can the assumption be supported? Not very completely, it must be admitted. The cases are nearly all of the same indecisive type; for the condition of an absent person which is sufficiently exceptional to create grave anxiety about him is, as a rule, also sufficiently exceptional to afford a conceivable occasion for telepathic influence, supposing telepathic influences to be facts in Nature; and the hallucination can, therefore, only be assumed to be certainly due to anxiety by rejecting à priori the other explanation. Thus, in the collection of hallucinations which I have mentioned, I find none of such a type as this—that a mother, in great anxiety for a sailor son, seems to see his figure in the room, though really the weather at sea has been calm and he has met with no mishap. Still, evidence pointing in this direction does exist. For instance, the records of witchcraft contain many cases, which there is no reason to call in question, of apparitions of the supposed witch to the supposed victim—indeed Bernard2 2 Guide to Grand Jurymen, 1627. As typical instances I may refer to the History of the Witches of Renfrewshire, pp. 74–5; the report of the Tryal of Witches at Bury St. Edmunds on the Tenth Day of March, 1664 (published in 1682), where some of the victims who saw the form of Amy Duny saw apparitions of cats and mice as well; and the Tryals, Examination, and Condemnation of Four Notorious Witches at a Worcester assizes, where the child who had the hallucination had apparently been previously unhinged by fright, and shortly died. As a rule, it is expressly stated that the apparitions took place during “fits”i.e., hysteric or epileptic seizures; but this seems not to have been invariable. See Deodat Lawson’s Further Account of the Tryals of the New England Witches, (London, 1693,) p. 9. mentions this form of hallucination as one of the signs of “possession”; the experience seems, however, to have been invariably connected with a thoroughly morbid and hysterical condition of the percipient.

    {i-509}

    Again, an unusually absorbing possession of the mind with the person whose form appears, at the very moment when the appearance takes place, may make even an “ambiguous” experience seem almost beyond question subjective. Thus a lady writes to us:—

    “Rather more than 10 years ago a person with whom I had had much to do was lying dangerously ill. In the evening of a certain day I was standing in my own room, thinking of her case, and reproaching myself for one or two things in connection with my conduct to her, when I turned suddenly round, and saw her gazing steadily, very steadily, and reproachfully at me. She died that night. She was not a near relative, or an intimate friend.”

    In the case of auditory hallucinations, the evidence is clearer: some of these, occurring in circumstances of anxiety, bear the conclusive mark of a purely subjective experience. A sister in trouble about her brother, who has had an accident, hears the words, “Your brother is dead.” A mother nursing her son in a dangerous crisis hears an imaginary voice say, “You can’t save him.” In impressions corresponding so closely to the hearer’s state of mind, and not corresponding to the actual facts, there can be no question of telepathy. On the whole, then, it seems reasonable to conclude that anxiety has a certain independent tendency to promote hallucinations. Even so, we might fairly enough argue that it is as likely to facilitate telepathic hallucinations as to produce purely subjective ones. But when the question is of admitting cases to the present collection, the assumption ought always to be made against the telepathic hypothesis; and our principle has been to regard anxiety which has reached a certain pitch as distinctly weakening the evidential value of a coincidence, though great perfection in other points—as, for instance, a complete identity of time—might more than outweigh the objection. The fact that the anxiety may not have been actually dominating consciousness at the moment of the hallucination cannot be held to remove the probability (such as it is) that the hallucination was subjectively caused; for it is the rule rather than the exception for hallucinations which can be at all connected with previous experience to be developed from ideas that are quite latent.1 1 The following are instances in point, which we certainly should not feel justified in presenting in the cumulative proof of telepathy. Miss Emma Schau, of 4, Clifton Road, Camden Square, N.W., writing in April, 1883, records that, at the time of the Danish-German war, she was woke by the sound of a heavy tread slowly approaching her; and then, when completely awake, saw a shadowy form stand by her, and recognised the presence of her favourite brother, who was in the field, and who, as it proved, had been killed on that morning. “From the last letters that we had received from my brothers, complaining of their inactivity, I had reason to believe that they would not be in this engagement [the battle of Midsunde], and I went to bed with my mind free from anxiety on their account.” The next narrative was sent to us in German by Fräulein Wilhelmine Ivens, of Allée 152, Altona, Holstein, who has had no other hallucination. The incident was mentioned to our friend, Miss Porter, almost immediately after its occurrence. “Aug. 31, 1884. “In the summer of the year 1873, I was staying for some weeks at my home. My father became ill, and shortly before my return to England he went to the country to recruit. At the beginning of September I returned to London. I was anxious about my father; but a letter which I received in the middle of September reassured me. On September 23rd, while in the house, I heard my mother call me twice; and in the garden I heard my name distinctly called once, in my mother’s voice. On the night of September 23–24, my father died. On the 25th I received the news that he had reached home very ill, and the 26th brought me the intelligence of his death.”

    {i-510}

    § 6. The next predisposing condition of hallucinations that we have to consider is awe, in that special form which is connected with the near sense of death, and with which elements of grief and regret are often mingled. It is remarkable how large a proportion of phantasms of the recognised sort represent friends or relatives whose recent death is being mourned. Out of 231 cases, I find that 28 are of this type; of which 6 took place on the day or the morrow, 4 within a very few days, and the rest within a very few weeks, of the death.1 1 I am excluding some cases where the interval is known to have been as great as 2 months; but including some which are stated to have occurred “soon” or “very soon” after the death, without specification of time. Now the reader may ask how an emotional condition due to a death can affect the interpretation of any phantasms that could possibly be regarded as telepathic; for telepathy, as treated in this book, is an action between the minds of living persons. But it must be remembered that we have already assumed the possibility of a certain period of latency in telepathic impressions. That a certain period has followed a death before the occurrence of the hallucination representing the person who has died, is not, therefore, fatal to a telepathic explanation of the case; and the question how far the percipient’s own emotional state is to be preferred as an explanation will depend, to some extent, on the length of this intervening period. We are, therefore, led on to the wider question—by how large an interval must two experiences be separated before the possibility that they may be telepathically connected is excluded? This, it will be seen, is the very question involved in No. 3 of the four grounds of ambiguity above set forth.

    Putting aside for the moment any special theory, it will be seen that the argument for a causal connection between an event of one class, A, and an event of another class, B, arising from the frequency with which such events approximate to one another in time, is not an {i-511} argument whose force stops suddenly at any predictable point. It is an argument whose force gradually diminishes in proportion as the correspondences of time throughout a series of cases get less and less precise, and only becomes inappreciable when marked gaps begin to occur in the series. Thus the fact that certain psychical phenomena form a cluster, comparatively thick at first and gradually becoming more and more sparse, in the few days that follow deaths, would strongly indicate some common bond of connection between the phenomena and the deaths, even if such a thing as telepathy in connection with living persons had never been observed. But as a matter of fact, we find the cluster of cases as thick just before life has ceased as just after. Hence the presumption of a single common cause for the whole group.

    Now not only is telepathy the only common cause which it seems possible to name; and not only is it the cause which is, so to speak, in possession of the field: it is a cause with which, up to a certain point after death, the theory of an emotional origin cannot even come into competition. For however efficacious grief, or the general awe which death inspires, may be to provoke hallucinations representing the dead person, the grief and awe cannot operate till the fact of his death is known; and for any one at a distance from him, this knowledge must necessarily follow the death at a very appreciable interval. Up to that point, then, we must hold that there is an appreciable chance that the hallucination is telepathic in character, and that an impression, received from the agent before or at death, has lain latent for a while in the percipient’s mind. At the same time this theory of latency is one that ought not to be strained. The fact that in the majority of our cases there seems to be no latency at all, and that in another large group the period of latency is short, establishes a sort of presumption that it is not likely ever to be very long; and while admitting that any limitation that we can make is arbitrary, we prefer—for evidential purposes—to draw the line early, and (as explained in Chap. IV.) we have drawn it at 12 hours after death.

    The cases, however, where knowledge of the death, and the emotion caused by it, have preceded the hallucination, stand on very different ground. A new element is now introduced, which has seemed to many weighty authorities a full and sufficient explanation of all post-mortem phantasms. I am not aware, indeed, that any crucial instance has ever been forthcoming—that anyone, believing a friend to be dead who was really in a perfectly normal state, has seen {i-512} his “ghost.” Moreover, most of those who have attributed post-mortem phantasms to the percipient’s emotional condition have done so under an à priori conviction that with physical death all possibility of affecting others must necessarily cease—a conviction which my colleagues and I do not share.1 1 As our telepathic theory is a psychical one, and makes no physical assumptions, it would be perfectly applicable (though the name perhaps would be inappropriate) to the conditions of disembodied existence. And it may be quite fairly asked why this possibility was not taken account of above, in connection with the phantasms that have shortly followed deaths. What need is there, it may be said, to trace these phenomena to a state of the agent preceding or exactly synchronising with his physical decease, when his psychical life may be supposed to be continuing after the great change? The answer is that the point is not one of theoretic possibilities, but of evidence; and that the evidence for post-mortem communications seems to us inconclusive. In all the evidential cases cited in this book, the very keystone of the argument is the coincidence—more or less close, but always close enough to be remarked—with death or some other external fact. That—and often that alone—is the obstacle to regarding the cases as purely subjective: failing that, very special and peculiar features must be present, to establish even a presumption of some exciting cause external to the percipient’s own mind. For example, the same hallucination might affect several persons independently and at different times; or the phantasm might convey information, afterwards discovered to be true, of something which the percipient had never known—this last condition being probably the only one which could prove an intelligent external cause. A certain amount of evidence of both these types exists, of a quality which makes it imperative on us to keep our minds open for more; but at present it will bear no sort of comparison with the evidence for telepathy. For a sketch and criticism of the present state of the question, see Mrs. Sidgwick’s paper “On the Evidence, collected by the S.P.R., for Phantasms of the Dead,” in Vol. iii. of the Proceedings. At the same time, death is so wholly unique a fact in human experience that it seems reasonable to believe the ideas and emotions connected with it capable of producing very unique effects; and personally I am disposed to regard such ideas and emotions as probably the sufficient cause of any hallucinations that occur while they are present, as long as such hallucinations present no features which the percipient’s mind would have been unable to supply. The presumption is at any rate so strong, that no experiences of any sort—even though otherwise admissible, as following within the 12 hours’ limit—have been included in our telepathic evidence, if the fact of the death was already known to the percipient, and if his experience was unshared by any one else; and this principle is the easier to justify in that the day immediately succeeding a death seems the most likely of all periods for abnormal subjective impressions connected with the death to occur.

    § 7. The remaining head that we have to consider is expectancy. The evidence as to the power of this condition of mind to produce waking hallucinations is rather more definite than in the case of anxiety. Braid describes a lady who, as soon as the idea was suggested to her, saw coruscating flames issue from the poles of a magnet, or wherever she believed the influence of the magnet to extend; and {i-513} in the dark, liability to this form of delusion seems not very uncommon. Crucial examples of a more developed type—except in crises of epidemic excitement (see Vol. II, pp. 187–8)—are less easy to find. I have one daylight case where a man who was searching for a tennis-ball had a distinct apparition of the missing object in a spot where it was not. And expectancy may probably be answerable for a good many apparitions seen in rooms believed to be “haunted.” I select the following example, however, as free from all superstitious associations, and as almost certainly a hallucination, and not a mere illusion. A barrister—whose name I am at liberty to mention, but not to print—writes to me:—

    “December 21st, 1885.

    “In October, 1885, I was stopping for the night at the Swan Hotel at B., on circuit. My bedroom was No. 17. My friend K., a brother barrister, occupied No. 16. Between No. 17 (my room) and No. 18 there was a communicating door, and before retiring to rest I was under the impression that the door was between my room and my friend K.’s. I had told my friend K. so, when bidding him good-night, and he had jokingly remarked that he would come in and frighten me during the night. I discovered before going to bed that our rooms did not communicate. I must have been asleep some hours, when I woke up with a sensation that some one was close to my bed, and feeling about the other side of the chintz curtain at the head of the bed. I could hear the rustling and crackling of the curtain close to my face. I felt perfectly unable to move, or protect myself—not through any fear, but from a want of power of movement.1 1 I have two other cases where a subjective hallucination seen on waking was accompanied by inability to speak or move. See also the telepathic case No. 210, below. After a few seconds this powerlessness went off, and I sprang out of bed, and saw the figure of my friend K. retreating towards the foot of the bed. He kept his face averted, his head a little bent, but I could see the wire and one of the glasses of his spectacles as he turned from me; he was dressed in his night-shirt. And what made me believe in the reality of the appearance was the ‘solidity’ of the white nightdress, and the light on the spectacles. The room was in dim light, owing to gas-lamps in street, and a fanlight over door admitting light from gas in passage. I grasped at my friend with both hands and supposed I had missed him as my hands met in the grasp. I attempted again to grasp him, when he disappeared as if through the floor under the washing-stand. I then realised, with some interest, that it was a hallucination, and I sat on the bed, wide awake, interested in thinking it over. I told K. of it next morning. I am uncertain whether there was a fan-light over the door, but such was my impression at the time; anyway, the room was light.

    “T. H. L.”

    “K.” sent me a completely concordant account a month earlier. He says that he never walked in his sleep, and adds:—

    “I had no notion where L.’s room was that night, but afterwards {i-514} found that it was separated from mine by a passage. I don’t think the sleep-walking theory is possible; and he is quite clear as to my vanishing.”

    The auditory examples are commoner and clearer. As might be expected, they are specially connected with sounds which occur in an isolated way, such as those of bells and clocks. Thus a lady tells me that more than once, in her student days, when wondering what time it was, she distinctly heard the college clock strike, and then ascertained that the impression had been a delusion. She has also heard an imaginary “Come in,” after knocking at a door. Another lady not unfrequently had a similar clock-hallucination when she was afraid of being late in the morning. A gentleman tells me that he has had the hallucination of hearing billiard-balls, when in bed near a billiard-room. That the habit of half-unconsciously looking out for any particular sound has a tendency to produce a phantasm of it is also shown by the experience of domestic servants. I have cases from two members of this class who occasionally, when at their household work, have heard the voice of their mistress calling them in tones as unmistakeable as if they were real. And another informant tells me that she distinctly heard her father’s voice call to her one morning, “Come, Sissy, it’s past 8, you’re late,” and ascertained that he had said nothing. No one will doubt that such experiences as these are purely subjective.[☼]

    Cases occur, however, where the other explanation seems less clearly excluded. Mr. Charles Ede, of Wonersh Lodge, Guildford, a doctor by profession, who describes himself as a very unlikely person to be “deceived by morbid fancies,” sends us the following example. Some ladies who lived about half-a-mile from him had a large alarm-bell outside their house, and one night he seemed distinctly to hear the sound of this bell. He learnt afterwards that there had been an alarm of thieves that night, and that at the very time, 1.30 a.m., when he was startled by the sound, his friends had been on the point of ringing the bell in the hope that it would bring him; but they had not actually rung it. The hallucination may have been due to the sub-conscious idea of a possible summons in Mr. Ede’s mind; and the coincidence may probably have been accidental; but if such a thing as telepathy exists, the probability does not amount to certainty. Again, a clergyman is awakened at 7.30 one morning by the sound of his name, ascertains that no one has called him, and learns in less than an hour that a friend, for whom he was fulfilling a trust, had unexpectedly died at 7.30 that morning. He has never on any other {i-515} occasion heard an imaginary voice. Still, an experience of this sort, coming in sleep, and at the very time when the organism would be, so to speak, preparing itself for the sudden change and the summons to activity which waking involves, must be classed as ambiguous.

    A type of case which often makes a great impression on those who experience it is where the expectation is of some one’s arrival. The following auditory specimen is from the Hon. Mrs. Fox Powys, already mentioned (p. 271).

    “July, 1882.

    “I was expecting my husband home, and shortly after the time he ought to have arrived (about 10 p.m.) I heard a cab drive up to the door, the bell ring, my husband’s voice talking with the cabman, the front door open, and his step come up the stairs. I went to the drawing-room, opened it, and to my astonishment saw no one. I could hardly believe he was not there, the whole thing was so vivid, and the street was particularly quiet at the time. About 20 minutes or so after this my husband really arrived, though nothing sounded to me more real than it did the first time. The train was late, and he had been thinking I might be anxious.

    “AMY C. POWYS.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Powys adds:—

    “To me the whole thing was very noisy and real, but no one else can have heard anything, for the bell I heard ring was not answered. It was a quiet street in town, and there was no vehicle of any kind passing at the time; and on finding no one on the landing as I expected, I went at once to the window, and there was nothing to be seen, and no sound to be heard, which would have been the case had the cab been driven off.”

    Now the hearing of a bell, and the hearing of a carriage driving up, are both known forms of subjective impression, even apart from expectancy, nor is there anything odd in their combination; and if, as I suspect, slight hallucinations of such non-vocal sounds are tolerably common, it is natural to suppose that expectancy might exaggerate them. The recognised voice was, no doubt, a more distinctive feature; but in the percipient’s circumstances, and after the other sounds heard, this seems too natural an addition to warrant us in connecting it with the fact that her husband’s thoughts happened to be directed to her at the time. And if this case may be dismissed, à fortiori may others of a less prolonged and complicated kind—especially those lacking the distinct timbre-element of bell and voice, and so more easily accounted for as mere misinterpretations of real sounds whose source was not evident.

    In the parallel visual cases, the impression is, at any rate, often of the most distinctive and unmistakeable kind; and it is impossible not to be struck by the number of instances in which this startling {i-516} experience—the single visual hallucination of a person’s life—has represented the figure of a friend or relative who was on his way to the place where his figure appeared, and whose mind was probably to some extent picturing his own arrival.1 1 The following case, from Mrs. Smith, of 9, Morden Road, Blackheath, is a typical one. “My father and mother lived, when young, near St. Albans, in a house separated by three fields from the high road. My father had been staying in Warwickshire, and was returning by the night mail coach. My mother had risen early to be ready for his return, and after seeing that breakfast and a bright fire were ready for his reception, she took her work to the window and sat there awaiting my father’s return. She presently looked up and saw him approaching; she watched him until close to the house, when she went to the house door intending to meet him, but he had vanished. Half an hour afterwards he really arrived. My mother was a Quakeress of exceeding truthfulness, and possessing to the full the

    perfect self-command and self-repression inculcated by her sect. I have often heard her say that she never had seen my father more distinctly than on that occasion.” None the less, I think, if expectancy existed on the percipient’s part, must it be assumed to have been the sufficient cause of the hallucination. Such a case as the following, sent to us by the Rev. F. R. Harbaugh (Pastor of the Presbyterian Church), Red Bank, Monmouth Co., New Jersey, U.S.A., is very instructive.

    “February 7th, 1884.

    “While a resident of the city of Philadelphia, I made an appointment to meet a personal friend. At the appointed hour I was at the designated place. My friend was tardy in his appearing. After a while, however, I saw him approaching (or thought I did). So assured was I of his advance that I advanced to meet him, when presently he disappeared entirely.

    “The locality where I thought I saw his approach was open, and unobstructed by any object behind which he could have disappeared. Only by leaping a high brick wall (an enclosure of a burying-ground) could he have secreted himself. The hallucination was complete—so distinct as to lead me to advance to meet him without a thought of optical illusion.

    “I immediately went to the office of my friend, and there learned from him that he had not been away from his desk for several hours.

    “F. R. HARBAUGH.”

    In answer to an inquiry, Mr. Harbaugh adds:—

    “The appointment was forgotten by my friend, as he stated in his apology when I entered his office.”

    Telepathy from an unconscious region of the defaulter’s mind would scarcely be a plausible explanation of this occurrence.

    At first sight it may perhaps seem strange that the ordinary every-day sort of expectancy which existed in these cases should be a sufficient cause for so rare and startling a delusion. But remembering that in the majority of startling delusions of the sort there is no {i-517} assignable cause at all, and that a person may therefore be on the very verge of hallucination without knowing it, we may not unreasonably suppose that a very slight ostensible cause might give the final impulse. It must be noticed, moreover, that in these arrival-cases the alternative to the hypothesis of the subjective origin of the hallucination is by no means clear. For what would the telepathic explanation involve? That on the agent’s part the mere sense of being about to arrive, with thoughts perhaps affectionately turning to the percipient, is adequate to generate a telepathic impulse. Now have we any right to make such an assumption?

    § 8. This question, it will be seen, brings us round to the head of ambiguity numbered 1 in the above list;—where the doubt was whether a supposed agent’s condition is abnormal enough for a synchronous hallucination of the percipient to form with it a coincidence deserving of attention. And it happens that it is only in the arrival-cases that this question has practically been difficult to decide. Many individual incidents of other types have, of course, been excluded from our evidence, on the ground that the abnormality of the alleged agent’s condition was only slight, or that it was prolonged over a considerable time;1 1 I give the following case as an interesting puzzle: the reader must decide whether or not it affords evidence for telepathy. The narrator, Mr. W. A. S., is an unexceptionable witness, and has never had any other visual hallucination. “January 14th, 1883. “In the month of April, 1871, about 2 o’clock in the afternoon, I was sitting in the drawing-room of my father’s house, in Pall Mall. The window of the room fronted south; and the sun was shining brightly in at the window. I was sitting between the fire-place and the window, with my back to the light; my niece was sitting on the opposite side of the fire-place; and opposite me, at the further corner of the room, was a door partly open, leading directly to the staircase. I saw what I supposed at the first moment to be dirty soapy water running in at the door; and I was in the act of jumping up to scold the housemaid for upsetting the water, when I saw that the supposed water was the tail or train of a lady’s dress. The lady glided in backwards, as if she had been slid in on a slide, each part of her dress keeping its place without disturbance. She glided in till I could see the whole of her, except the tip of her nose, her lips, and the tip of her chin, which were hidden by the edge of the door. Her head was slightly turned over her shoulder, and her eye also turned, so that it appeared fixed upon me. She held her arm, which was a very fine one, in a peculiar way, as if she were proud of it. She was dressed in a pale blue evening dress, worked with white lace. I instantly recognised the figure as a lady whom I had known some 25 years or more before; and with whom I had frequently danced. She was a bright, dashing girl, a good dancer, and we were good friends, but nothing more. She had afterwards married, and I had occasionally heard of her, but do not think I had seen her for certainly more than 20 or 25 years. She looked much as I used to see her—with long curls and bright eyes, but perhaps something stouter and more matronly. “I said to myself, ‘This is one of those strange apparitions I have often heard of. I will watch it as carefully as I can.’ My niece, who did not see the figure, in the course of a minute or two exclaimed, ‘Uncle A., what is the matter with you? you look as if you saw a ghost!’ I motioned her to be quiet, as I wished to observe the thing carefully; and an impression came upon me that if I moved, the thing would disappear. I tried to find out whether there was anything in the ornaments on the walls, or anything else which could suggest the figure: but I found that all the lines close to her cut the outline of her figure at all sorts of angles, and none of these coincided with the outline of her figure, and the colour of everything around her strongly contrasted with her colour. In the course of a few minutes, I heard the door-bell ring, and I heard my brother’s voice in the hall. He came upstairs, and walked right through the figure into the room. The figure then began to fade away rather quickly, at first losing the colours and then the form; and though I tried, I could in no way recall it. “I frequently told the story in society, treating it always as something internal rather than external, and supposing that the lady was still alive; and rather making a joke of it than otherwise. Some years afterwards I was staying with some friends in Suffolk and told the story at the dinner table, saying that it was no ghost, as the lady was still alive. The lady of the house said, ‘She is not alive as you suppose, but she has been dead some years.’ We looked at the peerage, and we found she had died in 1871. (I afterwards found out that she had died in November, whereas the apparition was in April.) The conversation continued about her, and I said, ‘Poor thing, I am sorry she is dead. I have had many a merry dance with her. What did she die of?’ The lady of the house said, ‘Poor thing, indeed, she died a wretched death; she died of cancer in the face.’ She never showed me the front of her face; it was always concealed by the edge of the door.” but these arrival-cases seem to {i-518} form a distinct little class of their own. It happens also that some of them have presented features which tell rather strongly in favour of a telepathic origin. For instance, the vision representing the coming person has included some detail of dress or appearance which the percipient’s mind would have been most unlikely to supply; or again, though the person whom the vision represented was actually about to arrive, his arrival was improbable and unexpected, and therefore the vision could not be connected with the percipient’s attitude of mind. Such instances—though forming too small a group to be conclusive—do not seem any longer to be ambiguous in at all the same degree as those before considered, and they may fairly take their place among the positive evidence in a later chapter.1 1 See Chap. xiv, § 7. In § 6 will be found a few cases where even the condition of arrival was lacking, and the coincidence that suggests telepathy depended simply on a peculiarity of dress or aspect. On the other hand—in view of the fact that in the vast majority of the cases where the evidence for telepathy reaches a certain strength, the agent is doing or suffering something much more remarkable than merely returning home—we do not feel that the telepathic explanation can claim any high degree of probability in any arrival-case where the hallucination has not presented some exceptional evidential feature; and accordingly no such case has been admitted in the sequel.

    The discussion of these ambiguous cases has not, I hope, been altogether without positive instruction; but it was necessary, if only to clear the way for further examination of the telepathic phantasms. For if the question whether, or in what sense, those phantasms are hallucinations requires us to compare them with other hallucinations of the sane, the comparison must clearly be confined to cases which are certainly subjective, to the exclusion of cases which may conceivably themselves be telepathic.

    {i-519}

    CHAPTER XII.

    THE DEVELOPMENT OF TELEPATHIC HALLUCINATIONS.

    § 1. THE main points which I shall illustrate in the present chapter are two: (1) the gradual development of many telepathic hallucinations; and (2) the frequent embodiment of the idea which is at the root of them in an original, improbable, or fantastic manner—its clothing upon (so to speak) with images that indicate a distinct process of mental activity. Both of these points present themselves also in hallucinations of the sane of the purely subjective class; and the consideration of them will, I think, sufficiently establish the parallelism—as phenomena for the senses—of subjective and telepathic phantasms.

    As regards gradual development,—one form of it might be found in that deferment of the percipient’s experience, which is as frequent a feature in the phantasmal group as we have found it to be in other groups of telepathic cases.1 1 See, e.g., pp. 201, 265, 329. We should scarcely look for any very precise analogy to this deferment in the purely subjective class; inasmuch as the connection of a purely subjective hallucination with an idea which has previously obtained unconscious lodgment in the mind must, from the very nature of the case, be hard to establish. I may, however, refer once more to the N’IMPORTE incident, and to the other case described at p. 492, note, where an idea which was so far latent that even a deliberate search for it failed to evoke it, projected itself in sensory form at what appeared to be a quite casual moment. I will add an experience which has been described to me by a naval Captain, who has never in his life had any other hallucination of the senses. During his first important command, he twice in one night had a distinct auditory impression of the words, “Captain F., come on deck”—the reality of the impression being {i-520} shown by the fact that he obeyed the imaginary summons. He does not recall any preceding knowledge of danger. But it turned out that the course which the ship was running was in fact a dangerous one; and it is natural, therefore, to conclude that some sub-conscious idea that his presence might be needed shaped itself in this outward form.1 1 The more striking case quoted in the note on pp. 481–2, may without improbability be attributed to a similar latent idea of danger.

    But the development of which I wish here to speak is that which occurs after the abnormal experience has actually commenced. Such development may take various forms. Thus, (1) the phantasm may be recognised only some moments after it has been perceived, or even after it has ceased to be perceived; or (2) a visible figure may take shape gradually; or (3) the process of illusion may include several distinct stages. In all these cases we may suppose that the idea, at first but dimly conceived and vaguely apprehended, is working itself into definiteness (as so often occurs in the processes of abstract reasoning), and that the character of the projection undergoes a corresponding change. Nowhere do we more clearly see the affinity of the waking hallucinations to dreams, which often, of course, exhibit the working out of an idea in a prolonged and elaborate form.

    § 2. And first very briefly to exhibit these types among purely subjective experiences—the following case, which most of my readers will probably refer to that class, is one where the phantasm was only recognised in the instant of or after disappearance. The narrator is Mr. R. Gibson, of Mulgrave Cottage, Limerick.

    “February 25th, 1884.

    “As well as I can remember, it was in the year 1862. I know it was in the early part of my courting days, so that it must have been 1862 or 1863. I was walking home one night about 10 p.m.—the night was not dark, I could see clearly for many yards ahead—when I met face to face a man in the bye-road which leads from the high road to my father’s house. I felt that sort of start one does when you feel you are coming against something in the dark, without actually striking against it. Then the thought came, ‘Confound his impudence, why does he not move out of my way?’ and I stepped straight forward, intending to walk bang into him, but as I stepped right up to him, with my chest up to him, he was gone, and the instant as he vanished I thought, ‘Oh, Lord, that is my Grandfather Gibson.’ I felt rather queer, I can tell you, but I looked well round, and there was no one near. I carefully went to that place night after night again, and watched the spot often other nights over our wall, {i-521} and I could never either see or think I saw anything again. My grandfather was dead about 11 years at the time, and was never much in my thoughts, as I had never been much with him; and at the time I was thinking only of the events of the evening, as I suppose most young men madly in love, as I was, would have been. I was about as happy and as full of health and life as I suppose any fellow could possibly be. It was quite a puzzle to me for many years what it could have been for; but I think I know now.” [This last sentence merely refers to the fact that Mr. Gibson was at that time becoming involved in an affair that turned out unfortunately.]

    The gradual formation of the phantasm is a decidedly rare phenomenon. M. Marillier, in one of the most interesting accounts of subjective hallucination ever published,1 1 Revue Philosophique for February, 1886, p. 212. says of his own experiences, “C’est un fait intéressant à noter que les hallucinations n’apparaissent pas d’ordinaire d’emblée, mais qu’elles se développent et grandissent, se rapprochent peu à peu, tandis qu’elles disparaissent toujours brusquement.” [Translation]It is worth noting that hallucinations rarely appear all at once, but rather they develop and grow, and come gradually closer, whereas they always disappear abruptly. On the whole, I think that it is less uncommon for the disappearance to be gradual—a fading away, occasionally accompanied by an expansion of the figure.2 2 For example, Mr. I. Nicholl, of 32, Lancaster Gate, W., describes to me a waking hallucination representing a child of his, whom he “saw in his night-gown, coming from the window. It increased in size and gradually vanished.” Other cases do not get beyond the stage of indefinite cloudy forms. But I have very few subjective cases where a definite object took shape out of a vague mass. One of these belongs to the “swarming” class—the faces, sometimes hideous and sometimes beautiful, being described by my informant as developing out of mist. Another informant tells me that during fainting-fits, to which in boyhood he was rather liable, he always saw white cloudy masses pass in front of him, which gradually assumed a general resemblance to human forms. A third case is from Mr. Robert Collings, of 118, Earl’s Court Road, S.W. When a boy, he awoke one night, and found the moon brightly illuminating the side of the room facing the bed.

    “While gazing, I distinctly saw—rising in the moonlit space between the curtains at the foot of the bed—what appeared to be vapour or cloud, and as this grew higher, it gradually assumed the shape of a draped female figure, holding towards me in one hand a lamp and in the other a basin, from which steam seemed to rise. The form vanished slowly, and I afterwards fell asleep without experiencing either fear or horror.”

    Mr. Collings’ brother, who was sharing his room at the time, writes, from the Royal Naval Club, Portsmouth, that he distinctly remembers hearing of this vision immediately afterwards.

    {i-522}

    This experience may probably be accounted for as a recrudescence of what the boy’s eyes had shortly before beheld on several occasions during a trifling illness. The case, however, ought strictly to rank as ambiguous, because the relative who had tended him in this illness had just died (see p. 512). It will be seen that the disappearance, as well as the appearance, was gradual.

    The occurrence of subjective hallucinations in several stages is, on the other hand, common enough. I have mentioned the occasional development of an undefined impression of a presence into definite visible or audible form (p. 483, and see Vol. II., p. 201). In another case, as to the subjective character of which I myself entertain little doubt, my informant describes seeing an unusual light on the staircase, looking up, and then perceiving a deceased relative standing with a candle on the stairs. Dr. Jessopp (p. 499, note) saw a large white hand, before he turned round and beheld the complete form of his nocturnal visitor. But the more usual type is where two or more senses are concerned. So marked an instance as the incident of the servant and the message, quoted above (p. 499, note), is no doubt exceptional; but a figure which speaks, or which shakes the percipient’s arm; the sound of footsteps or of an opening door, followed by an entrance; a voice and a kiss—such incidents, though far less frequent than hallucinations of the single senses, are yet well represented among the subjective delusions of the sane.

    § 3. I turn now to the telepathic cases. The most striking case of delayed recognition in our collection is perhaps that of Mr. Marchant above (p. 207). A case where the phantasmal figure was taken first for one person and then for another, the latter being the one who died at the time, will be found in Vol. II., p. 71.1 1 See also case 501, and compare the very parallel dream-case, No. 455. There is a curious case in the Supplement, No. 572, where a phantasm was not recognised at the first moment, owing to its appearing too near the face of the percipient. As it happens, we have only one simple auditory example of delayed recognition; and that one cannot be presented as a numbered item in the telepathic evidence, since the 12 hours’ limit (p. 139) is known to have been slightly exceeded. The account was written down, a few months after the occurrence, from the dictation of the percipient—Sister Bertha, Superior of the House of Mercy at Bovey Tracy, Newton Abbot—who read it through on December 29th, 1885, pronounced it correct, and signed it. “On the night of the 10th of November, 1861 (I do not know the exact hour), I was up in my bed watching, because there was a person not quite well in the next room. I heard a voice, which I recognised at once as familiar to me, and at first thought of my sister. It said, in the brightest and most cheerful tone, ‘I am here with you.’ I answered, looking and seeing nothing, ‘Who are you?’ The voice said, ‘You mustn’t know yet.’ I heard nothing more, and saw nothing, and am certain that the door was not opened or shut. I was not in the least frightened, and felt convinced that it was Lucy’s [Miss Lucy Gambier Parry’s] voice. I have never doubted it from that moment. I had not heard of her being worse; the last account had been good, and I was expecting to hear that she was at Torquay. In the course of the next day (the 11th), mother told me that she had died on the morning of the 10th, rather more than 12 hours before I heard her voice.” The narrator informs us that she has never in her life experienced any other hallucination of the senses. Mrs. Gambier Parry, of Highnam Court, Gloucester, step-mother and cousin of the “Lucy” of the narrative, writes:— “Sister Bertha (her name is Bertha Foertsch) had been living for many years as German governess to Lucy Anna Gambier Parry, and was her dearest friend. She came to us at once on hearing of Lucy’s death, and told me of the mysterious occurrence of the night before.” In the {i-523} two following examples, the face of the apparition seemed familiar, though the percipient could not at the time identify it. The first is from Mr. T. W. Goodyear, now of Avoca Villa, Park Road, Bevois Hill, Southampton.

    “Highfield Villa, Winchester.

    “February 9th, 1884.

    (191) “I may remark first of all I am considered by my friends as possessing iron nerves, am passionately fond of athletics, and certainly not given to letting imagination or fear run off with my senses. But although I can without boasting say I hardly know what fear is, I am peculiarly susceptible to mental impressions; that is, I can often tell what is passing in the minds of others (especially my wife) when out walking with them—so much so that I have almost frightened one or two people by offering to tell them the subject on which they were thinking, and in some cases exactly what they were thinking about that subject. However, I daresay that is common enough, but what I am particularly writing you on is to tell you two facts, one of which occurred 10¼ years ago and the other 7 years ago nearly. [For the second case see Vol. II., p. 115.] It seems a long time ago to be reproduced, but to me the scenes are fresh as if they only happened yesterday.

    “The first was this. I was going from the house I lived at to a shop kept by my brother, and when about half way, it came on to rain very fast. I called in at the house of a lady friend and waited some time, but it did not clear, and as I was afraid my brother would be leaving, I said I must go. I rose to do so, and went into the hall, and my friend rushed away upstairs to get an umbrella, leaving me in the dark. In the higher part of the door was a glass window, and I all at once, in the darkness, saw a face looking through that window. The face was very well known to me, though for the instant I did not associate it with the original, as she was 300 miles away. I instantly opened the door, found nobody there, and then searched the ivy with which the porch and house are covered. Finding nothing, and knowing it was impossible anyone could have got away, I then for the first time inquired of myself whose was the face I had seen. I at once knew the face was that of a married sister-in-law of my wife’s. I told all our family of the circumstance directly I got home, and judge of our dismay when we had a letter to say she died at the very hour I saw her. Monday was the evening I saw the face, and on Wednesday, when we were at dinner, the letter came.

    “T. W. GOODYEAR.”

    In answer to the usual question, Mr. Goodyear replies that he has had no other experience of a visual hallucination.

    {i-524}

    Miss Goodyear corrobrates as follows:—

    “Hartley Wintney, Winchfield.

    “March 12th, 1884.

    “My brother (Mr. Goodyear, of Winchester) says you wish confirmation of a statement he made as to seeing the face of a friend—who lived some 300 miles off—the evening she died. We are none of us likely to forget the assertion he made as to seeing the face, one evening some 12 years or so ago; still less the great astonishment when two days after (midday of second day) we had a letter to say she had died on that particular evening. My other brother, who was away from home, was written to on the intervening day, and mention was made of the strange affair, so that he, too, could corroborate the statement, as his letter would reach him before the one announcing the death reached us.

    “MARY APPLETON GOODYEAR.”

    A brother of Mr. T. W. Goodyear writes:—

    “March 19th, 1884.

    “I recollect my brother mentioning the strange occurrence of seeing the face of a friend a day before her death, though he was in Hampshire and she in Yorkshire. I have not kept my letter, or would forward it to you, but can vouch for the accuracy of the account.

    “G. A. GOODYEAR.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that the death took place on November 3, 1872; consequently 12¼, not 10¼, years before Mr. Goodyear wrote to us. Mr. Goodyear seems also to have made an error as to the day of the week; for Nov. 3 was a Sunday. But it seems very unlikely that at the time both he and his sister should have been wrong in their identification of the evening of the vision as that of the death. Mr. G. A. Goodyear’s words “a day before her death,” if more than a slip of writing, can hardly weigh against the evidence of the other two witnesses; and so far as they had any weight, it would tell against the supposition that the vision was as late as Monday.

    In the next case our informant is unwilling to have her name published, as relatives might object; but says that “the narrative can be verified by private communication.”

    “Belgravia Institute for Trained Nurses.

    “December, 1884.

    (192) “On the afternoon of Sunday, December 18th, 1864, my father-in-law, Mr. B., my husband, and I were sitting in the dining-room at D. Hall. The room was a large one, about 26ft. by 30ft.; on one side was the fireplace, with a door at each side; opposite the fireplace were three windows; standing with your back to the fireplace, at the end of the room on your right were two more windows, and on your left a blank wall. These windows were some height from the ground, probably 7ft. or more, so that no one could look in unless standing on a chair. It was dark, and we were sitting round the fire, the shutters not having been closed. Mr. B. faced the two windows, I sat on the other side of the fireplace, with my back to the said windows, my husband being in the {i-525} middle facing the fire. Suddenly Mr. B. said, ‘Who is that looking in at the window?’ pointing to the furthest of the two windows. We laughed, knowing that no one could look in, as there was nothing there for them to stand on. Mr. B. persisted in his assertion, saying that it was a woman with a pale face and black hair; that the face was familiar to him, but he could not remember her name: and he insisted on my husband going round the outside of the house one way, whilst he went the other. They, however, saw no one. As they went out, I looked at the clock. The time was 5.45 p.m.

    “On the following Tuesday I heard of the death of my mother, Mrs. Ranking, who had died at St. Peter’s Port, Guernsey, exactly at 5.45 p.m. on Sunday, December 18th, the hour at which the face appeared at the window. She had been delirious before her death, and calling piteously for me. Directly Mr. B. heard of her death he exclaimed, ‘It was Mrs. Ranking’s face I saw in the window on Sunday’ (he had only seen my mother two or three times). We were not aware that my mother was seriously ill. I do not presume to offer any scientific explanation of these facts, but I firmly believe that my mother’s last thoughts were of me, her eldest child. I had only been married two months, and she had not seen me since my wedding-day.

    “E. A. B.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. B. says:—

    “Both my father-in-law and my husband are dead. I know of no independent way in which I can fix the date of the apparition, but I know that my husband and I had been to church that afternoon, and if you look at any almanack for 1864, you will see that December 18th in that year was on a Sunday, and that was the day on which my mother died.”

    We find from the Times obituary that Mrs. Ranking died on Sunday, December 18, 1864, “after a short illness.”

    I have had a thoroughly satisfactory interview with Mrs. B., who is anything but a sentimental witness. She showed me a photograph of D. Hall, which made it evident that the face at the window cannot have belonged to a real person. Even a tall man’s head could not have been visible from inside the room where the party were sitting, the ledge being more than 6 feet from the ground; and there was nothing under the window to climb up by. Still, the father-in-law would not be persuaded but that it was a real face, though of course totally unable to account for it. He was certain he knew the face, though unable to put a name to it. He had seen Mrs. Ranking only twice. It is practically certain that he had never had any other hallucination; and he was most unwilling to regard this as one. The death was very sudden, from dysentery. Mrs. B. distinctly remembers noting the time, 5.45, while her husband and father-in-law were searching. The light was bright firelight.

    In the next two cases we have the feature of gradual formation, as well as delayed recognition. The following account appeared in the Church Quarterly Review for April, 1877, pp. 210–11.

    (193) “In the house in which these pages were written, a tall and wide staircase window, with a northern aspect, throws a strong side-light on the entrance into the chief living room, which stands at the end of a {i-526} passage running nearly the length of the house. It was after mid-day, in mid-winter, many years since, that the writer left his study, which opens into the passage just mentioned, on his way to his early dinner. The day was rather foggy, but there was no density of vapour, yet the door at the end of the passage seemed obscured by mist. As he advanced, the mist, so to call it, gathered into one spot, deepened, and formed itself into the outline of a human figure, the head and shoulders becoming more and more distinct, while the rest of the body seemed enveloped in a gauzy, cloaklike vestment of many folds, reaching downwards so as to hide the feet, and from its width, as it rested on the flagged passage, giving a pyramidal outline.1 1 For this sort of formation, compare cases 311, 315, 485. The appearance of mist is described in other cases which do not present the same gradual development; see, e.g., No. 210 below; No. 555, where the figure seemed to have a cloudy fringe; No. 518, where it remained cloud-like throughout; and compare the appearance of “massed and disordered drapery” in case 252. The full light of the window fell on the object, which was so thin and tenuous in its consistency that the light on the panels of a highly varnished door was visible through the lower part of the dress.2 2 This peculiarity has been observed in purely subjective hallucinations; see Vol. ii., p. 38, note. It was altogether colourless, a statue carved in mist. The writer was so startled that he is uncertain whether he moved forward or stood still. He was rather astonished than terrified, for his first notion was that he was witnessing some hitherto unnoticed effect of light and shade. He had no thought of anything supernatural33 I must again point out that this unfortunate word is quite opposed to our own view of the phenomena. till, as he gazed, the head was turned towards him, and he at once recognised the features of a very dear friend. The expression of his countenance was that of holy, peaceful repose, and the gentle, kindly aspect that it wore in daily life was intensified (so the writer, in recalling the sight, has ever since felt,) into a parting glance of deep affection. And then, in an instant, all passed away. The writer can only compare the manner of the evanescence to the way in which a jet of steam is dissipated on exposure to cold air. Hardly, till then, did he realise that he had been brought into close communion with the supernatural. The result was great awe, but no terror, so that instead of retreating to his study, he went forward and opened the door close to which the apparition had stood.

    “Of course, he could not doubt the import of what he had seen; and the morrow’s or the next day’s post brought the tidings that his friend had tranquilly passed out of this world, at the time when he was seen by the writer. It must be stated that it was a sudden summons, that the writer had heard nothing of him for some weeks previously, and that nothing had brought him to his thoughts on the day of his decease.”

    The widow of the narrator writes to us:—

    “Pozzoforte, Bordighera.

    “December 18th, 1883.

    “The article in the Church Quarterly to which you refer was written by my husband, but I regret to say that I can add no particulars relating to the experience he therein relates. He never could talk of it—could scarcely bear to refer to it even.4 4 This being so, it would not be justifiable to publish his name. I do not think that he ever had any other experience of the same kind.”

    {i-527}

    The next account is from a lady known to the present writer, whose only reason for withholding her name and address is her fear that a near relative might object to their publication. The description seems to warrant us in regarding the visual experience, at any rate, as a waking and not a mere “borderland” specimen.

    “December 17th, 1883.

    (194) “Years ago, a friend and myself made the time-worn arrangement that whichever died first would endeavour to return to visit the other. Some years after, I asked this man’s sister to remember me to him and say, did he remember his promise, and having received for answer ‘Perfectly, and I hope I shall appear to ——, and not she to me,

    ’ the whole matter passed out of my mind. My friend was in New Zealand, his sister I don’t know where. One night I awoke with a feeling some one was in the room. I must tell you that I always have a bright light burning on a table, not far from my bed. I looked about, and presently saw something behind the little table; felt myself grow perfectly cold;1 1 As to this sensation see Vol. ii., p. 37, note. was not in the least frightened, rubbed my eyes to be sure I was quite awake, and looked at it steadfastly. Gradually a man’s head and shoulders were perfectly formed, but in a sort of misty material, if I may use such a word. The head and features were distinct, but the whole appearance was not substantial and plain; in fact it was like a cloud, formed as a man’s head and shoulders. At first I gazed and thought, who is it, some one must be here, but who? Then the formation of the head and forehead (which are most marked in my friend) made me exclaim to myself ‘Captain W——.’ The appearance faded away.

    “I got up and put the date down; and waited until news from New Zealand was possible. I made inquiries about my friend, never doubting but that he was dead. The answer always came ‘No news.’ At last this also, ‘We are so anxious; it is so long since we have heard. We shall again wait another mail, and write to so-and-so.’ And then came the news, a mere scrap, ‘Have had a severe fall off the coach; can’t write; head all wrong still.’ That was all, and pretty much the exact words as far as I can remember. In due time we heard more. He had fallen off the coach, and was insensible for some time, and then, as he had said, his head was not clear for a while. I have never had the slightest doubt but that, while insensible, his spirit came here. The appearance to me was coincident with the time of his insensibility. I have never had but this one experience of an apparition.

    “E. W. R.”

    In a subsequent letter, Miss R. adds:—

    “January 1st, 1884.

    “I put the date down in a book I use daily; there is a page for every day in the month. I mentioned it to several people—quite 3 or 4. One was extremely amused because my friend had not died; which she always used to assure me was—she was sure—a cause of sincere regret to me.”

    The present writer has seen the book, which is one containing reading {i-528} for every day of the month. The words written in pencil, on the page of the 15th day, are: “Night of this day, March, ’74.”

    In answer to further inquiries, Miss R. adds:—

    “I saw his sister, I should say fully a year and a-half before I saw him myself, but as this is not to be substantiated in any possible way—and is only a thought—I cannot verify it. I certainly did not write to him or hear from him between the time of my sending the message and receiving the answer, and his appearing. I am not aware that I had had anything to recall him to me particularly.

    “My sister has written the note on the other sheet. She feels as sure as I do that I told her very soon afterwards, but does not like to write more positively.”

    The following is the sister’s note:—

    “Ditchingham.

    “May 1st, 1884.

    “As far as I can remember, my sister told me of her vision soon after it occurred, and before the news of her friend’s accident arrived. It is so many years ago that I cannot speak more positively.

    “MOTHER C.”

    In conversation, Miss R. especially, and unasked, confirmed the fact that the feeling of a presence in the room preceded the vision. She described the formation of the figure as like a cloud taking a definite shape. She further said that the hair of the head which appeared was distinctly grey, and that this was the chief reason why she did not sooner recognise the face. Her friend had black hair when she last saw him, and she had never thought of him otherwise; but she found out afterwards that he had become grey, and was so at the time of his accident.1 1 As to this point see the beginning of §8 below; and compare cases 449 and 515 where a still more marked change in the aspect of the agent’s hair reappears in the vision. She also stated that she had ascertained beyond a doubt that her vision fell during the period of her friend’s insensibility; and her memory on this point may reasonably be trusted, since, when the news of the accident arrived, she had in her written entry the means of fixing with certainty the date of her experience.

    The previous compact in this case is to be specially noted. It is a feature which we have already encountered (cases 146, 165, 169) and shall encounter again (see Vol. II., p. 66). In the next two examples, again, a feeling of a presence preceded the visual hallucination.2 2 Cf. the “borderland” case, No. 172, where the apparition was preceded by a feeling as of “someone bending over.” In such cases one may suspect that what is described as a sense of presence (as sometimes in ordinary life) is really a faint auditory impression, not noticed as such, and here of course hallucinatory like the visual impression which it introduces. Cf. cases 182, 201. Miss Rogers, of 56, Berners Street, W., narrates as follows:—

    “October, 1884.

    (195) “I was on a visit at Colnbrook, in Buckinghamshire, in 1878, and one night when I went to bed, and while yet fully awake, I felt an influence {i-529} as if some one was in the room. I sat up to see what it was, and saw my grandmother, in the plaid cloak she usually wore, leaning upon my mother’s arm.1 1 As to the appearance of the second figure, see p. 545 below. I looked round the room to see whether the vision could have arisen from any reflection from the mirrors in the room, and while doing so I saw the figures walk slowly round the room and disappear. I afterwards ascertained that my grandmother died in London about the time I had seen the apparition in Buckinghamshire.

    “KATE ROGERS.”

    In conversation, Miss Rogers told Mr. Podmore that she was not absolutely certain as to the year in which this incident occurred. Subsequently she found from the Times obituary (as we had meanwhile discovered from the Register of Deaths) that her grandmother, Mrs. Macdonald, died on March 14, 1877.

    In answer to inquiries, Miss Rogers says that she has had no other hallucination. She adds that the phantasm was seen “soon after getting to bed, about 10 p.m.”; and that “on my return home, I heard that my grandmother had passed away just about the time of my vision.”

    Appended is a letter from Mrs. Rogers, (a sister of our valued helper, the Rev. J. A. Macdonald,) who was herself nursing her mother at the time.

    “October 30th, 1884.

    “On receipt of your letter relative to the hour of my mother’s death, I made inquiries of those who remembered the time, and I find she died nearer to 12 o’clock p.m. The reason my daughter mentioned 10 as the time of the vision only depended upon the usage of the family she was visiting, who generally retired at 10. Her memory could not serve her to fix the time exactly; besides, in cases of visitors being in the house, the family remained up later. The exact time of the appearance cannot be noted now, only that on reflection my daughter thinks it would be later than 10. Besides, she would, perhaps, have remained up a long time in her room, conversing with the lady of the house, before going to bed, as was often the habit. It was between 7 and 8 years ago that this experience occurred, and my daughter cannot fix exact times and hours; but, at the time, she thinks her vision corresponded with the time of the death. My daughter is very sorry that a more definite account cannot be given of the circumstances. The facts can be depended upon, but the hours and times have entirely slipped our memories.

    “My daughter suggests that she was so greatly attached to her grandmother that, in so continually thinking of her, the vision might have come through the influence of strong imagination; but it impressed itself upon her mind at the time as a real presence, and she told me about it on her return to town. She did not expect her grandmother’s death just then, as she had been ailing for years, and the death occurred rather suddenly.

    “JANE M. ROGERS.”

    In conversation, Mrs. Rogers explained to Mr. Podmore that Miss Rogers, being absent from home, did not know of any change in her grandmother’s condition.

    The following is a letter from Miss R.’s friend, Mrs. F. She is not {i-530} explicit as to the vision having been mentioned before the news of the death arrived. But we presume she means to imply that it was, as the question was definitely asked; and in a previous short note she uses the words, “Kate certainly seemed to know her grandmother was dead, before the news reached us.”

    “April 8th, 1885.

    “Mrs. R. has sent your note to me, asking me to reply to it; but it is really little I can tell you in reference to the matter, beyond that Miss R. felt convinced that her grandmother was dead before the news reached us, from a dream or vision1 1 As to the great injustice done to the telepathic argument by confounding dreams and waking visions, see above, pp. 394–7, and Vol. ii. pp., 2, 3. (whichever you like to call it) that she had had. I cannot give you her words as she told it to me. The fact that Miss R. had a vivid dream in reference to the death of her grandmother did not strike me as anything but natural. She was always deeply attached to her, and doubtless had gone to bed with an anxious mind, knowing that her grandmother was ill.

    “C. B. F.”

    The next account is from Mr. J. G. F. Russell, of Aden, Aberdeen shire

    “32, Upper Brook Street, W.

    “January 3rd, 1886.

    (196) “Early in October, 1872, whilst at H. M. Embassy, at Constantinople, to which I belonged, when crossing a garden (which separated the secretary’s house, where I lived, from the Ambassador’s palace), on my way to dine there, about 8 o’clock in the evening (it was about dusk), I felt some irresistible, magnetic sort of influence compel me to turn round and look behind me.2 2 Compare case 162, where Mr. Symonds says, “I knew that I must turn my head.” I saw an indistinct white form, about the height of a human being, gazing at me, as if it were trying to attract my attention. It was only a very few yards off. I at once walked towards it, and spoke, but it vanished.3 3 As regards the vanishing of hallucinations on sudden speech or movement, see Vol. ii., p. 91, second note. So convinced was I that something had got within the precincts of the Embassy walls and gates (all being well secured and watched), that I returned to my own quarters, examined the closed gate, and questioned the guard on duty as to whether any stranger could have entered. ‘Impossible,’ he said; and our sporting dogs, none of which were white, were sleeping peacefully on the doorsteps. I then returned, through the same garden, to the Embassy Palace, to dinner, and back again at night. I saw nothing. Again I made inquiry whether any intruder had entered the gates, but it was proved to me to be materially impossible; nor could any one have scaled the high wall, or disappeared as quickly as did the white figure when I advanced towards it.

    “Very soon after, I learnt that a married aunt of mine, to whom my family and myself were much attached, had died in my father’s house, in the North of Scotland, during the afternoon of the same day on which I saw the figure.

    “J. G. F. RUSSELL.

    Mr. Russell adds, in reply to inquiries:—

    “I have no recollection of mentioning, at the time I saw the ‘white figure’ in question at Constantinople, to any one but the guard at the gate that I had seen anything; I may have done so, but anyhow I could now get no corroborative testimony from my then colleagues. I have no {i-531} record in my book as to the evening when I saw the white figure. I simply recollect that, on hearing of her death, I found it was on the same day, and making allowance for distance at the same hour, as when I saw the said apparition. When I heard of my aunt’s death from my wife, I replied that on that night I had seen a strange white apparition.”

    We learn from Mr. Russell that he has had no other experience of the sort, with the exception of a single faint impression of a shadowy figure at a time when he was out of health, and the very palpable “apparitions” that may be seen at seances.

    His diary, though it contains no mention of the incident above described, affords a means of confirming the coincidence. He finds from it that he dined at the Embassy on September 26th, September 28th, and October 1st. On the two latter occasions he visited elsewhere after dinner, and returned home by the quay; but on September 26th, when the party was a large and gay one, he returned home by the route through the garden; and on passing through the scene of his odd experience, he distinctly remembers saying to himself, “Well, that apparition has not spoilt my evening; let us see if it will come to me again.” It was on the 26th of September, 1872—as we find from an obituary notice in two Aberdeen papers—that his aunt died. Mr. Russell says, “As far as my wife can recollect, the hour of my aunt’s death was between 4 and 5 p.m.”—which would be between 6 and 7 at Constantinople; thus the vision followed the death by between 1 and 2 hours.

    In the following case a visual phantasm first appears, and then words are heard which, in the mind of both agent and percipient, were probably of all others the most significative of the bond between them. The narrator is Mrs. Bishop, formerly Miss Bird, the well-known traveller and authoress. The account, received in March, 1886, is almost identical with a second-hand version which was given to us in March, 1883. When travelling in the Rocky Mountains, Miss Bird had made the acquaintance of a half-caste Indian, Mr. Nugent, known as “Mountain Jim,” over whom she established a considerable influence.1 1 See A Lady’s Life in the Rocky Mountains, Letters vi-ix. and xiii-xvii.

    (197) “On the day in which I parted with Mountain Jim, he was much moved and much excited. I had a long conversation with him about mortal life and immortality, and closed it with some words from the Bible. He was greatly impressed, but very excited, and exclaimed, ‘I may not see you again in this life, but I shall when I die.’ I rebuked him gently for his vehemence, but he repeated it with still greater energy, adding, ‘And these words you have said to me, I shall never forget, and dying I swear that I will see you again.’2 2 As to this promise, see Vol. ii., p. 66.

    “We parted then, and for a time I heard that he was doing better, then that he had relapsed into wild ways, then that he was very ill after being wounded in a wild quarrel, then lastly that he was well, and planning revenge. The last news I got when I was at the Hotel {i-532} Interlaken, Interlaken, Switzerland, with Miss Clayton and the Kers. Shortly after getting it, in September, 1874, I was lying on my bed about 6 a.m., writing to my sister, when, looking up, I saw Mountain Jim standing with his eyes fixed on me, and when I looked at him he very slowly but very distinctly said, ‘I have come, as I promised’; then waved his hands towards me, and said, ‘Farewell.’

    “When Miss Bessie Ker came into the room with my breakfast, we recorded the event, with the date and hour of its occurrence. In due time news arrived of his death, and its date, allowing for the difference of longitude, coincided with that of his appearance to me.

    “I. B.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Bishop says that she has never had any other hallucination of the senses; that she had last seen Mountain Jim at St. Louis, Colorado, on December 11th, 1873; and that he died at Fort Collins, Colorado. She hopes to be able to show us the diaries in which the date was recorded; but she wrote from abroad, and under very great pressure.

    We have procured a copy of some of the testimony given at the inquest at Fort Collins, from which it appears that the death took place on Sept. 7, 1874, between 2 and 3 p.m.—which would correspond with about 10 p.m. at Interlaken. The coincidence therefore cannot have been as close as Mrs. Bishop imagines. If the vision took place on the 8th of September, it followed the death by 8 hours; but if it took place on the 7th, then the 12 hours’ limit was exceeded by some 4 hours.

    In the next two cases there is a distinct hallucination of sound, suggestive of some one entering or approaching the room (compare the “borderland” cases 182 and 190); and in the second of the two, a short interval elapses before the visual percept is developed.

    Mrs. Stella, of Chieri, Italy, writes, on January 14th, 1884:—

    (198) “When I was about 15, I was staying on a visit to Dr. J. G., of Twyford, Hants, and I formed a friendship with my host’s cousin, a boy of 17. We became inseparable, boating and riding together and sharing all our fun, just like brother and sister. He was very delicate, and I took care of him, and looked after him, until we never passed an hour away from each other. I tell you this to show there was not a particle of morbid sentiment between us; we were like two boys together.

    “One night Mr. G. was sent for to see his cousin, who had been taken suddenly very ill with inflammation of the lungs, and the poor boy died the next night. They did not tell me how ill he was, so I was quite unaware of his danger, and therefore not anxious in any way. The night he died, Mr. G. and his sister went round to their aunt’s house, leaving me alone in the drawing-room. There was a bright fire, and like many girls I delighted to sit by the fender, reading by firelight. Not knowing of my friend’s danger I was not uneasy, only vexed that he could not come and spend the evening with me, so I felt lonely. I was reading quietly when the door opened,1 1 See p. 102, note. and Bertie (my friend) walked in. I jumped up to get him an arm-chair near the fire, as he looked cold, and he had no greatcoat on, and as it was snowing, I began to scold him for {i-533} coming out without his wraps. He did not speak but put up his hand to his chest and shook his head, which I mistook to mean his cold was on his chest, and that he had lost his voice, to which he was subject. So I reproached him again for his imprudence. While speaking, Mr. G. came in and asked me to whom I was speaking. I said, ‘There’s that tiresome boy without his coat, and such a bad cold he can’t speak; lend him a coat and send him home.’ I shall never forget the horror and amazement on the good doctor’s face, as he knew (what I did not) that the poor boy had died half-an-hour ago, and he was coming to break the news to me. His first impression was that I had already heard it, and that I had lost my senses. I could not understand either why he made me leave the room, and spoke to me as if I were a small child. For a few moments we were at cross purposes, and then he explained to me that I had had an optical illusion; he did not deny that I had seen Bertie with my eyes, but explained it all most scientifically, as he was anxious not to frighten me or leave a distressing impression. I have never spoken of it to anyone before now, partly as it is a most distressing remembrance, and partly in the fear of being thought fanciful and being disbelieved. My mother said I was dreaming, and forbad me ever to mention it. I was not dreaming, but reading a book called ‘Mr. Verdant Green,’ not at all a book to send one to sleep, and I well remember at the time the door opened I was laughing heartily over some of its absurdities.

    “I. S.”

    Asked if she has ever had any other visual hallucination, Mrs. Stella answers in the negative; and adds that she is “not at all imaginative or nervous.” She has had an auditory hallucination which was veridical, and is described in Vol. II., p. 109. She cannot recall the exact date; but we find from the Medical Register that Dr. J. G. was only at Twyford from 1864 to 1873—within which period the occurrence must have fallen.

    In answer to further inquiries, Mrs. Stella writes:—

    “Their house must have been a quarter-of-an-hour’s walk from Mr. G.’s, and Bertie died about 20 minutes before he [i.e., Mr. G.] left the house. The apparition had been in the room about 5 minutes when Mr. G. came in. What to me has always been so strange is, that I heard the handle of the door turn and the door open; in fact, it was the noise of the lock turning which caused me to look up from my book. The figure walked across the room to the opposite side of the fireplace, and sat down while I lighted the candles. It was all so real and natural that I can hardly realise even now that it was not so.”

    Later she adds:—

    “With regard to the 5 minutes, I daresay the time was not quite so long, although some minutes may have elapsed between the entrance of the apparition and that of Mr. G. The only light in the room was that of the fire, and as, of course, I had no idea but what it was the real ‘Bertie,’ I did not take much notice of him. I purposely did not ask him any questions on account of his apparent inability to talk, and I myself went on speaking in order to give him time to regain breath, which, on account of his delicate chest, often occurred, and his silence for 5 minutes or even longer would not have astonished me, as the cold outside was intense, and great cold often oppressed his breathing. There was nothing in his {i-534} appearance that struck me as different from usual, except his paleness and silence, and to both I was accustomed.

    “I am sorry to say that Mr. G. died about 10 years ago. Unfortunately the circumstance was never mentioned to any members of my family; partly because Mr. G. advised me to say nothing, and partly from my own fear of being laughed at, as I was very young at the time.”

    [Here, as in so many other cases, the central fact of the coincidence is independent of the details, and is far more likely than they to have been correctly retained in memory.]

    The second case is from Mr. B., confidential clerk to a firm with a principal of which we are well acquainted. He withholds his name from publication, having a strong dislike to the subject. The account is in the words of Mr. D. H. Wilson, of Rosemont, Hyères, but has been read over and corrected by Mr. B. The fact that the percipient had just got up and opened his door may be taken as a proof that he was awake when the visual experience took place.[☼]

    “October 24th, 1883.

    (199) “Mr. B. is a gentleman whom I have known for more than 15 years. He is practical, shrewd, and very trustworthy. I am indebted to him for the following narration: One morning, a few months ago, at 5 o’clock, he was awakened by a noise outside his room, but near his room door. Opening the door he saw no person. He returned to bed, and had scarcely composed himself when he was very disconcerted by seeing the form of a lady friend of his glide or flit across the room. He thereupon woke Mrs. B. and informed her of the fact. This was Saturday, and at the end of the next week Mr. B. called at the house of his friend, the subject of his vision, and was informed that the lady had thrown herself out of the window the previous Saturday at about 5 o’clock in the morning, and was instantaneously killed.”

    “We learn from Mr. B. that the hallucination of the senses here described is the only one that he has ever experienced.

    In this example we observe a failure to co-ordinate the elements into a completely natural-seeming incident. A feature in Mr. Keulemans’ case (No. 184) has been reserved for mention here as illustrating the same point. He says:—

    “The sound [of the child’s voice] did not proceed from the locality where the vision [of the child] was seen, nor did it seem to be in any way produced by the organs of speech belonging to the apparition; for the mouth did not move. I heard the voice at a short distance, and on my right side, simultaneously with the vision, which appeared at a greater distance, on my left, or rather in front of me.”

    § 4. So much, then, for gradual development. I proceed to my second main point—the embodiment of the idea which is at the root of the hallucination in a manner that is to some extent original, and implies a creative process carried out by the percipient’s own mind.

    {i-535}

    There is no need to illustrate this process at any length in the purely subjective class. A certain amount of it is, in fact, involved in every sensory hallucination which is anything more than a mere momentary revival of familiar images, due, as I have suggested, to a disturbance at the sensory centre, unprompted by any agitation in the higher tracts of the brain (pp. 489–90). Wherever the higher tracts of the brain are the first in action, and the hallucination represents an object which the senses have never actually encountered, there clearly the mind has more or less created its object; and of the transient hallucinations of the sane the majority seem to belong to this class. A special type that is worth noting is where the hallucination is in part mere reminiscence and in part a new creation. For example, a

    gentleman tells me that, having been compelled to kill a favourite dog, he very soon afterwards had the subjective vision of a dog running across the lawn, and pursued by a man in a white flannel jacket; and my friend Mrs. Hunter, of 2, Victoria Crescent, St. Helier’s, describes how, having just dismissed for the night a young daughter under 15 years of age, heard her lock her door, locked her own, and resumed her own train of thought, she looked up, and there the child “stood smiling, in dressing-gown and hair floating down her back, just as she had left me, but with a baby in her arms”—the apparition lasting for a few seconds.1 1 Cf. Mr. Blacker’s case, p. 502. A good example of a subjective hallucination whose development from the root-idea is obvious, is a visionary crown, clearly seen by a lady hovering near the head of a preacher to whom she was listening (as she implies) with sympathy and admiration. As more or less fantastic instances, I may mention the apparition, out of doors, of a tall female figure, which went on in front of the percipient, and whose head then left its body; a man in parti-coloured Oriental garb, about as wide as high, and with a face like a king on a card; and some curious appearances of “flats,” human-looking figures without any apparent depth, by which a gentleman tells me that he has been more than once visited. Peculiarities in costume and appurtenances are very common; a woman in grave-clothes, a woman in brocaded silk with a small book in her hand, a black man with a knife in his hand, a sweet-looking creature in a low black dress and mantilla, a tall man with dark curly hair and in antique dress, a woman with a crown and a child, recalling a statuette of the Virgin—such are among the visual hallucinations in my collection which there is no reason to suppose other than purely {i-536} subjective affections. Of auditory cases, some that have been already given show the construction from a root-idea in the percipient’s mind very plainly—e.g., the words, “You can’t save him,” “Your brother is dead,” “Take up that knife and use it” (pp. 509, 478, note). Another good example is that of a clergyman’s wife, who tells me that she was once startled by the remark, “Those ladies will borrow money from George to-day,” while she was sitting alone, and picturing a call which her husband was paying to some impecunious parishioners whom she mistrusted—unless, indeed, the fact that the loan was actually requested be held to make the case “ambiguous.” The hearing of long, original discourses could, of course, not be reckoned as a transient hallucination, and is a type which scarcely occurs at all among hallucinations of the sane; but occasionally a very few words may be quite sufficient to show independence of mental action—as where a lady who was expecting to be called by her sister in the morning, distinctly heard, in fictitious tones, not the expected message, but the much more agreeable one, “Not five; don’t get up yet.”

    § 5. And now to turn to the parallel features of original or fantastic construction in the telepathic class of hallucinations. The question as to the existence and interpretation of these features is of such special importance to my general argument that, at the risk of wearying the reader, I must make its bearings plain.

    I must recur for a moment to the breach which has been more than once noted (pp. 111–12, 190, and 234) as dividing telepathic phantasms from the less concrete forms of telepathy, and especially from the results of experiments in thought-transference. To resume the two marked points of difference:—in the experiments, (1) the “subject” never perceives the transferred image as an actual sight or sound—there is never an external hallucination; and (2) the image always represents the precise object which is consciously occupying the agent’s mind; whereas in the case of the spontaneous phantasms the percept (1) appears to be external, and (2) represents something which is certainly not consciously occupying the agent’s mind—to wit, his own form or voice.1 1 I am here speaking of the common type of spontaneous cases. There are other cases, both visual and auditory, which conform more nearly to the experimental type, in so far as something that is occupying the senses or the mind of the agent is distinctly represented in the phantasmal appearance (see, e.g., cases 151, 157, 158, 220, 221, 267, 268, 269, 270, 288, 291). But such representation is decidedly exceptional, and in visual cases applies usually to only a single feature in the appearance; e.g., in case 210 below we might trace the perception of the wound, and in case 213 the perception of the checked shawl, to the agent’s conscious thought, but not the perception of his or her complete figure. Here is an undoubted crux. When the {i-537} agent is painfully concentrating his attention on a card, with the object of getting the impression of it transferred to the percipient, one might have imagined that he was in a stronger and more hopeful condition for producing a telepathic effect than when his thoughts are wandering at random, and are perhaps not occupied with the percipient at all; and yet the effect on the percipient seems often to be of a far more dominant and startling kind in the latter case than in the former. We may observe further that just the two forms of telepathic impression which, in the ordinary course of experiment, do occasionally reach the pitch of hallucination—the transferences of pains and of tastes—are conspicuous by their absence from the records of spontaneous cases, the latter being totally unrepresented and the former very rare: while, on the other hand, the spontaneous class abounds in specimens where the psychical condition of the agent—whether sleeping, swooning, or dying—has apparently lapsed to the very verge of nothingness. Spontaneous telepathy would thus seem to depend as little on the agent’s intensity of feeling (for what can be more intensely felt than acute physical pain?) as on his intensity of concentration; or, if some actual intensity of experience be imagined for him even at moments when it is least apparent (Chap. V, § 10), it will at any rate not be imagined as abnormal preoccupation with his own physical attributes.

    Now it is manifest that these differences may be reduced, in proportion as the extent of the impression actually transferred from the agent to the percipient in the phantasmal cases can be conceived to be small, and the part which the percipient’s own creative energy supplies can be conceived to be large. If we are at liberty to assume that even a dim and shadowy idea, when once it obtains a lodgment in the mind, may body itself forth as a sensory phantasm, clearly all that we shall have to suppose transferred from the one mind to the other is a dim and shadowy idea. We shall thus shift, so to speak, the responsibility for the hallucination to the percipient’s mind; which we shall conceive as actively generating and projecting it under a peculiar form of impulse, instead of passively receiving a full-fledged percept from the agent’s mind, where nothing in the least resembling such a percept had any conscious place.

    An unknown quantity—the peculiar form of impulse—has, no doubt, here to be assumed; for unless the transferred idea involves a certain impulsive force which causes the mind to react on it, and to project it as a hallucination, why does it not remain as a mere idea?

    {i-538}

    It might, indeed, be not unreasonably replied that it does remain as a mere idea in many cases, as we saw in the 6th chapter; and that there may be many other cases where it never reaches the stage of even a conscious idea—never forces itself on the attention at all,—and where, therefore, we never hear anything about it (see p. 97). We have already had numerous experimental instances of what may be called “underground telepathy”: in Mr. Newnham’s cases, for instance, (pp. 64–70,) no one would ever have known that there had been a transference of ideas, but for the fact—which was not in any way vital to the transference—that Mrs. Newnham had her hand on a planchette at the time. And if we could conceive that a great deal of spontaneous

    telepathy takes place similarly underground and unnoticed, then we might regard the sensory phantasms as a sort of accidental group—as just the cases which here and there get above ground, owing to some exceptional favouring condition in the percipient. The question why an idea that has been telepathically transferred should give rise to a hallucination, might thus be answered by saying that it does so only in the proportion in which purely subjective ideas develop purely subjective hallucinations—the specific cause being as unknown in the one case as in the other. All this, however, is highly hypothetical; and we need not shrink from the provisional hypothesis that a telepathically-conveyed idea which is to some extent charged with emotion, really has a certain peculiar tendency to develop into hallucination. Our very ignorance in some measure justifies this assumption; for unable as for the most part we are to connect transient hallucinations of the sane with any antecedent condition at all, we need the less scruple to admit a novel condition when we find one. And in connection with such an onward passage of the impression, it is very pertinent to recall the particular impulsive quality which we found to attach to some of the experimental transferences—where the impulse took effect not in sensory but in muscular disturbances, (see pp. 74–9, and 84.)1 1 I may note further how the very fact of an unrecognised telepathic phantasm bears witness to the suggested specific tendency of telepathic impressions to pass into hallucinations. We have had instances, in former chapters, of vague but strong impressions, not connected by the percipient at the time with any particular person, which afterwards seemed to have been due to the condition of a particular person. Now one would have supposed, if an undistinctive telepathic idea was to assume more definiteness, that it must be by becoming a distinctive idea, an idea of the particular agent. But what we find is that the undistinctive telepathic idea sometimes becomes more definite in a quite different way—namely, by becoming an undistinctive percept, an unrecognised form. It is hurried on into hallucination, so to speak, without having first declared itself as an idea; it assumes the definiteness of visible shape, while yet its content or message remains indefinite.

    To return, however, to the actual content of the percepts, and {i-539} their relation to the ideas from which they spring. If once it be granted that the telepathic phantasm need not be the literal embodiment of any clearly-defined idea or image, but may be worked out from a suggestion of a vague kind, we should certainly be prepared for variety and independence in the working out. The mind is no mere collection of separate compartments, into which new ideas will fit and then rest in a passive way; but an organism of interacting parts, where any change or any intruding element may set in motion whole trains of images and associations. We know what small and dim suggestions will sometimes set large tracts of mental machinery to work; we may therefore well credit the vaguer or sub-conscious order of telepathic impressions with such a power. What more natural, then, than that these further images and associations should be embodied in the sensory projection? We have already noted the process in dreams; we found the telepathic impression operating not to suspend or fetter, but simply to invoke and inform, the spontaneous activities of the dreaming condition. We have since caught the percipient mind at work, so to speak, in the gradual stages which waking hallucinations often present; and we have noted the originative activity which often goes to the shaping of purely subjective specimens. What is now suggested is that the waking mind may unconsciously react, as in a dream, on the nucleus of a “transferred impression,” and, in the act of externalising the percept, may invest it with its own atmosphere and imagery.1 1 The psychological identity of hallucinations and dreams—alike in subjective and in telepathic cases—is a point which I am the more anxious to enforce in that there seems sometimes to be a difficulty in catching it. For example, a leading daily paper contrasts members of the Society for Psychical Research with the sensible people “who believe that all those apparitions and stories of second-sight which engage the curiosity of that Society may be relegated to the limbo of waking dreams.” With the substitution of “class” for “limbo,” this “relegation” is precisely what the present argument seeks to effect. We shall thus have a ready explanation for many degrees of distinctness and individualisation, and many diversities of character, in what is perceived. Suppose the same kind of real event—say the peaceful death of an aged parent—to occur in twenty cases, and in each of them to produce a real and unique sort of disturbance in some absent person’s mind; then, if that disturbance clothed itself in some sensory form—or, as I should say, if it reached the point of causing hallucination—the hallucination might take twenty different forms. One percipient may hear his parent’s voice; another may imagine the touch of his hand upon his head; a third may see him in his wonted dress and aspect; a fourth may see him as he might appear when dying; a fifth {i-540} may see him in some transfigured aspect; a sixth may see a figure or hear a voice resembling his, but not recognise it, or recognise it only in recollection; and others may invest the disturbing idea with every sort of visible symbolism, derived from their minds’ habitual furniture and their wonted trains of thought.

    § 6. This frequent activity of the percipient’s mind in the elaboration and projection of his percept forms a ready key to much of the evidence that follows. How, for instance, on any theory of merely passive affection of the percipient’s mind or senses, could we account for the appearance of a dying friend, attired in the style of dress which was habitual to him at the time when the percipient associated with him, but which has been discontinued, or, at any rate, is not that in which he would be pictured in his own mind? The “ghosts of clothes” in general—a stock bugbear—are the simplest things in the world to explain on a theory of telepathic impressions; but the ghosts of old clothes-—how could they be impressed ab extra?from outside What, on the other hand, is more natural, when once the percipient’s active share in the phenomenon is recognised, than that he should do what we saw Mr. W. A. S. do in the neutral case quoted above (p. 517, note)—that he should invest the idea of his friend with the visual traits that memory supplies, and should project the figure into space in its most familiar aspect?

    A few instances of this sort may be quoted. The first is from Miss Cressy, of Riverhead, near Sevenoaks.

    “December 18th, 1883.

    (200) “My younger brother was in Australia, and had not written to his family for some four or five months, from which my mother had concluded he must be dead. I was sitting with her and my sister in our dining-room one morning, about 11 o’clock, engaged with my sister in writing a German exercise. Being at a loss for the right declension, I looked up, repeating the declension, when I saw my brother standing on the lawn in front of the window apparently looking at us. I jumped up, saying to my mother, ‘Don’t be frightened, mother, but there is T. come back all right.’ (My mother had heart disease, and I feared the sudden shock.) ‘Where?’ said my mother and sister, ‘I don’t see him.’ ‘He is there,’ I answered, ‘for I saw him; he is gone to the front door,’ and we all ran to the door. My father, who was in his library, heard the commotion, and opened his door to ask the cause. I had by this time opened the front door, and not seeing my brother, I thought he was hiding for fun among the shrubs, so I called out, ‘Come, T., come in, do not play the fool or you will kill dear mother.’ No one answered, and then my mother exclaimed, ‘Oh, you did not see him really, he is dead, I know he is dead.’ I was mystified, but it did not seem to me the right solution of the mystery. I {i-541} could not think he was dead, he looked so honestly alive. To tell the truth, I believed for some time that he was in the garden. However, he was not, nor was he dead. About a year afterwards he returned home, and when recounting his troubles, he told us that he had been very ill, and that while he was delirious he had constantly requested his comrades to lay him under the great cedar tree on his father’s lawn, and turning to my father he went on, ‘Yes, father, and do you know I seemed to see the dear old place as plain as I do now.’ ‘When was that?’ said my father.

    He gave the date, and my mother, who had written it down, looked and said, ‘Why, that was the very time when your sister declared she saw you on the lawn.’ ‘Yes,’ said my father, ‘and your mother at once killed you,’ and there was a good laugh at my expense.

    “I have often thought over it, but have never been able to account for it. This brother was not a particular favourite. Had it been my sister, I could have supposed that, as she was rarely absent from my mind, I might have conjured up her form in my imagination. Then I would have bitten my tongue out rather than have startled my mother. But I never doubted for a moment that my brother was there. I was about 25 years of age, and had no theory as to ghosts or spirits in general. I was at that time far too much occupied with the cares and anxieties of the family to have time to dwell on such fancies, and was also too matter-of-fact to think much about such phenomena. I remember at the time, that I saw my brother dressed as he usually was when he came home from London, not as he was when he left home, nor as he could be in Australia, nor as I had ever seen him when walking in the garden. He had on a tall hat and a black cloth suit, neither of which he had taken with him. Of course, at the moment none of these thoughts occurred to me, but when, in consequence of the jokes and ridicule at my expense, I tried to follow up the ideas that had been floating through my mind, to see whether they had any connection with my absent brother, I could make nothing of it.

    “A. CRESSY.”

    In answer to inquiries, Miss Cressy adds:—

    “I have delayed answering your last communication in the hope of recalling the name of some person still living to whom I had mentioned the vision about which I wrote to you, but I am sorry to say there is no one. I only am left of all the party. You ask when it occurred. As nearly as I can remember it was at the beginning of 1854. My brother left England for Melbourne in September or October, 1852. As nearly as I can remember, I got his first letter at the beginning or middle of May, 1853. We got three or four letters in succession, the last saying that he and his companions were going to Fryers Creek diggings. Then we heard nothing more for eight months. During those eight months it was that I saw him as I have described. I believe it was February, 1854.

    “I have never before or since had any apparition, and that was the reason I wrote you the account of it, because it seemed to me to prove that it was no hallucination,1 1 The word is of course used here in its common sense of purely subjective hallucination. but simple fact. I was then young and vigorous; I had no superstitions, never having experienced any exceptional sorrows: those I had gone through were common enough, and more calculated to develop the matter-of-fact side of my character than to induce a morbid or dreamy imagination. That brother was always said to {i-542} be very like me, and it is a singular fact that in matter of health we suffered very much alike. He always leant on me when in any trouble, and his thoughts during that illness might almost unconsciously have wandered to me.”

    Miss Cressy tells me that her recollection of her mother’s entry of the date in her pocket-book, and of the reference to this date after her brother’s return, is quite distinct; and it is a confirmation of this that, unprompted by me, she had made a search for the book, which, however, could not be found. She considers that the dress and rapid disappearance of the figure would alone exclude the hypothesis of mistaken identity; but, in fact, the figure was close to the window; and had not the recognition been absolute and startling, she would never, she says, have exclaimed as she did, since the importance of not causing any shock to her mother was much on her mind.

    The next case (which again exemplifies the development of a feeling of presence into distinct hallucination) is from Mrs. Bolland, of 7, Cranbury Terrace, Southampton, the narrator of case 126 above.

    “July, 1884.

    (201) “About March, 1875, the circumstances hereafter detailed happened to me at Gibraltar. I wrote an account of them from memory in 1878. It was published in All the Year Round, of August, I think, that year, but I have not since seen it, so I can only give the story as far as I remember it now.

    “I was lying down in my drawing-room on a bright sunshiny afternoon, reading a chapter on Chalk Streams in ‘Kingsley’s Miscellanies,’ when I suddenly felt that some one was waiting to speak to me. I looked up from my book and saw a man standing beside an arm-chair, which was about 6 feet from me. He was looking most intently at me, with an extraordinary earnest expression in his eyes, but as I walked forward to speak to him, he disappeared.1 1 Cf. case 196, and see Vol. ii., p. 91, second note.

    “The room was about 18 feet long, and at the further end of it I saw our servant [Pearson], holding open the door as if he had admitted a visitor. Thinking that perhaps he too was but a delusion, I spoke to him, asking if anyone had called. To which he replied, ‘No one, ma’am,’ and walked away. I then tested myself as to whether I had been sleeping, seeing that it was 10 minutes since I lay down. I said to myself what I thought I had read, began my chapter again, and in 10 minutes had reached the same point.

    “I then thought it over again. I knew the face quite well, but could not say whose it was, but the suit of clothes impressed me strongly as being exactly like one which my husband had given to a servant named Ramsay the previous year. This man was a discharged soldier whom I had found in a dying state in Inverness, and who had been taken into our service after leaving the infirmary. He turned out badly and I had to send him away before we went to Gibraltar [in February, 1875], but he was taken on as waiter at the Inverness Club, and I had no cause to be anxious about him, as I thought he was well and doing well, and would probably profit by his past experience and keep that situation.

    {i-543}

    “I told my husband when he came in what I had seen, and also told his colonel’s wife (now Lady Laffan), but did not put down the date. But almost as soon, I believe, as a letter could have come from Inverness, my husband received one from his late sergeant, to say that Ramsay was dead, but giving no particulars. To this my husband wrote that he was sorry, and would like to hear ‘any particulars of his illness and death.’ This was the answer: ‘Ramsay died in hospital, raving, and calling incessantly for Mrs. Bolland.’

    “I will only add that I believe the face of the man I saw was that of Ramsay as I had known him at first, when I visited him as a dying man in the infirmary. But seeing him every day as my servant, and in health, it had passed from my mind, or rather did not connect itself with this man in my memory.

    “I may add that I had been in ill-health for some years, but at that time was stronger than I ever was in my life, the warm climate suiting me—so well that I felt a strength and enjoyment of life for its own sake, which was a delight to me.

    “KATE E. BOLLAND.”

    In reply to inquiries, Mrs. Bolland adds, “This is the only instance in which I have ever experienced a hallucination of the sense of sight.”

    The following corroboration is from Lieut.-Colonel Bolland, R.E.:—

    “July 20th, 1884.

    “With regard to the apparition at Gibraltar, Mrs. Bolland mentioned it to me an hour or two after she saw it, which would be about 4 or 5 o’clock in the afternoon. She said she knew the face, but she could not say whose it was, but distinctly recognised the clothes worn as being like a suit I had given to Ramsay when in Inverness.

    “The news of his death was a shock, coming shortly afterwards; and I wrote to my late sergeant on the Ordnance Survey at Inverness (Sergeant Dedman, R.B.), for particulars, with the result which Mrs. Bolland has told you.

    “G. HERBERT BOLLAND.”

    “We learn from Mr. J. Wilson Black, house-surgeon at the Northern Infirmary, Inverness, who has kindly referred to the books, that Archibald Ramsay was admitted to that institution on Feb. 24, 1875, suffering from tumour of the brain, and died on March 9. Mr. Black adds:—“None of the officials at present in the house were in it at the time; and I am consequently unable to say at what hour he died.” Mrs. Bolland has kindly endeavoured to find out, from the Library at Gibraltar, on what day she took out the book that she was reading; but without success.

    We find that the above account completely agrees with the fuller one in All the Year Round. That account, however, contains a more complete explanation of the non-recognition of the face. As regards the momentary mistaking of the man for a

    visitor, these words occur: “I will only remind you that, as far as appearances went, the man was a gentleman. He had gentle birth on one side, was always refined in his manners, and, moreover, was dressed in a suit of clothes of which no gentleman need have been ashamed.” The paper ends with the following additional incident:—

    “There is one odd fact as a pendant to this little story. The man Pearson, whom we had just brought all the way from the Ultima Thule of the ancients, at great expense, gave warning that day, because, he said, {i-544} ‘the house was haunted.’ He gave no explanation, and I said nothing, as the reason of his sudden wish to leave only reached me through my maid. You will remember that he stood at the door, having apparently shown in my mysterious visitor. Had his notice to quit come a day later, I should have said he heard other servants speaking of the circumstance in houses where I had mentioned it. But he gave it that day and before I had spoken of it at all. Nor have I heard up to this moment what he meant. Puzzled but not alarmed myself, I would not risk frightening my household, so when my maid told me what he had said, I only replied, ‘Nonsense!’ and that was the end of it. He left us, and the news of Ramsay’s death came after he had gone, or I think I should have felt inclined then to question him.”

    The narrator in the following case, Miss S., fears that publication of her name might be disadvantageous to her.

    “March 11th, 1884.

    (202) “In August, 1881, I had been ordered by my doctor to take absolute rest, not even to read at all, and to do no work whatever. I therefore took lodgings in a cottage near London for a few weeks. During the last 6 or 7 years, I had been rather intimate with a lady (Mrs. A.), whose daughter I had instructed during that period. This lady had gone to the sea-side with her family during the summer holidays, but had sent me a message, before she left town, that the suddenness of her departure had prevented her from coming to see me, but that she would certainly do so on her return. In the meantime I had heard, through mutual friends, that she and her family were in good health, and would probably return about the middle of September.

    “About 3 weeks after Mrs. A.’s departure, I was expecting a friend to come and see me, and had ordered a carriage, to take her a drive. [sic] The morning proved wet, and she did not come, and after waiting some time, I went out alone, in an open landau, at about 3.30 or perhaps as late as 4 p.m. I had not left the house more than 20 minutes, when, in an open lane, I saw coming towards me Mrs. A. with one of her younger children. She was sitting in her own victoria, which I knew well. As she sat I saw only the three-quarter face; but I recognised the bonnet, and also the sealskin jacket, which she was wearing, as one that she generally wore in winter. I remember them particularly, because it struck me, as the carriage approached, that it was very odd of her to be wearing a sealskin jacket in August. Just as the carriage came up to me, and was passing me, so near that if I had put out my arm I could have touched it, I sat up, and called out, ‘Oh, Mrs. A’ She did not move or turn her form towards me, but seemed to be half-turned towards the child, who sat on the further side of me. I was very much astonished at this, and then I turned round to look after the victoria, and, as far as my recollection serves me, I saw it slowly drive away. I am perfectly sure that I could not have been mistaken; I was never more certain of anything in my life than that I had actually seen my friend and her little child.

    “For the next 10 minutes or so, I was puzzling to think what could have brought her back to London, and was very vexed with myself for not having at once told the coachman to turn and drive after the carriage. I did, however, as soon as I could collect my senses, tell him to drive home {i-545} as quickly as possible; and as soon as I reached the cottage I said to my landlady, ‘There is a lady and a little girl waiting for me upstairs, I suppose?’ When she assured me that there was not, I at once sent the servant over to my sister’s house, about 10 minutes’ walk off, to see if Mrs. A. had perhaps gone there. When the servant came back with no tidings of her, I was very much astonished, and couldn’t help wondering over it for the rest of the evening.

    “Two or three days afterwards, I asked the landlady to get me a daily paper, feeling a longing to read something; and, at my landlady’s urgent entreaty not to tire myself, I said that I would only look at the births, deaths and marriages. There I saw the announcement of the death of Mrs. A. at the sea-side, on the very day when, as I thought, I had passed her in her carriage, near London.

    “I afterwards learned from her relations that she had died after a very short illness, at 6 p.m. on that day, and that she had lain in a state of unconsciousness for some hours before her death. It could not have been much less than two hours before her death—that is during the time when she lay unconscious—that I saw her.

    “E. L. S.”

    We find the announcement of the death in three London daily papers for August 30th, 1881.

    In conversation, Miss S. stated that she had never been the subject of any hallucination. She is short-sighted, but wears suitable glasses, and was wearing them on this occasion. No corroborative testimony can be obtained. The landlady was very old, and very unlikely, even if now alive, to remember so trifling an incident as Miss S.’s question about the supposed callers; and Miss S.’s sister was absent from home when the inquiry was made at her house.

    This might conceivably have been a case of mistaken identity. But it would have been an extraordinary one; and the sealskin jacket in August would have been as odd a costume for any real person as Miss S. conceived it to be for her friend. It is worth mentioning that visions of horses and carriages are a known species of purely subjective hallucination;1 1 Cf. Dr. C. M. Smith’s case, p. 499, note; and see also some collective hallucinations in Chap. xviii, § 5, and the apparently telepathic case, No. 264. Occasionally a subjective experience takes a still more elaborate form. Thus an informant who at one time had a slight tendency to visual hallucination, describes seeing, when quite awake, the details of a complete funeral procession. A somewhat similar telepathic case will be quoted in the Supplement, No. 586; see also case 207 below. But the more elaborate scenes, so far as I can judge, are generally of the less externalised sort which were treated in Chap. vi. as vivid mental pictures, not sensory hallucinations. and it is therefore not as strange as it might appear that a telepathic hallucination should assume this elaborate form. But more important is the appearance of a second human figure—that of the dying friend’s child. I have already (p. 426) pointed to a similar feature in one of the “borderland” cases as an indication that telepathic percepts, in their sensory character, {i-546} are really projections from within. I may now point out, as a fresh instance of parallelism between telepathic and casual subjective phantasms, the extreme rarity of the cases in which a second figure thus appears. In my large collection of subjective hallucinations of vision—putting out of the question the peculiar illusions hypnagogiques (pp. 473–4)—I find only seven cases, that is, less than 3 per cent., presenting more than one human figure;1 1 See Dr. Smith’s case, p. 499, note, and Mrs. Hunter’s case described in §4, above. Further telepathic instances are Nos. 188, 195, 492, 511, 519, 568, 673; besides the cases in which a complete scene with several figures has been represented, as Nos. 299, 505, 548. In case 185 there was the sense of a second person’s presence, but the hallucination was of one figure only. The dream-case, No. 128, is also worth comparing, as illustrating the identity of the process by which the sleeping and the waking mind may react upon and embody a telepathic impression. three of which occurred to percipients who were in bed, while in two others the percipients were extremely young. And among the telepathic examples in this book, I find almost exactly the same proportion.

    As further illustrating the construction of the phantasm from material which the percipient’s mind supplies, I may mention a point in case 184. On the day when little Isidore left Paris for London, his hair was cut very short; and the long “fringe,” which was removed, could not (the narrator says) have grown to its customary length in the month which followed before the death.[☼] But, as he adds, “In my memory his image still preserved the usual features, with the fringe over his forehead; and on the morning when the vision awoke me, I saw him with the fringe over his forehead.”2 2 It may be remembered that Mr. Keulemans had in the evening a second vision of his child, which was treated above as a mere recrudescence of the morning’s hallucination. Mr. Keulemans himself, however, is inclined to explain it otherwise. His grounds are that this second vision, which took place in the bright gaslight of the billiard-room, represented the boy’s figure, in an attitude suggestive of death, enclosed as it were in a dark cellar or vault, with a little window in it; and he afterwards found that at that hour the dead body had been taken to a mortuary, which he afterwards saw, and which vividly recalled the visionary scene. (I attach more importance to these details than I should otherwise do, on account of the care which Mr. Keulemans has brought to bear on the study of his own visual impressions, and of his training in habits of accurate observation.) He suggests that this second vision was due to a telepathic impulse from his wife’s mother, who had the body conveyed to the mortuary and whose thoughts were naturally directed to him. Now on this view of the “agency” the experience none the less involves an independent contribution on the part of the percipient. For he saw the child’s figure, though as if dead, in his little blue sailor suit; which was familiar to him, but which we can hardly conceive to have been present, in association with the ideas of death and burial, in his mother-in-law’s mind. In another “borderland” case, No. 495, where the phantasm of a dying female relative appeared, the dress—“out-door walking costume, the bonnet being a prominent part of it”—was that in which the percipient had last seen her, nine years previously; in a waking case, No. 555, where the phantasm represented the percipient’s mother, “the attire was the same in which I had last seen her several {i-547} years before;” and in another waking case, No. 645, the phantasm appeared in a dress which the agent had not worn or seen for nine months, but which she had been wearing during the weeks when the percipient had last been in her company. (See also case 552.)

    § 7. The examination of these precise points may lead us on to more general ground. If we admit a power in the percipient to evolve a waking dream from the nucleus of a “transferred impression,” we at once get rid of what has been a very real obstacle to the recognition of the telepathic evidence. Phantasms having often been conceived as in some way objective and independent presences, it has seemed to the sceptic that all idea of reality about them was sufficiently refuted, if they possessed features which were a clear reflection of the percipient’s beliefs and ideas. Students of folklore and of comparative thaumatology have observed that such phenomena, in various times and countries, have borne a perceptible relation to prevalent habits and opinions; and if specimens which have coincided with, and so seemed to announce and typify, unusual events, have borne a similar relation, it has been easy to argue for their purely subjective character from this subordinate point, and to ignore the essential point—the fact of the coincidence. This wrong issue is precluded as soon as the analogy of dream is boldly insisted on, and the phenomena are described as hallucinations, not presences, and as veridical, not objective. Any presumption against them, as sentimental, or superstitious, or fantastic, then loses its basis. The naked fact of coincidence can no more be sentimental or superstitious than stoical or sceptical; but subjective colourings may attach to waking hallucinations as easily as to dreams; and it cannot seem surprising that the same mental habits and traditions which give a particular character to so many of the hallucinations which are illusory through and through—hallucinations and nothing more—should give a similar character to some of the hallucinations which are not illusory through and through, but are projected under the stimulus of a true impression from the mind of some absent person. The same cast of ideas through the dominance of which a dévote may receive a false impression that she has met the Virgin in a wood, may very naturally lead her, or one like her, on the receipt of a true impression that some beloved relative is dying, to body forth the figure as robed in white and with a radiant face; and much more bizarre apparitions than this might, on the same principle, be accepted as having a causal {i-548} connection with a real event.1[☼] 1 See for instance, the narrative of the apparition of the Gwrach y Rhibyn, in Sikes’s British Goblins, p. 217, which was related to the author at first-hand, in 1878. This extraordinary phantasm, a dreaded local celebrity, seems on the occasion described to have supplied the embodiment for a real telepathic impression. The opportunity for observing such phenomena in telepathic cases is, no doubt, limited by the fact that cases of any evidential weight are almost confined to quite modern days, and for the present to the more advanced nations; but it is possible that as interest in the subject increases, a wider area will be covered. Meanwhile we have quite enough cases to illustrate the point.

    As examples of phantasmal appearances presenting features which would in reality be impossible, the following three accounts may serve. The first is from Mrs. Allom, of 18, Batoum Gardens, West Kensington Park, W.

    “June 28th, 1885.

    (203) “I have not the least objection to giving an account of the apparition I had of my mother, which appeared to me at the time of her death, although it is a subject I have very rarely mentioned, partly that it is an occurrence I hold very sacred, and partly that I do not care to have my story doubted or laughed at.

    “I went to school in Alsace in October, 1852, when I was 17, leaving my mother in England in delicate health. About Christmas, 1853, 14 months after I left home, I heard that my mother’s health was worse, but I had no idea that she was in any danger. It was the last Sunday in February, 1854, between 1 and 2 o’clock, I was seated in a large schoolroom reading, when suddenly the figure of my mother appeared to me at the far end of the room. She was reclining as if in bed, in her night-dress. Her face was turned towards me with a sweet smile, and one hand was raised and pointing upwards.

    “Gently the figure moved across the room, ascending as it went until it disappeared. Both the face and figure were wasted as if by sickness, as I never had seen her in life, and deadly pale.

    “From the moment I saw the apparition I felt convinced my mother was dead. So impressed was I that I was unable to attend to my studies; and it was positive pain to me to see my younger sister playing and amusing herself with her companions.

    “Two or three days after, my governess, after prayers, called me to her private room. As soon as we entered I said, ‘You need not tell me. I know my mother is dead!’ She asked me how I could possibly know. I gave no explanation, but told her I had known it for three days. I afterwards heard my mother died on that Sunday, at the time I had seen her, and that she had passed away in an unconscious state, having been unconscious for some day or two before her death.

    “I am by no means an imaginative, sensitive woman, and never before or since have I experienced anything similar.

    “ISABEL ALLOM.”

    Mrs. Allom’s mother was Mrs. Carrick, wife of Mr. Thomas Carrick, the well-known miniature-painter. Mrs. Allom has kindly procured a {i-549} copy of an entry inscribed by her father in an old family Bible, which states that Mrs. Carrick died on January 30th, 1854; and we have verified the date in the Times. This day, we find, was a Monday, not a Sunday.

    Mrs. Allom is sure that she has never had a hallucination on any other occasion. She once, however, had a rather marked illusion, when a Christmas-tree assumed momentarily, to her eyes, the aspect of her mother’s form. She is a practical person, and assures me that she has all her life been free from fancies and superstitions.

    Her sister was delicate and nervous, and on that account Mrs. Allom did not tell her of the vision above described. If she is correct in her recollection that her experience was on a Sunday, and is not merely inferring that, by combining her recollection of the closeness of the coincidence with her idea that the death was on a Sunday, the hallucination must still have fallen at a time of most critical illness. That she has said February, instead of January, seems to be an obvious slip either of writing or memory; as that the vision should have followed the death by a month, or even by a week, is wholly inconsistent with the rest of the statement.

    The next case is from Mrs. C, the narrator of case 80 above, to which the following sentence was appended:—

    (204) “At another time I saw a figure of a friend pass before me, ascending. I received a letter to say she had died that night.”

    In answer to inquiries, the narrator added:—

    “February 19th, 1884.

    “As to your question relating to the vision of my friend, I was saying my prayers, and immediately mentioned it to my husband [since deceased], and have subsequently mentioned it to others. She was in Cheltenham, and I had left her shortly before, she promising to come to town to consult a doctor on a painful but not dangerous complaint. It appears she had eaten a pork chop, and was very sick. Her husband not apprehending any danger, asked a friend to see to her and stay with her, while he went to business. She was sick all day, and to their horror, died that night.

    “E. C.”

    Mrs. C. further mentions that she has a ring which gives Sept. 25, 1852, as the date of her friend’s death.

    In conversation, Mrs. C, who is a practical person with no leaning to superstitious fancies, told me that she was not thinking of her friend when the vision was seen. It was completely external, but in the air, so to speak, and high up. It is the only hallucination that Mrs. C. has ever experienced.

    The next case is from the Memoirs of Georgiana, Lady Chatterton (1878), by E. H. Dering, the second husband of Lady Chatterton, pp. 185–186. The author says:—

    (205) “In March, 1869, while we were at Malvern Wells, an event occurred, which the reader will, of course, take for what he thinks it is worth, but which I cannot see my way to explain as a coincidence.1 1 This word is often, but very unfortunately, used as equivalent to chance-coincidence. She (i.e., Lady Chatterton) had a great regard for Father Hewitt, O.S.B.; and he had {i-550} always shown a very marked sympathy for her in her difficulties. One afternoon she said, ‘I am sure that dear Father Hewitt is dead. I saw him just now, when I went upstairs, as clearly as possible, dressed in the Benedictine habit, only it was of dazzling whiteness. He seemed high above me in the air,1 1 Other examples of a figure seen above the percipient, or ascending, are Nos. 163, 352, and 512. and he looked at me. I knew then that he was dead.’ It was about 2 o’clock in the afternoon. The next morning’s post brought us the news that he died at the time when she saw him.”

    In reference to this incident, Lady Chatterton’s niece, Mrs. Ferrers, of Baddesley Clinton, Knowle, writes to us as follows:—

    “March 24th, 1885.

    “I was with her at Malvern Wells at the time, in some lodgings that we hired for a few weeks; and Father Hewitt was then at Woolton, a village in Warwickshire, my aunt and Mr. Dering renting Woolton Hall that year. I cannot give you the exact date, but I remember that it was one day in Easter week of that year (1869). I was in the drawing-room of those lodgings after luncheon, about a quarter past 2 o’clock, when my aunt came downstairs from her bedroom and told me that she was quite sure Father Hewitt was dead for she had seen him, &c. We all knew that he was ill of one of his usual severe attacks of gall-stones, but that complaint is not considered a fatal one, and so we were full of hopes that we should find him better on our return home. He was one of the best and dearest of our friends, and his death, corroborated the next morning by hearing his name given out at Mass,2 2 In this detail there is an apparent, though perhaps not a real, discrepancy from Mr. Dering’s account. to be prayed for among the dead, was a heavy blow to us all. We afterwards heard that he had died at 2 o’clock on the day my aunt saw him.

    “REBECCA H. FERRERS.”

    [We learn from the Provincial of Canterbury, the Rev. H. E. Moore, that the date of the Rev. Peter Joseph Hewitt’s death was March 11th, 1869. Easter Sunday in that year fell on March 28th; Mrs. Ferrers is therefore mistaken in supposing the occurrence to have taken place in Easter week; but this is not material. The coincidence was probably exact to a quarter-of-an-hour.]

    The luminous appearance of the figure here should be specially remarked. For luminosity is a sufficiently frequent feature both in purely subjective and in telepathic hallucinations, to be included as a fresh point of resemblance between the two classes. It is possibly to definite hallucinations of this character that we should trace the widely-diffused superstition which finds in a mysterious light the sign of a supernatural presence;3 3 See Mr. Andrew Lang’s remarks in the Nineteenth Century for April, 1885, p. 629. The following passage occurs in Rink’s Tales and Traditions of the Eskimo (1875), p. 43.” The Supernatural Rulers, or Inue, as far as they may be perceived by the natural senses, generally have the appearance of a fire or bright light; and to see them is in every case very dangerous, partly by causing tantamingnek—viz., frightening to death—partly as foreshadowing the death of a relative (nâsârnek).” Superstitions of this sort are likely enough to produce the very experiences on which they feed; but the hallucinations of light described in the present work are certainly not suggestive of anything like tantamingnek. but considering how natural the {i-551} symbolism of light is in connection with supernatural ideas, such a hypothesis is perhaps superfluous. It is at any rate not possible to reverse the process, and to trace the hallucinations to the superstition; for they go on occurring in the present day, as my collection alone would show, to persons who have no previous acquaintance with or belief in the superstition. The light occurs in various forms and degrees. One form already mentioned (p. 437) is the impression of a dark room as illuminated, which is sometimes experienced on waking. In the group of non-human phantasms described above, we found a star, a firework, a firefly, a bright oval, a chandelier (p. 503, and see also Vol. II., pp. 193–4). Among the subjective human phantasms, seven appeared with a candle in the hand. In a considerable number of the nocturnal cases, though no special radiance is mentioned, the aspect of the figure seems to have been far more distinct and detailed than that of a real person would have been,11 See p. 462, note, and Vol. ii., p. 72, note.e.g., the grotesque appearance mentioned in Vol. II., p. 237, note, which was remarkable for brilliance of costume, “disappeared, leaving the room in darkness”; and in other cases the figure has appeared as radiant.2 2 As telepathic cases which present the same points, I may refer to Nos. 163, 178, 184, 210, 213, 220, 230, 250, 253, 311, 314, 315, 323, 332, 491, 494, 498, 512, 513 (2), 515, 550, 553, 567, 658, 673, 702. Luminosity is also a marked feature of some of the dream-cases, e.g., Nos. 449,

    460, 464. The position in which the phantasm was projected in the last two cases quoted may have been the result of some dim idea of departure or transition. In other cases there is the distinct symbolism of death. Two such cases, of the “borderland” class, have been already given (Nos. 178 and 190). The following example belongs to a season of active waking life. The percipient, Lieut.-Colonel Jones, of 8, Sussex Place, N.W., is a man as free from superstition as can well be imagined, who has never experienced any other hallucination whatever. He has shown us a letter, written at the time, in which his father alludes to the apparition.

    “1883.

    (206) “In 1845 I was stationed with my regiment at Moulmein, in Burmah. In those days there was no direct mail, and we were dependent upon the arrival of sailing vessels for our letters, which sometimes arrived in batches, and occasionally we were months without any news from home.

    “On the evening of the 24th of March, 1845, I was, with others, dining at a friend’s house, and when sitting in the verandah after dinner, with the other guests, in the middle of a conversation on some local affairs, I all at once distinctly saw before me the form of an open coffin, with a favourite sister of mine, then at home, lying in it apparently dead. I {i-552} naturally ceased talking, and everyone looked at me in astonishment, and asked what was the matter. I mentioned, in a laughing manner, what I had seen, and it was looked upon as a joke. I walked home later with an officer very much my senior (the late Major-General George Briggs, retired, Madras Artillery, then Captain Briggs), who renewed the subject, and asked whether I had received any news as to my sister’s illness. I said no, and that my last letters from home were dated some three months prior. He asked me to make a note of the circumstance, as he had before heard of such occurrences. I did so, and showed him the entry I made opposite the day of the month in an almanack. On the 17th of May following, I received a letter from home announcing my sister’s death as having taken place on that very day—viz., the 24th of March, 1845.

    “R. WALLER JONES.”

    As to the coincidence of hour, Colonel Jones only learnt that the death occurred in the morning of the 24th. His vision was seen after an early dinner, so that, allowing for longitude, the correspondence of time was certainly near, and may have been exact. There had been a very close attachment between sister and brother.

    We may regard the next two cases—one visual and one auditory—as exemplifying the religious investiture of a telepathic impression. The first, in which the accuracy of the description “waking dream” is specially well shown, is from Mrs. Larcombe, of 8, Runton Street, Hornsey Rise, N., a sensible and superior person who has seen a good deal of the world. She has had no other hallucination, unless an unexplained appearance seen by her in early childhood, and by others as well as herself, was of that character.

    “July 17th, 1882.

    (207) “When I was about 18 or 19, I went to stay in Guernsey. This would be about 30 years ago. About 10 a.m., one day, I was sitting in the kitchen, blowing up the fire with the bellows. I heard some very beautiful music, and stopped to listen, at the same time looking up. I saw above me thousands of angels, as tight as they could be packed, seeming to rise far above and beyond me. They were only visible as far as the head and shoulders. In front of them all I saw my friend, Anne Cox. As I looked and listened, the music seemed to die away in the distance, and at the same time, the angels seemed to pass away into the distance, and vanish like smoke.

    “I ran up to Miss White, the young lady staying in the house, and told her what I had seen. She said, ‘You may be sure your friend, Anne Cox, has gone to Heaven.’ I wrote home at once, to Lyme Regis, and found that Anne Cox had died that very day.

    “Anne Cox and I had been very close friends. She was just my own age, and was almost like a sister to me.

    “M. A. LARCOMBE.”

    Mrs. Larcombe states positively that she was in no anxiety about her friend, and had no knowledge of her illness. She cannot recall where the {i-553} death occurred, and it has therefore been impossible to discover its exact date.

    The next case is from Mrs. Udny, of 61, Westbourne Park Villas, W.

    “July, 1883.

    (208) “This family story fell within my own recollection, and I can vouch for the accuracy of the facts. The dates put it beyond any question of being imagined after the circumstances had occurred.

    “In January, 1850, my husband (George Udny, of the Bengal Civil Service) was in Calcutta, and I was living in London. His sister Emily (Mrs. Ryan) was living near me in London, and her husband, Edmund Ryan, was in Calcutta.

    “On the 20th February, 1850, I received a letter from my husband, saying poor Edmund was very ill. Owing to some political news of importance my letter of the 9th had come with a Government dispatch a day later than the ordinary mail of the 8th, the regular mail-day.

    “Soon after receiving my letter, on the same day, my sister-in-law, Emily Ryan, came to me in great anxiety to know if I had any later news of her husband than the 9th, as she also had heard he was very ill. I explained to her how impossible it was that there should be any later news, as the 9th itself was later than I had ever known the mail leave before. She then explained the reason for her extreme anxiety for news to the 10th January, and told me the following curious circumstance:—

    “On the 10th January, she had been engaged in her devotions between 11 a.m. and noon, according to her custom; for she was in the habit of rising late, and did not make her appearance in the family circle till the middle of the day, While thus engaged on her knees, and making her husband the special subject of her prayers, she thought some one spoke quite distinctly close to her ear, ‘Pray not for him, he is in Eternity. Be still and know that I am God.’

    “She was so much astonished, she thought some one must have come into the room unperceived by her, and rose from her knees and looked around her, but could see no one. She was, however, so much impressed by the circumstance that she wrote it down at once, with the date of day and hour, and sealing up the paper, carried it downstairs and gave it to the care of a young niece living in the house (Tempè Raikes), telling her to keep the seal unbroken till she asked for it.

    “On the morning she came to me, 20th February, hearing of her husband’s serious illness on the 8th January, she had asked for her sealed note and had broken the seal and read in the presence of her mother and aunt the above circumstance, and finding the date, which she had forgotten, only two days later than her news from Calcutta, came off to me to inquire for later news, but only heard my letter of the 9th.

    “She had, therefore, to await the arrival of another mail—a fortnight after—when the letters of the 23rd January, arriving on the 8th March, told her that her poor husband had died on the 10th January, between 5 and 6 p.m.—the exact time, allowing for the difference of longitude, that she had been forbidden to pray for him in London.

    A. L. UDNY.”

    We find from notices in the Gentleman’s Magazine and the Annual Register that Mr. E. B. Ryan died at Calcutta, on Jan. 10, 1850.

    {i-554}

    Mrs. Udny showed Mr. Podmore the notes (committed to paper on April 27, 1861, in order to preserve the memory of the occurrence) from which this account was taken. Mrs. Ryan, now Mrs. Hermon, cannot be questioned on the subject.

    In a second letter, Mrs. Udny adds:—

    “I have just received the enclosed from my niece—the Tempè Raikes of my family story. I think you will find it very satisfactory as to the main facts of the story. I think you will find my dates are more accurate than my niece’s; she has got a little confused as to the hours—perhaps not allowing for the difference of longitude. I distinctly remember Mrs. Ryan’s telling me that she was praying between 11 and 12 a.m., and I think I mentioned in my mem. to you that her husband died about 5 o’clock p.m., because my husband wrote that to me from Calcutta. And the singular thing which struck me at the time was that the difference would be exactly that of the longitude.”

    The enclosure was as follows:—

    “25, Victoria Square, Clifton.

    “September 16th, 1883.

    “About the story of Aunt Hermon [formerly Ryan], the facts, as far as I can recollect, are that she wrote out what had happened one morning at her private prayers, and gave me the sealed letter about it, and said in a few weeks she would

    either ask me for it to burn it, or to read it out. Six weeks after, when she heard of Uncle Ryan’s death, she asked for it and gave it to her mother; and in it she had written that, while praying for her husband (from whom she had heard nothing for 6 months), a voice came to her ears, ‘He is in Eternity.’ She went on, thinking it a silly fancy, and again it said, ‘It is too late, he is in Eternity.’ She was so convinced of its truth she left off, and was sure she would hear something had happened. He had died that very morning at 4 o’clock, for she had dated her letter, and, moreover, she was quite prepared when his death was announced to her. The overland mail in those days took six weeks coming.

    “TEMPE S. BRIGHT (née Raikes).”

    § 8. To return, however, to the details of the phantasmal appearance—the theory which I have advanced as to the projection of the percept has received illustration in cases where all its features could be, and in my view have been, supplied by the percipient’s mind. But it must now be added that there is a converse type, where the dress or aspect includes features which equally clearly could not be supplied by the percipient’s mind; and here the former explanation will, of course, not apply. In cases of this type, the actual aspect of the agent, at the time of the occurrence, has included some marked variation from anything that the percipient would naturally picture. If, then, the phantasmal appearance includes this same feature, it must be an element that the impressing mind has contributed, and not the {i-555} impressed; in other words, we must here admit that a ready-made concrete image, and not a mere idea, has been transferred from one to the other. There is no reason to doubt that such an image occupies a certain place in the agent’s mind; and when a peculiarity of aspect is temporary and accidental, it is sometimes a very prominent part of consciousness. Even when the peculiarity (as it appears to the percipient) is one to which the agent himself has become accustomed—as a change in the growth or colour of the hair—the fact remains that a certain sense of one’s own aspect probably always exists at the background of consciousness. This it is which sometimes, at the season when latent ideas are apt to assume arbitrary prominence, creates for the scantily-clad dreamer such embarrassing situations; this it is which, in rare but well-attested cases, projects the apparition (purely hallucinatory, as I should hold) of a person’s own self or “double”;1 1 These experiences seem to be of two sorts. Sometimes the percipient’s impression is that his own point of observation has been transferred to a point outside his body, whence he sees his body in the place where it really is. An instance is given in Vol. ii., p. 85, note; and my collection of hallucinations includes two other cases of the kind, in one of which the “subject” was under chloroform, and in the other was recovering from fever. Another correspondent has had impressions of the same sort, which seem to have stopped short of actual hallucination. He writes: “I have occasionally felt as though I knew that the body was lying in the bed, but that the spirit was hovering about it, and contemplating it. When this is the case I am apt to feel some difficulty in waking, and even feel a little unwell through the following morning.” With these experiences should be compared the less marked cases where the impression is simply of “going out of oneself”—a well-known feature of various abnormal conditions; see for instance Mr. Varley’s description above referred to (p. 288, note); case 215, below; and Cardan, De Varietate Rerum (Basle, 1557), p. 314. But in another class of cases the percipient retains his normal point of observation, and simply sees a phantasm representing himself at a place which is really vacant. An instance of this is case 333 (Vol. ii., p. 217); and I have another chloroform-case in which the patient, a medical man, seemed to see his own “double” contemplating him. and I may again recall the experimental indications that even ideas which cannot be recognised as part of consciousness at all may be susceptible of telepathic transference (pp. 78–9, 84). I do not indeed pretend that the analogy here can give entire satisfaction; or that the translation of a vague sub-conscious image in one mind into a sharply-defined, and at the same time a perfectly correct, percept in another, is a fact for which the rest of our evidence, whether of experimental or of spontaneous transferences, would have ever prepared us. All that I would claim is that it is a fact which the conception of psychical transferences is not inadequate to embrace. Another conception no doubt there is—that of some independent exercise of the percipient’s own faculties—which suggests itself in respect of this type of experience, as before in the cases where the percipient’s point of observation seemed transferred to a distant scene (pp. 266, 340, 368–9). But in the absence of more distinct {i-556} contemporary evidence for such exercise, I think that we should avoid even provisionally resorting to a theory which introduces problems as formidable as any that it can be employed to explain. And in the present cases, as in the former ones, since nothing is perceived that is definitely outside the agent’s range of knowledge, the extension of the percipient’s faculties—his clairvoyance, if we like to call it so—may still be perfectly well regarded as a telepathic extension, an abnormally increased power of receiving impressions from another mind, or rather a power of receiving impressions from the more withdrawn strata of another mind, under conditions of crisis or excitement.

    To come now to the evidence—as to which one preliminary remark is needed. Some of the cases to be quoted are, I think, clearly of the type described; others are also instances of it, if quite correctly recorded. But we must remember that a narrative which is completely correct as to the central facts which go to prove the telepathic origin of the phantasm, may yet be inexact in the particulars which now become important. A striking coincidence is rather apt to suggest to the imagination a detailed correspondence; and the percipient, in looking back to his experience after hearing of certain features which belonged to the aspect of his dying friend, may come to imagine that they were represented in the phantasm. Every example, therefore, must be weighed with this possibility in view.

    A genuine instance of the type, I believe, was the one already quoted (No. 194) where the grey hair was a detail of appearance which Miss R. had never imagined, and was very unlikely to conjure up. Another is the following, received in 1882 from Captain G. F. Russell Colt, of Gartsherrie, Coatbridge, N.B.

    (210) “I was at home for my holidays, and residing with my father and mother, not here, but at another old family place in Mid-Lothian, built by an ancestor in Mary Queen of Scots’ time, called Inveresk House. My bedroom was a curious old room, long and narrow, with a window at one end of the room and a door at the other. My bed was on the left of the window, looking towards the door. I had a very dear brother (my eldest brother), Oliver, lieutenant in the 7th Royal Fusiliers. He was about 19 years old, and had at that time been some months before Sebastopol. I corresponded frequently with him; and once when he wrote in low spirits, not being well, I said in answer that he was to cheer up, but that if anything did happen to him, he must let me know by appearing to me in my room, where we had often as boys together sat at night and indulged in a surreptitious pipe and chat. This letter (I found subsequently) he received as he was starting to receive the Sacrament from a clergyman who {i-557} has since related the fact to me. Having done this, he went to the entrenchments and never returned, as in a few hours afterwards the storming of the Redan commenced. He, on the captain of his company falling, took his place, and led his men bravely on. He had just led them within the walls, though already wounded in several places, when a bullet struck him on the right temple and he fell amongst heaps of others, where he was found in a sort of kneeling posture (being propped up by other dead bodies) 36 hours afterwards. His death took place, or rather he fell, though he may not have died immediately, on the 8th September, 1855.

    “That night I awoke suddenly, and saw facing the window of my room, by my bedside, surrounded by a light sort of phosphorescent mist, as it were, my brother kneeling. I tried to speak, but could not. I buried my head in the bedclothes, not at all afraid (because we had all been brought up not to believe in ghosts or apparitions), but simply to collect my ideas, because I had not been thinking or dreaming of him, and, indeed, had forgotten all about what I had written to him a fortnight before. I decided that it must be fancy, and the moonlight playing on a towel, or something out of place. But on looking up, there he was again, looking lovingly, imploringly, and sadly at me. I tried again to speak, but found myself tongue-tied. I could not utter a sound.1 1 See p. 513, note. I sprang out of bed, glanced through the window, and saw that there was no moon, but it was very dark and raining hard, by the sound against the panes. I turned, and still saw poor Oliver. I shut my eyes, walked through it,2 2 In my collection of purely subjective hallucinations there is a case where this very expression is used. It occurs also in the “ambiguous” case, p. 517, note. and reached the door of the room. As I turned the handle, before leaving the room, I looked once more back. The apparition turned round his head slowly and again looked anxiously and lovingly at me, and I saw then for the first time a wound on the right temple with a red stream from it. His face was of a waxy pale tint, but transparent-looking, and so was the reddish mark. But it is almost impossible to describe his appearance. I only know I shall never forget it. I left the room and went into a friend’s room, and lay on the sofa the rest of the night. I told him why. I told others in the house, but when I told my father, he ordered me not to repeat such nonsense, and especially not to let my mother know.

    “On the Monday following,3 3 Communication with the Crimea was then conducted by telegraph for only part of the way. he received a note from Sir Alexander Milne to say that the Redan was stormed, but no particulars. I told my friend to let me know if he saw the name among the killed and wounded before me. About a fortnight later he came to my bedroom in his mother’s house in Athole Crescent, in Edinburgh, with a very grave face. I said, ‘I suppose it is to tell me the sad news I expect;’ and he said, ‘Yes.’ Both the colonel of the regiment and one or two officers who saw the body confirmed the fact that the appearance was much according to my description, and the death-wound was exactly where I had seen it. But none could say whether he actually died at the moment. His appearance, if so, must have been some hours after death, as he appeared to me a few minutes after 2 in the morning. Months later, a small prayer-book and the letter I had written to him were returned to Inveresk, found {i-558} in the inner breast pocket of the tunic which he wore at his death. I have them now.”

    The account in the London Gazette Extraordinary of September 22nd, 1855, shows that the storming of the Redan began shortly after noon on September 8th, and lasted upwards of an hour and a-half. We learn from Russell’s account that “the dead, the dying, and the uninjured, were all lying in piles together”; and it would seem that the search for the wounded was still continuing on the morning of the 9th. The exact time of Lieut. Oliver Colt’s death is uncertain.

    In a further communication, Captain Colt says:—

    “My father received Admiral Milne’s message just as we were starting in the drag—a large party—on a visit to some ruins, several miles off. He was driving, and I was sitting next to him, and he remarked, ‘It was well I told you not to say anything about having seen your brother Oliver to your mother. I hope you will forbid it to be mentioned by any one whom you told, as it might doubly alarm her now, since this news.”

    Captain Colt told me in conversation that he has never on any other occasion experienced a hallucination of the senses.

    He mentioned several persons who would be able to corroborate this narrative. We received the following letter from his sister, Mrs. Hope, of Fermoy.

    “December 12th, 1882.

    “On the morning of September 8th, 1855, my brother, Mr. Colt, told myself, Captain Ferguson of the 42nd Regiment, since dead, and Major Borthwick[☼] of the Rifle Brigade (who is living), and others, that he had during the night awakened from sleep and seen, as he thought, my eldest brother, Lieut. Oliver Colt of the Royal Fusiliers (who was in the Crimea), standing between his bed and the door; that he saw that he was wounded in more than one place—I remember he named the temple as one place—by bullet-wounds; that he aroused himself, rushed to the door with closed eyes and looked back at the apparition, which stood between him and the bed. My father enjoined silence, lest my mother should be made uneasy; but shortly afterwards came the news of the fall of the Redan and my brother’s death. Two years afterwards, my husband, Colonel Hope, invited my brother to dine with him; the former being still a lieutenant in the Royal Fusiliers, the latter an ensign in the Royal Welsh Fusiliers. While dining, they were talking of my eldest brother. My husband was about to describe his appearance when found, when my brother described what he had seen, and to the astonishment of all present, the description of the wounds tallied with the facts. My husband was my eldest brother’s greatest friend, and was among those who saw the body as soon as it was found.”

    [It will be seen that this corroboration varies from the previous account in two points, which, however, do not greatly affect its value. The date was really September 9th, not the 8th—but it is very natural that the vision should have become associated with the memorable date, which was of course the 8th; and the figure was kneeling, not standing.]

    For present purposes, the detail to be noticed here is, of course, the {i-559} position of the wound: stress can hardly be laid on the correspondence in the kneeling posture. But the appearance of “phosphorescent mist”1 1 In conversation, Captain Golt applied almost the same words to the appearance of tenuous blue mist as Mr. J. Russell Lowell used (see Vol II., p. xxii.) in describing his purely subjective phantasms. is another point of interest (see p. 526, first note); as is also the percipient’s previous request to his brother to appear to him, which assimilates the case to the one where a distinct compact to this effect had been made (Vol. II., p. 66).

    The next account, which we owe to the kindness of Major Taylor, of the Royal Military College, Farnborough, is from a lady, Miss L., who withholds her name from publication, in deference to the views of a near relative.

    “Jan. 4th, 1886.

    (211)[☼] “On one of the last days of July, about the year 1860, at 3 o’clock p.m., I was sitting in the drawing-room at the Rectory, reading, and my thoughts entirely occupied. I suddenly looked up, and saw most distinctly a tall, thin old gentleman enter the room and walk to the table. He wore a peculiar old-fashioned cloak, which I recognised as belonging to my great-uncle. I then looked at him closely, and remembered his features and appearance perfectly, although I had not seen him since I was quite a child. In his hand was a roll of paper, and he appeared to be very agitated. I was not in the least alarmed, as I firmly believed he was my uncle, not knowing then of his serious illness. I asked him if he wanted my father, who, I said, was not at home. He then appeared still more agitated and distressed, but made no remark. He then left the room, passing through the half-open door. I noticed that, although it was a very wet day, there was no appearance of his having walked in mud or rain. He had no umbrella, but a thick walking-stick, which I recognised at once when my father brought it home after the funeral. On questioning the servants they declared that no one had rung the bell, neither did they see anyone enter. My father had a letter by the next post, asking him to go at once to my uncle, who was very ill in Leicestershire. He started at once, but on his arrival was told that he had died exactly at 3 o’clock that afternoon, and had asked for him by name several times in an anxious and troubled manner, and a roll of paper was found under his pillow.

    “I may mention that my father was his only nephew, and, having no son, he always led him to think that he would have a considerable legacy. Such, however, was not the case, and it is supposed that, as they were always good friends, he was

    influenced in his last illness, and probably, when too late, he wished to alter his will.

    “E. F. L.”

    In answer to inquiries, Miss L. adds:—

    “I told my mother and an uncle at once about the strange appearance before the news arrived, and also to my father directly he returned, all of whom are now dead. They advised me to try to dismiss it from my memory, but agreed that it could not be imagination, as I described my uncle so exactly; and they did not consider me to be either of a nervous or superstitious temperament.

    {i-560}

    “I am quite sure that I stated the facts truthfully and correctly to Major Taylor. The facts are as fresh in my memory as if they only happened yesterday, although so many years have passed away.

    “I can assure you that nothing of the kind ever occurred to me before or since. [This is in answer to the question whether Miss L. had ever had a hallucination of the senses on any other occasion.] Neither have I been subject to nervous or imaginative fancies. This strange apparition was in broad daylight, and, as I was only reading the Illustrated Newspaper, there was nothing to excite my imagination.”

    A notice in the Leicester Chronicle shows that the death occurred on August 4, 1855, and the incident is therefore more remote than Miss L. imagined.

    The next account is from Dr. Bowstead, of Caistor. Though remote in date, the main incident does not seem likely to have been greatly modified in memory; and it has been regarded by the narrator as simply a most striking fact, for which he had no theory to account.

    “July, 1883.

    (212) “In September, 1847,1 was playing in a cricket match, and took the place of long-field. A ball was driven in my direction, which I ought to have caught, but missed it, and it rolled towards a low hedge; I and another lad ran after it. When I got near the hedge, I saw the apparition of my half-brother, who was much endeared to me, over the hedge, dressed in a shooting suit with a gun on his arm; he smiled and waved his hand at me. I called the attention of the other boy to the same, but when we looked again, the figure had vanished. I, feeling very sad at the time, went up to my uncle, and told him of what I had seen; he took out his watch and noted the time, just 10 minutes to 1 o’clock.

    “Two days after, I received a letter from my father, informing me of the death of my half-brother, John Mounsey, which took place [at Lincoln] at 10 minutes to 1. His death was singular, for on that morning he said he was much better, and thought he should be able to shoot again. Taking up his gun, he turned round to my father, asking him if he had sent for me, as he particularly wished to see me. I was a great favourite of his. My father replied the distance was too far and expense too great to send for me, it being over 100 miles. At this he put himself into a passion, and said he would see me in spite of them all, for he did not care for expense or distance. Suddenly a blood vessel on his lungs burst, and he died at once. He was at the time dressed in a shooting-suit, and had his gun on his arm. I knew he was ill, but a letter from my father previous to the time I saw him told me he was improving, and that he might get through the winter; but his disease was consumption, and he had bleeding from the lungs three months before his death.

    “ROWLAND BOWSTEAD, M.D.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that Mr. John Mounsey died on September 23, 1847.

    In answer to inquiries, Dr. Bowstead says:—

    “No note was taken at the time, only my uncle, at whose school I was {i-561} at the time, looked at his watch and noted the time, but never thought anything about the occurrence. He himself had once a similar thing happen to himself when an uncle died; but not so vividly as mine. There is not a soul now living to get any information from, for the lad who was with me and who did not see anything, although he looked in the same direction, is now dead; but the announcement of the death two days afterwards told of my brother’s death at the time I saw him. All the family connection are dead; his son died in 1853, and his wife in 1854. I have had no hallucinations since.”

    In conversation, Dr. Bowstead told me that he was not in the least expecting his brother’s death. He has a very vivid remembrance of his uncle’s look, and of his pulling out his watch. The boy who was near him in the cricket-field, Fred Court by name, afterwards went to Australia, where he died.

    Here, it will be seen, the dress of the apparition did not contain any features that were new to the percipient—to whom the sporting aspect of his brother was (as I learnt from him in conversation) both familiar and interesting; still, the correspondence, if accurately remembered, is remarkable. This case deserves consideration from those who would attribute “phantasms of the living” to a diseased state of body or mind in the percipient. A cricketing school-boy, in full exercise, is rarely a prey to physical ills: and though his mental condition after just missing a catch may be a pitiable one enough, it is not one that we commonly associate with hysteria or superstition.

    The next case is from Mr. John Hernaman, F.S.A., Head Master of the Lambeth Boys’ School, Hercules Buildings, London, S.E. He tells us that this account (which we received in 1884) was written within two years of the occurrence; and that he has had no other experience of hallucination.

    (213) “When I lived in Bishopsgate, my rooms were at Salvador House. It was a grand old house. Formerly the home of a Spanish Ambassador, it had undergone strange vicissitudes … My apartments consisted of a suite of five rooms, which I occupied with my housekeeper, a middle-aged woman, and her son, a youth of 18, who waited on me. I gave up three of the suite for their use, reserving only two very large rooms, which communicated with each other, for my own.

    “Well, one night as I lay asleep, I all at once woke to perfect consciousness, as wide awake as I am now; and there, in the embrasure made by the thickness of the wall, stood a little old woman in her night-dress and cap, with a small black and white checked shawl, as far as I could make out, like a duster-pattern, over her shoulders. I want you particularly to remember the shawl. I knew her well, and, as I lay, remarked to myself on the beauty and transparency of her complexion, while a soft lambent light seemed to play over the whole figure, such as you would see on your fingers when you rub a match, or the liquid gleaming phosphorescence1 1 Cf. the “phosphorescent mist” in case 210. {i-562} one sometimes finds ridging the wavelets at sea. On noting this, the work of an instant, an intense and indescribable feeling took possession of me, beginning somewhere in the region of the feet, and, passing up my spine,2 2 See Vol. ii., p. 37, note. reached my head, where ‘each particular hair did stand on end.’ Vexed and annoyed with myself, I turned away from the sight, as the chime of St. Botolph’s struck the quarter to 2. When the sounds had died, and after the clock had struck the hour, I fell asleep again, and rested undisturbed till morning.

    “On going downstairs, I met one of our clergy, the Rev. George Wrench, the greatest friend I had in Bishopsgate, [since deceased] and said, ‘Laugh at me! Here am I, a man supposed to be educated, of average intelligence, at least, living in the very centre of the centre of civilisation, an utter disbeliever in ghosts, and yet last night I saw one.’ ‘Nonsense!’ said he. ‘’Tis true!’ I repeated. ‘Well, come, who was it?’ ‘Mrs. P.,’ I answered. ‘You don’t say so! Do you know she is very ill?’ ‘Not I.’ ‘But she is though,’ rejoined he, and we chaffed each other about the strange visitant.

    “Well, all that day I went about my work and never gave my ghost a thought, retired to bed as usual, slept well and woke exactly at the same time as on the night previous. This I know by the jingle of the chimes immediately after waking, and the clock striking the succeeding hour of 2. The same intense, indescribable feeling passed over me—that horrid, creepy dread, but I resolutely turned from the side on which the embrasure lay, and reproached myself for being a fool. Nor would I look, and yet I felt assured of her presence.

    “When I got up, I found that she had sent a message, wishing to see me. She was the attendant on the pews at my side of the church, a poor widow woman of quiet, gentle manners, a friend of my housekeeper’s, who sometimes came in to help if we had any extra company. Often when I have gone round to the kitchen, she has risen up respectfully, while I used to say, ‘How much you remind me of my dear old mother,’ and have more than once caressingly stroked her hair. I went to see her. There she lay in her little bed—so clean and tidy-—so peaceably passing away in a trance-like calm. She at once recognised my voice, when a pleased smile of restful satisfaction seemed to play over her face. [Mr. Hernaman then read a passage of the Bible to the patient.] As I was leaving the room, on turning to look at her, I noticed how striking were the points of resemblance to the figure in the embrasure, but it was incomplete—the shawl was wanting. So I said to her sister who was nursing her, ‘Have you ever during her illness had thrown about her a little black-and-white checked shawl?’ I gave no reason for my question. ‘No, sir!’ was the answer, ‘No! We haven’t such a thing in the house!’ Then suddenly she exclaimed, ‘Oh! do you mean a little brown-and-white plaid, like this?’ making a sudden dive behind a box near the bed’s head, from which she brought up the identical shawl, a brown-and-white checked, which she at once placed round the shoulders of the invalid, and the picture was complete.

    [Next night, a friend of Mr. Hernaman’s, Mr. James F. Maule, now residing at 61, Rouel Road, Bermondsey, spent the night with him.]

    {i-563}

    “My rest was sound and undisturbed till the morning when George my housekeeper’s son, came rushing into the bedroom, after a hasty knock, with a face full of fright, and said, ‘If you please, sir, Mrs. P wants you again!’ While I dressed, my friend laughed at me and joked immoderately. George brought me in a cup of coffee, which I hastily swallowed while dressing; but before I could get to her house, which was hard by, she had passed away.

    “All I have said with regard to myself is true as it occurred to me and yet my judgment refuses to believe it. I consulted a medical friend, I was so annoyed with myself for thinking the thing possible for a moment. He too laughed at me, but wished George to occupy the spare bed till my holidays came, which were close at hand.

    “I did learn some months later that she had saved a little money—not much, about £90, I believe—and was very anxious indeed that I should have charge of it for her two children, who were living at home with her.

    “JOHN HERNAMAN.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Hernaman adds, on March 7th, 1885:—

    “The matter to which you refer occurred some 14 years ago.”

    We applied to Mr. Francis Tee, of Finsbury Street, E.C., a brother of the Mrs. P. of the narrative, and he sent us a mourning card which showed that Mrs. P. died on Dec. 14th, 1871, aged 53 years.

    Mr. Maule, writing to us on Dec. 19, 1886, says that he well recollects the incident, and “never saw anyone in such a state of mind as Mr. Hernaman was about the affair.”

    Here the shawl is the important detail. Other noteworthy points are the light (pp. 550–1), and the sort of attempt at a repetition on the second night, which may or may not have been a mere recrudescence of the previous impression (see p. 445).

    The next account is from Mr. J. H. Redfern, of 20, Great Ancoats Street, Manchester, who has been carefully cross-examined vivâ voce.

    “January, 1883.

    (214) “My wife died in December, 1874. While apparently in her usual health, and without any premonitory symptoms, she was suddenly seized with an illness (effusion of serum on the brain), which in a few days terminated in death. For something like 36 hours previous to death she was in a comatose state,1 1 See Chap. v, § 10, and compare cases 128, 152, 176, 202, 203, 217, 277, 452, 561. and thus she passed away. She had an aunt, a widow, to whom she was much attached. Her aunt resided 4 or 5 miles away from us, but twice or thrice a year she came to see us, and usually stayed a few days or a week, and one of these visits was always at New Year’s time. My wife died a few days before Christmas Day, and in due course the funeral took place. The day after, having obtained the address of her aunt—for I did not before know it—I sent her a ‘memorial card,’ thinking it might prevent the shock she might probably experience if she came, and only then learned the death of her niece.

    “The New Year came, but she came not. We wondered and talked about her for nearly 3 months, but heard nothing. One Sunday afternoon, {i-564} at tea my daughter sprang up from the table exclaiming, ‘There’s aunt coming up the garden;’ and surely it was her indeed. We ran to meet her, and brought her into the house. Overcome with emotion she sank into a chair, and wept for some time. At length, becoming calmer, we learned that she had been seriously ill for some time. Her account of the matter was this:—

    “On the day of my wife’s death she was—in the evening—engaged in the kitchen in the performance of some domestic duties. Turning round from a table at which she had been engaged, she saw my wife coming out of a lobby into the kitchen, and approaching her with a smile upon her face, her arms extended as if to greet her (her usual manner of welcoming anyone). She herself advanced to meet her niece, and expecting to embrace her, when suddenly ‘she was gone,’ and she herself was alone. Confused and wondering, she looked about her, and noticed the time, 8.30 p.m. by the clock.

    “I asked her if she had been thinking about her or talking of her. She said she had not thought of her for days. I asked her if there was any other woman in the house with herself. She replied, ‘Yes, one, who, feeling unwell, had gone to lie down some hours before.’ Shortly afterwards this person came downstairs. She asked her ‘had she been down before?’ Her reply was ‘No, I fell asleep.’ ‘I said nothing to her,’ said she, ‘for I knew she had not; besides I could never have mistaken her for Sarah’ (my wife). ‘She was much older, and had dark hair, while Sarah’s was light and golden. I could have mistaken no one for Sarah, but,’ she added, ‘I saw her as plainly as I see you now.’

    “My wife died at 8.40 p.m. There might be a difference in the clocks.

    “In answer to a question, she said that her niece was not in her usual dress. She had on a long white robe or night-dress, with frillings at the neck and wrists. Her hair was not gathered up and arranged as usual, but was drawn from the fore part of her head and fell down her back. That described her appearance exactly. The doctors had directed her hair to be loosed and drawn back from the forehead, and it hung down her shoulders and back.

    “She said that she had no idea that my wife was in any but her usual health, not thinking of any evil. A few days afterwards she went to spend a few days with a friend whom she had promised to stay with for a short time at Christmas. Returning home, the letter was handed her, and she was jokingly told that it had been waiting for her a week. Opening it, she saw the name and the date. The whole thing—forgotten for the time—flashed upon her mind, and she fell off from the chair, remembering-no more until days afterwards she found herself in bed, where she remained until within a few days of her coming again to see us.

    “The letter was afterwards discovered upon the floor. She had said nothing of the appearance to any in the house. They did not understand the thing at all. The medical man called in to attend her, said that she had received some great mental shock, and for some time he feared that she would not recover from it.

    “I give you these facts just as they are, making no comments upon them, simply vouching for their accuracy.

    “J. H. REDFERN.”

    We find from a notice in the Manchester Guardian that Mrs. Redfern {i-565} died on December 18th, 1874. Mr. Redfern tells us that the aunt died about a year before he sent us the account.

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Redfern adds, on March 19th, 1883:—“I never knew who the medical man was; doubtless someone in the neighbourhood called in in a hurry. The woman in the house with my wife’s aunt at the time, of whom she inquired as to whether she had before come downstairs, confirmed the fact that she had not; this woman has since left the place. The old lady was clear-headed and truthful, and repeated the story often,

    and in the same manner, to the last. I think upon referring to the MS. you will see that she had no knowledge or idea of her niece’s illness; she said that the thought of her death never entered her mind. She noted the day and the hour. She had arranged to visit some friends, and to stay with them for a short time. She went a day or two after. I had not her address, [i.e., at Gorton, where she lived,] but in a few days obtained it, and sent per post a memorial card. It appears that during the time of her absence upon this visit, this card (of course in an envelope) was delivered. Upon her return it was handed to her. Not thinking anything about it she opened it, read it, let it drop, and swooned. She was, I believe, unconscious for a long time, and a long illness followed. We wondered that we never saw or heard from her.”

    Mr. John Robert Redfern, of 41, Bickley Street, Moss Side, Manchester (a cashier, and foreign and corresponding clerk in a firm of shippers), says:—

    “June 28th, 1883.

    “With reference to the appearance at the time of her death of my mother to her aunt, Nancy Juison, I can state that the account furnished by my father as given by her is a correct one. I have heard the statement from herself, and have not the slightest doubt of her veracity, or as to her convictions on the subject. I knew her intimately all my life up to her death.”

    Mrs. Hannah Lees, of Clifton Crescent, Rotherham, says:—

    “June 5th, 1883.

    “The account of my sister’s death (Mrs. Redfern) and her appearance to my Aunt Nancy, as given by Mr. J. H. Redfern, is just as narrated by my aunt, and I am satisfied as to the truth of aunt’s statement, and her belief in the matter.”

    [The testimony here is not first-hand. Had the aunt been alive we should, of course, have obtained her account from herself. But since we reckon as on a par with first-hand evidence the testimony of persons who have been made aware of the percipient’s experience before the percipient has learnt the event that has befallen the agent (p. 148), we may regard as practically on the same level a case where the percipient’s experience, though not described to the witnesses before the news was known, produced an effect—her prolonged absence through illness—which they remarked on and wondered at.]

    The next case, from Mr. Rouse, of Jarvis Road, Croydon (agent for Cockerells, coal merchants), is another marked instance of deferred recognition (see §3). As regards the special point of dress, it is inconclusive; as though the aspect of the agent was at the time {i-566} actually as represented in the phantasm, it was also probably an aspect familiar to the percipient. Writing to us on the 11th of June, 1883, Mr. Rouse explains that in the early part of 1873 he had been a member of a circle which met to investigate spiritualistic phenomena. At each of the seances, which were held in a private house, he sat next to the same lady, Mrs. W., between whom and himself a strong sympathy existed. On one occasion Mr. Rouse had to go to Norwich on the day when the sitting was usually held. Late on the evening of that day he went out for a walk in the outskirts of the town.

    (215) “It was in the brightest moonlight, about full moon, I should think, with hardly a cloud in the sky; yet there was a thick white haze overhanging the fields. After walking a little distance I found myself on the top of a small hill, which enabled me to see a considerable distance along the road in front of me, the only living object apparently in view being a human form in the middle of the road, yet so far off that I could not tell if it was a woman or a man, and did not take much notice of it. However, in walking on, I soon made it out to be a woman, and concluded it was a country woman walking into Norwich. The next moment I began to fear that, the time and place being so lonely, the woman would be afraid to pass me. I, therefore, under this feeling, got as near as possible to one side of the road, thus giving her all the width on the other side to pass; but, to my astonishment, she also left the middle of the road, and took the same side as myself, as if determined to meet me face to face. I then walked into the middle of the road, thinking I would avoid her, but, to my surprise, the woman did the same, so I then concluded to walk on as we were.

    “I had not advanced many more steps, however, before instead of a country woman, as I imagined, with eggs and poultry for next day’s market, I could plainly see that the figure before me was a well-dressed lady in evening dress, without bonnet or shawl. I could see some ornament or flower in her hair, gold bracelets on her bare arms, rings on her fingers, and could hear the rustle of her dress. She now seemed to approach me more rapidly, and I noticed that, if I stepped in the least degree out of the direct line between us, she did the same.1 1 It is not specially remarkable that a hallucinatory object should persist in appearing in the direct line of vision. See p. 472. In the next minute I felt certain that I had seen the lady before, and immediately afterwards I recognised her as Mrs. W. I had not the least fear, for she was so real that I thought she had, like myself, unexpectedly and suddenly got to Norwich. I, therefore, met her without the least shake or tremble, delighted to see my friend. We approached within about 5 feet of each other; she gazed at me very intently as I thought; she held out her hand to me, and I could see her face and lips move as if about to speak to me. I was in the act of taking her hand to greet her, but had not touched her, when some iron hurdles which formed the fencing of the cattle market, rang as if they were being struck with an iron bar. This startled me, and unconsciously I turned round to see what made the noise. I could see nothing, and instantly turned again to Mrs. W. but she was gone.

    “Now it was that I began to tremble, and for some time I felt that she {i-567} was still near me, although I could not see her. But I soon pulled myself together and walked back to Norwich and my bedroom, but not to sleep, for I could not get rid of the feeling that perhaps my friend had suddenly died or met with some serious accident. I, therefore, wrote to a gentleman in London—a mutual friend—telling him what I had seen and what my fears were, asking him to be very careful, but to make inquiries about Mrs. W., as to her welfare, and what and where she was on that night and time. The next day’s post brought me the welcome tidings that Mrs. W. was quite well and in good health, that at the very time I saw her, about 11 p.m., she was sitting in her usual place in the circle in London, and that there, for the first time in her life, she had fallen into a trance which frightened the other sitters very much, and they had great difficulty in bringing her back to ordinary life.

    “JOHN ROUSE.”

    Mrs. W. has read through the above account, and writes to us as follows, in June, 1883:—

    “It is perfectly correct. I quite remember the séances and the particular occasion to which Mr. Rouse refers, when I became unconscious one night, at about 11 o’clock, and on recovery had no recollection of anything but that I had gone suddenly out of myself.1 1 It occasionally happens at séances—whether owing to the attitude of expectancy or to some other condition—that a sitter falls into an odd unconscious, or semi-conscious state; which would have nothing alarming in it to any one familiar with the phenomena of hypnotism. As to the subjective sense of “going out of oneself” see above, p. 555 note. My dress at the time of the occurrence is stated quite correctly. I also remember one of our circle calling with Mr. Rouse’s letter, to ascertain, at his request, whether I was still in earthly form. Talking over the matter with him, and afterwards with the others, all agreed as to the time of my becoming oblivious. I have never had the same experience before nor since then.

    “L. E. W.”

    [The evidence here will, of course, suffer in the eyes of many, from the fact that both agent and percipient were at the time attending séances. It must also be mentioned that on such occasions Mr. Rouse has seen or imagined vague appearances. He has, however, only on one other occasion (when again there were singular points of correspondence with reality) had anything like a distinct hallucination; and he is a sensible and clearheaded man.]

    The next case is from Mrs. Peek, of 3, Fairfax Place, Dartmouth. The fact narrated has remained in the mind of a practical and unvisionary person, quite free from superstitious fancies, as simply the oddest thing she ever experienced.

    “October, 1884.

    (216) “On the 25th of April, 1867, at about 11 o’clock at night, I was alone in the lower part of the house,

    to see if the doors were securely fastened, and the dogs housed and fed. Having satisfied myself upon these points, I had lifted my hand to turn out the gas in the kitchen, when something drew my eyes towards the doorway, and I saw for the space of a few seconds a figure standing there, dressed in lightish coloured clothes, with long boots on, as if for riding; the face was shadowy, yet I thought I could recognise the contour of my brother, who lives in Natal. When it was {i-568} gone, I hurried up the stairs to the dining-room, where others of the household were sitting; they noticed how frightened I seemed, and when I told them about it tried to laugh me out of my fear, but I felt convinced in my own mind as to the reality of my experience, and noted the day of the month.

    “About six weeks afterwards, I received a letter from my brother telling me that his wife was taken very ill on the 25th of April, while he was away on a journey, from which he returned that same day, only in time to start at once for his mother-in-law, leaving his wife without any one to care for her except two Kaffir girls, for their farm was many miles from any other dwelling. He spoke in his letter of the great distress of mind he suffered during his long ride of 30 miles, at the thought of leaving his apparently dying wife, and how often he wished I had been near to help him in his trouble.

    “ANNA W. PEEK.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Peek says:—

    “I can assure you that the vision you received an account of from me is the only one I have ever witnessed.

    “My brother returned late at night from a journey, and started again on a ride of 30 or more miles over a rough road in the Little Tugela district, so he would certainly be on his journey at 2 o’clock a.m. [which, however, would correspond with midnight, not 11 p.m., in England.]

    “I will get my husband and another gentleman, who was staying with us, to sign their names in testimony that I spoke of it to them directly I came into the room where they were, after seeing the vision. The day following, I mentioned it to my uncle, who advised me to take a note of the date.”

    “We hereby bear testimony to the foregoing statement.

    “ROBERT PEEK.

    “G. H. COLLINS.

    In conversation, Mrs. Peek told me that the full gas-light was on the figure; but it seemed tenuous and half transparent.1 1 See p. 526, first note, and Vol. ii., p. 38, note. The dress was quite distinctly marked, but the face was indistinct. She wrote down the date at her aunt’s suggestion, and compared it, when the letter came, with the one there mentioned.

    [The coincidence here is not, of course, as striking as in many other cases, as the condition of the agent was not of an extremely abnormal sort; but the special direction of his thought to the percipient, if correctly recorded, may fairly be taken into account.]

    Here again the dress seen was not so unusual that one might not conceive it to have been independently supplied by the percipient’s brain in the act of projecting the phantasm; but the other hypothesis would at any rate be in place.

    The next case is also a doubtful one as regards the dress; since when a man is telepathically impressed to conjure up his father’s image, it is undeniably possible for him, out of his own mental {i-569} resources, to conjure it up in a night-cap. Still such an aspect was very much out of keeping with the scene in which the phantasm was located. The account is from Mr. Timothy Cooper,1 1 Mr. Cooper unfortunately went to reside in America before it was possible for us to make his personal acquaintance; but we have had a satisfactory account of him. His father was the Rev. James Cooper, for many years pastor of the Baptist Church at Amersham. mentioned above (p. 506), and appeared in Light for January, 1882.

    (217) “In the year 1871, I was living at Seaview, Seaton Carew, going daily to Stockton-on-Tees to business. It was race week in August, and so a busy time. I was going down into the cellar to fetch butter for a customer, and as I was on the top step, I saw my father standing at the bottom of the cellar steps in his shirt and night-cap, and he seemed to walk into the cellar. I went down and fetched the butter, and looked for my father, who was nowhere to be seen. I went up and said to my employer’s wife, ‘I must go home now, for my father will not last long, and wants to see me.’ So on the last day of the races I started, and arrived at Amersham, my father’s residence, a journey of about 250 miles. On the Saturday afternoon I inquired of my sister how my father was at the time I had seen him at Stockton. She said he lay as if dead for more than half-an-hour; in fact, they held a looking-glass to see if he breathed. He died November 23rd, 1871.

    “TIMOTHY COOPER.”

    We have verified the date of death in the Nonconformist.

    [The impression in this case seems to have prompted the percipient to take a long journey; but we do not know in what degree previous anxiety may have contributed to it.]

    Sufficient illustrations have now been given of the two types of case, where special features of dress and aspect may lead us pretty confidently to refer the detailed form which the hallucination takes to the percipient and to the agent respectively. But the majority of visual telepathic phantasms, as we shall find later, present no such special features; the aspect of the figure is free from striking peculiarities, and the dress little noticed, and such as either of the two persons concerned might readily picture as natural and familiar. In all such cases, and alike whether the agent is or is not so habited at the moment, it seems to me reasonable to refer the details of the appearance to the percipient’s mind. As compared with our total ignorance concerning the prior process of transference, our view of the immediate process in the percipient which issues in sensory hallucination may be said to be knowledge; in it we at any rate have the analogy of subjective hallucinations to go by. Inasmuch, then, as a member of a civilised community has been impelled to project a phantasm—for there it stands, projected—it is in accordance with analogy, and we may almost say inevitable, that he should project it in some dress; and it is surely simpler (as I have suggested {i-570} above,) to suppose that he does this wholly from his own resources, which are adequate for the purpose, than to suppose that a detailed image is supplied to him, clean-cut and complete, from indefinite unconscious or sub-conscious strata of the agent’s mind. The point becomes clearest when there is a clear choice of familiar dresses. For instance, a son sees the phantasm of his mother “dressed in a peculiar silver-grey dress, which she had originally got for a fancy-ball” (Vol. II., p. 81). That he should so project her image, under a sudden telepathic influence received from her (p. 538), no more needs explanation than that any other item of past experience should present itself unsought in memory or dream; but that she should so transmit her image would decidedly need explanation; for even if she was conscious at the time—which she most likely was not—unless her mind was consciously engaged with this particular dress, what disturbance can we assume of the quite impartial state of latency in which her ideas of her various dresses would be? There being no sudden call on her—as there is on her son—to represent her image, there would be no impulse to the selection (whether conscious or casual) of one particular form of representation. And the same argument will apply wherever the phantasmal costume, or any part of it, is such as would not form an almost necessary element in the agent’s consciousness at the time. In most cases where costume is noticed at all, it includes particulars the choice of which presents no difficulty if we leave the percipient to make it, among the various familiar aspects of the friend whose image he is ex hypothesi impelled to construct; but any precedence of which over others on the agent’s side would imply a detailed activity of construction, occurring not only without consciousness, but apparently without cause; since there is no ground for connecting the construction (least of all the unconscious construction) of highly elaborated visual images with the conditions of spontaneous telepathic agency.1

    1 Any hypothesis that the condition of agency in itself (i.e., apart from that reaction of the percipient on the impression to which I have attributed its projection in sensory form) tends to elicit and transmit out of the recesses of the agent’s mind some definite image of his own aspect, would seem open to this objection—that there are a large number of telepathic phantasms—notably the auditory class—in which nothing connected with the agent’s aspect appears. Apart from literal representations of some conscious thought or sensation of the agent (p. 536, note), it has seemed an adequate hypothesis that the particular form of sensory development is determined on the percipient’s side; and it would be very difficult to combine with this the hypothesis that sometimes the form is compelled to be visual by the preponderating force in the agent’s mind of a latent image of his own aspect. For if the image is latent, and has no particular relevance to the circumstances of the moment, such an image has had just the same amount of presence in the agent’s mind, and just as much (or little) chance of telepathically asserting itself, in the non-visual cases.

    {i-571}

    § 9. Before quitting the subject of the development of telepathic phantasms, I may be allowed to point out its relation to the physiological sketch at the close of the 10th chapter; for it happens to supply substantial confirmation to the views of centrifugal origin there maintained. The whole idea of morbid excitation from the more external parts of the sensory apparatus becomes here irrelevant. All that has been said in this chapter as to the development of the hallucination from the nucleus of a transferred impression marks out the higher part of the brain—the part which is concerned with ideas or general images of persons and things, and not with immediate perception of them—as the place where the abnormal process starts; the hallucination itself being due to the downward promulgation of the disturbance from these higher tracts to the specific sensory centre concerned. Especially must this origin commend itself in respect of the phantasms which are bodied forth in a more or less fanciful form, with elements which are clearly the percipient’s own contribution, but which he would never have contributed had not telepathy supplied an idea for him to clothe. But perhaps the cases where the hypothesis is most helpful are those of which Mr. Marchant’s (p. 207) is the type, where no obvious rapport exists between the two parties concerned. How—we naturally ask—could the idea of Kelsey be impressed on Mr. Marchant’s mind with such force as to embody itself in a visible phantom, when Kelsey’s mind was presumably not occupied either with Mr. Marchant or with himself in relation to him? From a physiological point of view the fact becomes less startling if we suppose the primary change in Mr. Marchant’s brain to take place at the part which is the great storehouse of old impressions; at the part, moreover, where an appropriate physical basis may be found not only for distinct and recognisable images, but for sub-conscious ideas and memories, and for the most distant and intangible associations. In the register of the brain it is seldom that a record, once made, is so utterly obliterated that, under suitable conditions, it may not be revived. And if once a relation be established between two persons, and the records of it registered in their two brains, it may be possible for the same harmony occasionally to manifest itself between those records—even though they be long sunk below the level of conscious attention—as between the immediate impressions of the moment; and, this once granted, we have seen how the physiological process may lead on to the projection {i-572} of the visible phantom.1 1 I have sufficiently emphasised the difficulty of expressing the transmission of telepathic impressions in physical terms (pp. 110–13). And though I here suggest that the difficulty is lessened if we may draw on unconscious parts of the mind, and old records in the brain, my physiological point is independent of this suggestion, and is limited to the percipient’s own organism. There certain nervous changes do undoubtedly take place, in correspondence with the psychical fact of the hallucination; and my object is to show that what we observe as to the psychical fact may be best accounted for on a particular view of the physical process. In psychical terms, I see no reason why sub-conscious ideas and memories which are in no distinct way present to consciousness, such as Kelsey’s sense of his old relationship to Mr. Marchant, should not evoke similar blind movements in Mr. Marchant’s mind, which, gathering strength, might lead him to body forth the vision of his old acquaintance. A hallucination which is thus initiated by the quickening of long-buried memories, and of dim tracts of emotional association, is the most conspicuous example of the projection of an idea from within outwards; and the tremor to which the sensorium reverberates will presumably start in the inmost penetralia of cerebral process.

    § 10. The parallelism between telepathic and purely subjective hallucinations has now been traced out in the most essential particulars. To the five heads of resemblance enumerated in the last chapter (p. 500), the present chapter has added the various modes of gradual development, and of original or fantastic embodiment; the special point with respect to luminosity (pp. 550–1); and the general but not invariable limitation of the percept to a single human figure (pp. 545–6). I may note further the interesting negative characteristic that (with very rare exceptions) neither subjective disturbances nor transferred impressions seem to produce visual hallucinations representing a person who is actually present with the percipient at the time.2 2 I have encountered only seven instances of the kind, two of which are described later (Vol. ii., p. 24, note, and p. 218). The negative fact is worth pointing out; but positive instances (unless perchance “collective,” like case 333), would, of course, be more naturally interpreted as purely subjective, on the analogy of after-images (p. 505), than as telepathic. One fails at first sight to see why this should be. If pre-occupation of the percipient’s mind with the person seen is to go for anything in the subjective cases, is not the mind often completely pre-occupied with a person who is present? and if rapport is to go for anything in the telepathic cases, is not rapport often at its maximum of strength with a person who is present? I suppose the explanation must be analogous to the reason why the stars are not visible by day; and that vision of friends who are absent depends on a vague sense of remoteness and abstraction in relation to them, the possibility of {i-573} which is swamped by their presence. The possibility seems, indeed, to be to some extent affected by the presence of any companion—a large majority of hallucinations, alike of purely subjective and of telepathic origin, taking place when the percipient is alone.

    Various other points of frequent or occasional resemblance between the two classes remain, which have been noted or will be noted as they occur in the examples, and need here only be briefly summarised. Such are the various degrees of externalisation, and of apparent solidity or tenuity;1 1 Pp. 480–3, 488, 526, 568; Vol. ii., pp. 29–38, 120, 137. rudimentary appearances;2 2 Chap. xiv., §§ 4 and 6. fragmentary appearances;3 3 P. 504; Vol. ii., p. 33, note; and see cases 116, 240, 553, 572. rapid repetitions;4 4 P. 414; Vol. ii., pp. 105, 237, note.

    movement in the figures seen;5 5 This feature is so common, in both classes, that I need hardly call special attention to it where it occurs. In this chapter alone, for instance, we have encountered it in 7 cases—Nos. 198, 199, 202, 203, 204, 211, 215. gradual disappearance;6 6 See above, p. 521, and Vol. ii., p. 97. special modes of disappearance;7 7 See p. 432, note, and, e.g., case 211, above. disappearance on sudden speech or gesture;8 8 See Vol. ii., p. 91, second note; and add cases 499 and 540 to the list. response of the phantasmal voice to words of the hallucinated person;9 9 P. 476; and see cases 498, 547, 568, 639, 654. the fact that the hallucination is unshared by other persons who may be in the hallucinated person’s company or vicinity;10 10 See above, p. 223, and Vol. ii., p. 105, second note. The cases where the experience affects more than one person will be discussed in Chap. xviii., and may perhaps be found to supply a fresh point of resemblance between hallucinations of subjective and of telepathic origin. and the fact that every now and then the liability to either type of hallucination seems hereditary.11 11 Vol. ii., p. 132, note.

    Of still greater importance are the contrasts that exist between the phenomena of the two classes; e.g., the great superiority in number of visual over auditory cases in the telepathic class, which is the reverse of what obtains in the purely subjective; and the large proportion, in the purely subjective class, of unrecognised phantasms, which are decidedly exceptional in the telepathic. But these points of contrast are chiefly interesting as bearing on a larger question which I can now no longer defer—the question whether the cases presented as telepathic can reasonably be regarded as more than merely accidental coincidences; and they will find their appropriate place in the next chapter.



    END OF VOLUME I



    {ii-i}

    PHANTASMS OF THE LIVING.

    {ii-ii} {ii-iii}

    PHANTASMS OF THE LIVING

    BY

    EDMUND GURNEY, M.A.

    LATE FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,

    FREDERIC W. H. MYERS, M.A.

    LATE FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,

    AND

    FRANK PODMORE, M.A.

    VOLUME II.

    LONDON:

    ROOMS OF THE SOCIETY FOR PSYCHICAL RESEARCH,

    14, Dean’s Yard, S.W.

    TRÜBNER AND CO., LUDGATE HILL, E.C.

    1886.

    {ii-iv} {ii-v}

    SYNOPSIS OF VOLUME II.

    ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS . . XXI-XXVII

    CHAPTER XIII.

    THE THEORY OF CHANCE-COINCIDENCE.

    § 1. Assuming the substantial correctness of much of the evidence for phantasms which have markedly coincided with an event at a distance, how can it be known that these coincidences are not due to chance alone? In examining this question, we must be careful to distinguish waking cases from dreams—in which latter class (as we have seen) the scope for chance-coincidences is indefinitely large . . 1–4

    § 2. The answer to this question depends on two points—the frequency of phantasms which have markedly coincided with real events, and the frequency of phantasms which have not. If the latter class turned out to be extremely large—e.g., if we each of us once a week saw some friend’s figure in a place which was really empty—it is certain that occasionally such a subjective delusion would fall on the day that the friend happened to die. The matter is one on which there have been many guesses, and many assertions, but hitherto no statistics . . 4–6

    § 3. To ascertain what proportion of the population have had experience of purely subjective hallucinations, a definite question must be asked of a group large and varied enough to serve as a fair sample of the whole. The difficulty of taking such a census has been much increased by a wide misunderstanding of its purpose . . 6–8

    § 4. But answers have been received from a specimen group of 5,680 persons; and there is every reason to suppose this number sufficient . . 8–10

    § 5. It may be objected that persons may have wrongly denied such experiences (1) through forgetfulness—but the experiences of real importance for the end in view are too striking to be readily forgotten; (2) by way of a joke or a hoax—but this would lead rather to false confessions than false denials; (3) in self-defence—but such error as may {ii-vi} have been produced by this motive has probably been more than counter-balanced in other ways . . 10–12

    § 6. First as to auditory hallucinations, representing recognised voices—in the last 12 years such an experience has, according to the census, befallen 1 adult in every 90; but it would have had to befall 7 in every 10, to justify the assumption that the cases recorded in this work on first-hand testimony, of the coincidence of the experience in question with the death of the person represented, were due to chance. The odds against the accidental occurrence of the said coincidences are more than a trillion to 1 . . 12–16

    § 7. Next as to visual hallucinations, representing a recognised face or form—in the last 12 years such an experience has, according to the census, befallen 1 adult in every 247; but it would have had to befall every adult once, and most adults twice, to justify the assumption that the cases recorded in the present work on first-hand testimony, of the coincidence of the experience in question with the death of the person represented, were due to chance. The odds against the accidental occurrence of the said coincidences are nearly a trillion of trillions of trillions to 1 . . 16–18

    § 8. The extreme closeness of some of the coincidences affords the basis for another form of estimate, which shows the improbability of their accidental occurrence to be almost immeasurably great . . 18–20

    And a number of further cases and further considerations remain, by which even this huge total of improbability would be again swelled. The conclusion, therefore, after all allowances, that at any rate a large number of the coincidences here adduced have had some other cause than chance seems irresistible . . 20–21

    § 9. An argument of a quite different sort may be drawn from certain peculiarities which the group of coincidental hallucinations present, when compared, as a whole, with the general mass of transient hallucinations of the sane. The chief of these peculiarities are (1) the decided preponderance of visual cases over auditory, and (2) the immense preponderance of cases where the figure or voice was recognised as representing some one known to the percipient: whereas among clearly subjective hallucinations there is a very great preponderance of auditory cases, and almost an equality between recognised and unrecognised phantasms, the preponderance being slightly with the latter . . 22–25

    Another striking point—the preponderance of cases in which the distant event with which the phantasm coincides is death, or one of the crises that come nearest to death—again marks out the coincidental phantasms as a distinct group of natural phenomena . . 25–28

    {ii-vii}

    CHAPTER XIV.

    FURTHER VISUAL CASES OCCURRING TO A SINGLE PERCIPIENT.

    § 1. Visual hallucinations may present various degrees of apparent externalisation, beginning with what is scarcely more than a picture in the mind’s eye, and ending with a percept which seems quite on a par with all surrounding objects. Examples of these varieties in telepathic phantasms . . 29–37

    § 2. Examples of completely externalised phantasms. In connection with one case (No. 225) it is shown that a slight liability to subjective hallucinations (which a few telepathic percipients have exhibited) need not seriously affect the probability that a particular experience was telepathic. Another case (No. 242) is remarkable in that the actual percipient had no direct connection with the agent, but was in the vicinity of a person intimately connected with him . . 38–62

    § 3. Cases where the hypothesis of illusion or mistaken identity has to be taken into account. This hypothesis would not exclude a telepathic origin, as telepathic illusions are quite conceivable phenomena. But more probably these cases were hallucinations; and if so, their telepathic origin would hardly be doubtful. One of them (No. 243) exhibits the point of a previous compact between the agent and percipient, that whichever died first should endeavour to make the other sensible of his presence. Such a compact, latent in either mind, may quite conceivably have some conditioning efficacy . . 62–73

    § 4. Cases of a rudimentary type—perhaps of arrested development—not representative of a human form; they might be compared to a motor effect which is limited to a single start or twitch. The class is too small to carry any conviction on its own account, but its type is not so improbable as might at first appear . . 73–76

    § 5. Certain cases involving no coincidence with any ostensibly abnormal condition of the agent. (1) Instances where several percipients, at different times, have had hallucinations representing the same person, in whom a specific faculty for producing telepathic impressions may therefore be surmised . . 77–90

    § 6. And (2) instances where a presumption that a hallucination was not purely subjective is afforded by peculiarities of dress or aspect in the figure presented . . 90–96

    § 7. And (3) instances where the phantasm appears at a time when the {ii-viii} person whom it represents is, unknown to the percipient, actually approaching him, with thoughts more or less consciously turned in his direction. The last two examples (Nos. 265 and 266) are auditory . . 96–100

    CHAPTER XV.

    FUTHER AUDITORY CASES OCCURRING TO A SINGLE PERCIPIENT.

    § 1. Cases where the phantasm has been of a recognised voice—the words heard having been, certainly in some cases and possibly in others, those which the distant agent was uttering. One case (No. 269) illustrates the feature of repetition after a short interval . . 101–108

    § 2. Cases where what was heard was the percipient’s own name—which is a very common form of purely subjective hallucination.

    In most of these cases there may probably have been a certain occupation of the agent’s thoughts with the percipient . . 108–114

    § 3. Cases where the phantasm has been of an unrecognised voice. In one instance, (No. 279) several experiences of the sort, in close coincidence with the deaths of relatives, have occurred to the same percipient . . 114–118

    § 4. Cases where the impression was of a complete sentence, conveying either a piece of information or a direction, projected by the percipient as a message from without . . 118–124

    § 5. An example where the sound heard was vocal, but not recognised and articulate . . 124–125

    § 6. Phantasms of non-vocal noises or shocks. These are parallel to the rudimentary visual hallucinations; but need a more jealous scrutiny, since odd noises are often due to undiscovered physical causes in the vicinity. Still, some impressions of the sort are pretty clearly hallucinatory; and the form is one which telepathic hallucinations seem occasionally to take. The final case (No. 291) suggests the possibility of family susceptibility to telepathic influences . . 125–132

    CHAPTER XVI.

    TACTILE CASES, AND CASES AFFECTING MORE THAN ONE OF THE PERCIPIENT’S SENSES.

    § 1. Purely subjective impressions of touch, of at all a distinct kind, are rare; and when they occur, may often be accounted for as illusions due {ii-ix} to an involuntary muscular twitch. It is not surprising, therefore, that telepathic hallucinations of this type should be rare . . 133–134

    The most conclusive examples are those where an affection of touch is combined with one of sight or hearing. Examples . . 135–139

    § 2. Combined affections of the senses of sight and hearing: one case (No. 299) is peculiar in that the person who was probably the agent was in the percipient’s company at the time . . 139–149

    § 3. A case where the impressions of sight and hearing were separated by some hours . . 149–152

    CHAPTER XVII.

    RECIPROCAL CASES.

    § 1. It occasionally happens that at the time when A telepathically influences B, A on his side has an impression which strongly suggests that B has reciprocally influenced him. The best proof of this is where A expresses in words some piece of knowledge as to B’s condition. Other more doubtful cases (of which a few are quoted) may be provisionally referred to the same type; but unless A’s description includes something which he could not have known or guessed in a normal manner, his alleged percipience of B cannot be assumed to have been more than mere subjective dream or vision . . 153–158

    § 2. Examples of apparently reciprocal action. They may be regarded as special cases of “telepathic clairvoyance”; A’s percipience of B being apparently active rather than passive, and due to some extension of his own faculties, connected with the abnormality of condition that occasions his agency, and not to any special abnormality in B’s condition . . 158–166

    The cases which, on the evidence, would be clearly reciprocal, are so few in number as to justify a doubt whether they represent a genuine type. Supposing them to be genuine, however, their rarity is not hard to account for; and it may be hoped that time will bring us more well-attested specimens . . 167

    {ii-x}

    CHAPTER XVIII.

    COLLECTIVE CASES.

    § 1. Phantasms which have affected the senses of more than one percipient, are a specially perplexing class. On the face of them, they suggest a real objective presence of the person seen or heard. But such “objectivity” (unless conceived as some illusive form of matter) can hardly be defined except just as a temporary existence in more minds than one: it does not explain, but merely repeats, the fact that the experience is collective. . 168–170

    In the absence of evidence (worthy of the name) that a telepathic phantasm has ever given a test of physical reality—e.g., by opening a door or a window—we are led to inquire how far the phenomena of collective hallucination can be covered by a theory of purely psychical impressions. Two views (which will subsequently prove capable of amalgamation) present themselves:—(1) that A, at a distance, produces

    simultaneous telepathic impressions on the minds of B and C, who happen to be together; (2) that B’s impression, however originated, passes on to C by a process of thought-transference—the hallucination itself being, so to speak, infectious . . 170–171

    § 2. The first of these hypotheses presents great difficulties. For our review of telepathic hallucinations, so far, has shown that they may take very various forms, and may be projected at various intervals of time (within a range of a few hours) from the crisis or event to which we trace them; so that, supposing several persons to have been the joint recipients of a telepathic impression, it seems most improbable that they should independently invest it at the same moment with the same sensory form. Nor, again, should we expect to find, among those jointly affected, any person who was a stranger to the distant agent; nevertheless, cases occur where such a person has shared in the collective percipience. And yet again, on this theory of independent affection of several persons, there seems no special reason why they should be in one another’s company at the time, since the agent may presumably exercise his influence equally in any direction; nevertheless, cases where the percipients have been apart are, in fact, extremely rare . . 171–172

    A few examples of the sort are given; but in several even of these, the percipients, though not together, were very near one another, and had been to some extent sharing the same life . . 173–183

    § 3. As to the second of the proposed hypotheses—that one percipient catches the hallucination from another by a process of thought-transference—the {ii-xi} question at once suggests itself whether such communicability is ever found in cases where no distant agent is concerned—cases of purely subjective hallucination. Such an idea would, no doubt, be as new to scientific psychology as every other form of thought-transference; but transient hallucinations of the sane have been so little studied or collected that it is not surprising if the evidence for collective experiences of the sort has escaped attention—though collective illusions have sometimes been described as hallucinations . . 183–184

    It is in collective cases that the importance of distinguishing illusions from hallucinations becomes plain. In illusions, the persons affected receive an actual sensory impression from a real object, the error being simply in their way of interpreting it; and in the interpretation they are often greatly at the mercy of one another’s suggestions. Many historical incidents—such as visions of signs in the heavens and of phantom champions—might be thus explained . . 184–186

    In other alleged instances of “collective hallucination” there is no proof that the impression was really more than a vivid mental picture, evoked under excitement. And even where the image probably has been externalised in space—as, e.g., in religious epidemics, or in experimentation with hypnotised subjects—most cases may be at once explained, without any resort to thought-transference, as due to a common idea or expectancy. (Apart, however, from special excitement or from hypnotism, the power of mere verbal suggestion to produce delusions of the senses may easily be exaggerated) . . 186–188

    It is only when these various conditions are absent—when the joint percept is clearly hallucination, and is also projected by the several percipients without emotional preparation or suggestion—that the hypothesis of thought-transference from one percipient to another can reasonably be entertained . . 189–190

    § 4. The examples to be adduced, of collective hallucinations, not apparently originating in the condition of any absent living person, include cases which may be regarded by some as indicating post-mortem agency. It is not necessary to enter into the vexed question as to whether the power of exercising psychical energy can or cannot continue after physical death. Whatever answer that question received, these cases would still, in the writer’s opinion, (for reasons set forth in § 2,) bear witness to a quite mundane transference between the minds of the living percipients . . 190–192

    § 5. Visual examples. Hallucinations of light . . 192–194

    Various out-of-door experiences, not easy to explain as illusions . . 194–198

    Examples of the simultaneous appearance of an unrecognised figure to {ii-xii} two percipients, who in most instances were in each other’s company at the time. The two impressions received in several cases were not precisely similar, and in one (No. 322) were markedly different . . 198–207

    Similar appearances of recognised phantasms; one of which (case 333) represented the form of one of the percipients . . 208–218

    The auditory class requires special care, owing to the liability of real sounds (whose source is often uncertain) to be misinterpreted. Examples of voices . . 218–221

    And of musical hallucinations . . 221–223

    The examples may at all events show that a purely psychical account of these joint experiences is possible. It is not, indeed, obvious why hallucinations of the senses should be a form of experience liable to transmission from mind to mind; but as regards the cases which are telepathically originated, some explanation may perhaps be found in the fact that they at any rate involve a disturbance of a very peculiar kind . . 224–225

    § 6. Collective hallucinations of telepathic origin. Auditory examples, representing vocal sounds . . 226–230

    And non-vocal sounds . . 230–235

    Visual examples. In two of these (Nos. 345 and 346) the experiences of the several percipients were not precisely similar. Another case (No. 349) affords an opportunity for estimating the probability of a collective mistake of identity . . 235–264

    § 7. The fact that in most of the examples the two percipients, B and C, were together suggests that mere community of scene, or of immediate mental occupation, may establish a rapport favourable to “psychical” transferences . . 264–266

    And this conception may lead us, in cases where a distant agent, A, is concerned, to an amalgamation of the two hypotheses (see § 1) which have hitherto been treated separately. C’s experience, quâ hallucination, that is to say in its sensory character, may be derived from B’s but, for all that, A may be telepathically affecting C. It may be A’s joint influence on B and C that has conditioned the transference of sensation between them; or, in cases where C holds no intimate relation to A, a rapport may be established, ad hoc, between A and C by the rapport of both of them with B—who thus serves, so to speak, as a channel for C’s percipience; and this would even help to explain the cases where B is not himself consciously percipient . . 266–268

    The conception of rapport through community of mental occupation might explain the various cases where the telepathic influence seems to have been locally conditioned, by the presence of the percipient in a place that was interesting to the agent. And the idea may receive a still {ii-xiii} further extension in cases where there is reason to suppose a reciprocal telepathic clairvoyance of the scene on the agent’s part . . 268–269

    Conjectures of this sort concerning the more outlying telepathic phenomena have an air of rashness; but the mere fact that “psychical” transferences are possible, when once admitted, opens up a scheme of Idealism within whose bounds (if bounds there be) the potential unity between individual minds is at any rate likely to realise itself in surprising ways . . 270

    CONCLUSION.

    § 1. The case for spontaneous telepathy, being essentially a cumulative one, hardly admits of being recapitulated in a brief and attractive form. Nothing but a detailed study of the evidence—dull as that study is—can justify definite conclusions concerning it. After all, the dulness is perhaps not greater than attaches to the mastery of details in other departments of knowledge; and it cannot be too clearly realised that what the research requires is not sensational incidents, but verified dates . . 271–272

    § 2. The present instalment of evidence, with all its defects, may yet, by making the idea of telepathy better understood, facilitate collection in the future; and already various difficulties and prejudices show signs of giving way . . 273

    § 3.

    But though a fair field is sure, in time, to be allowed to the work, its advance must depend on very wide co-operation; and the more so as the several items of proof tend to lose their effect as they recede into the past. The experimental investigations must be greatly extended, the spontaneous phenomena must be far more intelligently watched for and recorded, before the place of telepathy in scientific psychology can be absolutely assured . . 273–274

    NOTE (BY MR. MYERS) ON A SUGGESTED MODE OF PSYCHICAL INTERACTION.

    § 1. The hypotheses contained in this note are tentatively advanced, but may at least direct observation . . 277

    § 2. The theory which represents a veridical phantasm as the externalisation of a telepathic impression encounters a difficulty in the fact that when two (or more) persons are together the phantasm is usually, though not always, perceived by both . . 277–278

    {ii-xiv}

    § 3. This complex fact seems in the first place inconsistent with the popular theory of a material ghost, or “meta-organism,”—a theory on other grounds objectionable; . . 278–279

    § 4. Nor can we always assume a separate telepathic impulse from A to B and from A to C. Mr. Gurney therefore supposes a fresh telepathic communication from B to C: . . 279

    § 5. But no such cases of communication of hallucinations are recorded by alienists who have treated of “folie à deux”; . . 279–280

    § 6. And in morbid hallucinations of the sane, no degree of duration or intensity seems to effect this communication of the hallucination to bystanders . . 280–282

    § 7. Moreover, in Mr. Gurney’s collection of casual hallucinations of the sane, there are no collective cases which are indisputably falsidical; . . 282–284

    § 8. Alleged phantasms of the dead, for instance, cannot all be classed with certainty as merely illusory in the present state of our knowledge . . 284

    § 9. It may be better, then, to fall back on observation of the experimental cases, and to note that in them the percipient exercises a species of supernormal activity . . 284–286

    § 10. Such activity, if pushed further, might become first telepathic clairvoyance, then independent clairvoyance . . 286–287

    § 11. Clairvoyant perception seems to be exercised in inverse ratio to activity of normal faculties, and to be stimulated by influence from another mind . . 287

    § 12. If this be so, we have an analogy which throws light on cases in this book where a dreaming, or even a waking, percipient becomes conscious of a distant scene; . . 287–289

    § 13. And, furthermore, our cases suggest that correspondently with clairvoyant perception there may be phantasmogenetic efficacy: . . 289

    § 14. So that all the persons present together may be equally likely to discern the phantasmal correlate of the dying man’s clairvoyant perception; and collective cases will no longer present a unique difficulty . . 289–290

    § 15. And this will hold good whatever view we take of the relation {ii-xv} to space or matter, either of the clairvoyant percipience or of its phantasmal correlate . . 290–291

    § 16. This view suggests test-experiments. Points to be noticed in a collective hallucination; . . 291–292

    § 17. And in a hallucination induced by hypnotic suggestion . . 292–293

    § 18. But if the dying man’s conception of himself is thus presented as a quasi-percept to a group of persons collectively, then some cases where there is one percipient only may be similarly explained . . 293–294

    § 19. If we consider the indications of origin in one or the other mind given by the dress of phantoms, we find no clear case where such origin must be referred to the percipient’s mind; . . 294–297

    § 20. And the symbolism of phantoms also is generally such as may have been common to both minds . . 297–298

    § 21. On the other hand there are cases where the dying man’s actual dress at the moment, though an improbable one, is reproduced by the phantom, which thus is clothed according to the dying man’s conception of himself, and probably not according to the percipient’s antecedent conception of him; . . 298

    § 22. And the symbolism of the figure sometimes conveys true information, or is in other ways probably referable to the dying man . . 299–300

    § 23. And the cases of imperfect or deferred recognition seem similarly to indicate that the aspect of the apparition has not been determined by the percipient himself . . 300–301

    § 24. Moreover, the attraction which determines the phantasmal presence seems sometimes to be local rather than personal; as if the percipient merely saw an apparition which was generated by causes independent of himself . . 301–302

    § 25. It may be said that on this view the mass of our cases should be reciprocal. But in order to prove a case reciprocal it is necessary that clairvoyant percipience should be recollected, which is a rare thing . . 302–303

    § 26. Still further, the agent’s death often prevents his recounting such percipience as he may have enjoyed. His last words sometimes indicate that there has been such percipience. Dr. Ormsby’s case . . 303–306

    § 27. In our few cases of voluntary self-projection the experience seems rarely to have persisted into waking memory; . . 306–307

    {ii-xvi}

    § 28. And after clairvoyant dreams the fact of the clairvoyant invasion may be forgotten till revived by accidental presence in the scene thus discerned . . 307

    § 29. Invasion, however, is sometimes remembered; faintly and brokenly by an agent waking at the time; . . 307–308

    § 30. More often and more distinctly by an agent sleeping at the time . . 308

    § 31. Such reciprocity seems further facilitated by a state of trance or delirium . . 309–310

    § 32. Stages by which, in this view, veridical phantasms gradually approach a reciprocal type . . 310–311

    § 33. Power of the death or crisis of one person to evoke the clairvoyant percipience, and invite the supernormal invasion, of another. Parallel with clairvoyance mesmerically induced . . 311–312

    § 34. A true classification must depend on the condition and crises of the unconscious rather than of the conscious self . . 312–314

    § 35. In the meantime reciprocal percipience may be taken as the type of a fully-developed veridical hallucination; its relation to space and matter being as yet unknown . . 314

    §36. Suggested analogy of telepathic with vital or organic communication . . 314–316

    SUPPLEMENT.

    INTRODUCTION.

    § 1. The supplementary evidence for telepathy, like that in the main body of the work, consists of experimental cases (Chap. I.) and of spontaneous cases (Chaps. II.-IX.) . . 321

    § 2. The spontaneous cases, in the aggregate, have less force than those which have preceded—the chances of error in many of them being very appreciable, and some of them being second-hand. Still, the evidence is for the most part of a character which allows us to suppose that the essential {ii-xvii} point has been truly retained, even though details may have been altered or added . . 321–322

    § 3. And since this evidence, which might not prove the reality of spontaneous telepathy, is sufficient, even alone, to establish a very strong presumption for it, it lends an important support to the cumulative argument already presented . . 322–323

    CHAPTER I.

    FURTHER EXAMPLES OF THOUGHT-TRANSFERENCE, PRINCIPALLY IN HYPNOTIC CASES.

    § 1. Experiments in the transference of tastes and pains . . 324–329

    Occasionally the transference seems to be from the “subject” to the operator . . 330–331

    § 2. Examples of the power of the will in producing the hypnotic condition, or in evoking particular actions . . 331–334

    § 3. Transferences of ideas unconnected with movement. One remarkable record (No. 366) exemplifies a very long-continued susceptibility on the percipient’s part. Several of the cases, here treated as telepathic, have been attributed without sufficient grounds to independent clairvoyance . . 334–348

    CHAPTER II.

    IDEAL, EMOTIONAL, AND MOTOR CASES.

    § 1. Examples of spontaneous thought-transference of a tolerably literal kind, several of which suggest a fugitive faculty of percipience developed by illness . . 349–362

    § 2. Examples of an apparently abnormal intuition of the approach or proximity of certain persons . . 363–365

    § 3. Cases where the “agency” is difficult or impossible to assign, and which recall the Greek notion of φήμη . . 365–370

    § 4. Emotional impressions (involving in one case—No. 391—distinct physical discomfort) which the percipients connected at the moment with particular individuals . . 370–374

    {ii-xviii}

    § 5. Emotional impressions not so connected . . 374–376

    § 6. Examples of motor effects . . 376–379

    CHAPTER III.

    DREAMS.

    § 1. Examples of simultaneous dreams corresponding in content . . 380–383

    § 2. Examples of dreams which have seemed to represent some thought or mental picture in the mind of a waking agent . . 383–393

    § 3. Examples of dreams which have directly corresponded with a real event (usually death) that befell the agent . . 393–401

    § 4. Examples of pictorial dreams with a similar correspondence; in many of which the dreamer has invested the idea with original (symbolic or fantastic) imagery . . 401–428

    § 5. Examples of dreams that may be described as telepathically clairvoyant, in several of which (Nos. 481–4) the object prominently presented has been a letter . . 428–448

    CHAPTER IV.

    “BORDERLAND” CASES.

    § 1. First-hand cases of rather remote date: Visual cases . . 449–459

    Auditory cases . . 459–461

    § 2. First-hand and more recent cases: Visual cases . . 461–470

    Auditory cases . . 470–474

    § 3. A group of first-hand cases taken from printed sources . . 474–477

    § 4. Second-hand cases from informants who were nearly related to the original witnesses . . 477–496

    § 5. And from informants who were not so related . . 496–508

    {ii-xix}

    CHAPTER V.

    VISUAL CASES.

    § 1. First-hand death-cases . . 509–523

    § 2. First-hand cases where the conditioning event on the agent’s side was something other than death . . 523–532

    § 3. Second-hand cases from informants who were nearly related to the original witnesses. In connection with one of these cases (No. 583) some remarks are made on the Scotch “second sight”; another case (No. 586) illustrates the difference between the right and the wrong sort of transmitted evidence. . 532–542

    § 4. Second-hand cases from informants who were not nearly related to the original witnesses . . 543–558

    § 5. Ancient cases, which, by rare exception, were recorded in such a way as to have permanent value . . 558–560

    CHAPTER VI.

    AUDITORY AND TACTILE CASES.

    § 1. Cases where the impression was of distinct words . . 561–568

    § 2. Cases where the impression apparently represented what was actually in the agent’s ears at the time . . 568–570

    § 3. Non-vocal cases . . 570–574

    § 4. Tactile cases . . 574–576

    A case suggesting a peculiar sympathy of physical condition . . 576–577

    CHAPTER VII.

    CASES AFFECTING MORE THAN ONE OF THE PERCIPIENT’S SENSES . . 578–589

    CHAPTER VIII.

    RECIPROCAL CASES . . 590–599

    {ii-xx}

    CHAPTER IX.

    COLLECTIVE CASES.

    § 1. Three outlying cases . . 600–603

    § 2. Visual cases, apparently connected with the condition of a distant agent, occurring to percipients who were apart . . 603–607

    § 3. And to percipients who were together . . 607–623

    § 4. Visual cases where it is doubtful whether there was any “agency” on the part of the person whom the phantasm represented . . 623–630

    § 5. Auditory cases, where the impression was of a recognised voice . . 631–634

    § 6. And where the impression was of inarticulate or non-vocal sounds . . 634–641

    ADDITIONAL CHAPTER

    Of CASES RECEIVED TOO LATE FOR INSERTION IN THEIR PROPER PLACES.

    § 1. Experimental cases—

    Reproduction of diagrams . . 642–653

    Transference of ideas of numbers, words, and objects . . 653–666

    Transference of tastes . . 666–669

    Transference of ideas below the threshold of consciousness . . 669–671

    § 2. Transitional cases—

    Production of visual phantasms at a distance . . 671–676

    Hypnotic effects at a distance . . 676–687

    § 3. Spontaneous cases of various types. The last two (Nos. 701 and 702) afford a specially good illustration of the psychological identity of dreams and hallucinations . . 687–705

    TABLE OF NUMBERED CASES . . 707–722

    ANALYSIS OF THE TABLE . . 723

    INDEX . . 725–733

    {ii-xxi}

    ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS.

    VOLUME II.

    Page 13, line 13 from bottom. “One in every 90 of the population.” The probability that the ratio  90, observed in the specimen-group, may be fairly assumed as correct for the whole population, admits of precise determination. A general idea of its degree of correctness may be obtained from the following analogue, which I owe to Mr. F. Y. Edgeworth. Suppose 5680 balls to be drawn from a bag containing immense numbers of black and white balls, mixed in a certain ratio. If the real ratio of black balls to the total be  80, the odds against our drawing so small a proportion of black balls as  90

    i.e., the odds against the ratio appearing to be  90—are about 10 to 1. If the real ratio be  60, the odds against its appearing to be so small as  90 are about 500 to 1. If the real ratio be  45, the odds against its appearing to be so small as  90 are more than 100,000 to 1. It will become obvious, I think, as we proceed, that even in this last contingency—on the violently improbable assumption that the true ratio of hallucinés in the population is double that observed in the specimen group—my general conclusion would remain safe, even for the auditory cases; and à fortiori for the visual cases, where a far smaller ratio is substituted for  90. But it is enough to notice that practically, as the ratio for the population is as likely to be less than the specimen-ratio as greater, and as it cannot differ from it very materially on either side, the specimen-ratio may safely be used.

    Page 24, line 1. For 13 read 12, and for 6 read 7. Lines 17–22. Among the “recognised” visual cases, I include three where the figure seen did not represent the person who was probably the agent. I do not reckon on either side two cases of mis-recognition, which might equally well be described as partial recognition; nor three cases where the recognition was retrospective; nor four “collective” cases where one of the percipients recognised the agent, but the other was a stranger to him. I reckon in the unrecognised class three cases where the percipient was a stranger to the agent, but described his appearance correctly. Among the “recognised” auditory cases, I include two where the voice heard was not that of the supposed agent. I do not reckon on either side case 279; nor case 507 where the recognition was retrospective; nor the case of mis-recognition, No. 570.

    Page 25, note. The slight difference from the numbers given in Vol. I., pp. 392 and 498, is due to cases received since those pages were printed off.

    {ii-xxii}

    Page 26, lines 12 and 13. For 399 read 401, and for 303 read 304.

    Page 27. “The only way of meeting this argument,” &c. In more technical language, the point stands thus. The determination of the à posteriori probability that certain events took place by chance depends not only on the “objective” probability of the occurrence of such events under a régime of chance, but on à priori probabilities depending (except in imaginary problems about bags and balls) on what Professor A. Marshall has felicitously called “that abstract and essence of past experience which is on the one side science, and on the other practical instinct.” And as Mr. F. Y. Edgeworth remarks, in writing to me on this topic, “Scratches or ordering boots might be as unique experiences as death, or at any rate not materially more frequent; yet all would agree that the à priori probability of a causal connection between a phantasm and ordering boots is nil; while as to death, many would think differently.” Now in applying this remark, it must be remembered that that which alone could make a number of the coincidences—whether between phantasms and orderings of boots, or between phantasms and deaths—explicable as accidental occurrences, would be the universal though unknown and unnoticed prevalence of spectral illusions. This is itself a huge improbability, determined as such by the relation of the statistical results of my census to complex à priori probabilities concerning facts of human memory and testimony. And what I have implied in the text is simply that it is an improbability so huge as to outweigh the à priori improbability of a causal connection between phantasms and deaths, though not perhaps the à priori improbability of a causal connection between phantasms and orderings of boots.

    Page 37, first note. Since this note was printed, I have met with an interesting case of the peculiar sensation described, in connection with purely subjective hallucinations. Mr. J. Russell Lowell tells me that in past years he had frequent hallucinations of vision, of both the recognised and the unrecognised sort, which greatly interested him; and that the experience was ushered in (he believes invariably) by a feeling of marked chill, which seemed to ascend from the feet to the head.

    Page 37, second note. Mr. Lowell also tells me that though the figures he saw were sometimes quite natural-looking, at other times they were of the semi-transparent sort here described, allowing the wall or furniture to be seen through them. He spoke of these as looking as if composed of “blue film”—a description which is of great interest, when taken in connection with some of the telepathic cases, e.g., Nos. 210, 311, 315, 485, 555.

    Page 39, line 2 from bottom. For Act read Acte.

    Page 42, case 226. In conversation, General H. informed Mr. Podmore that the native who was with him at the time of his experience was not facing the figure, but still would probably have been aware of the presence of a real person who occupied the spot where the figure was seen.

    {ii-xxiii}

    Page 66 note. For case 197 read cases 197 and 509.

    Page 67, case 245. The narrator has added, in conversation, that he was in Huddersfield for the day only, and that his sudden resolve necessitated his telegraphing to the friends with whom he was staying. For the moment he does not know the address of these friends; but he hopes to procure us their recollections as to the receipt of this telegram and his subsequent explanation of it.

    Page 71, case 249. The following corroboration is supplied by Mr. and Mrs. Coates, of 156, Waperton Road, Bradford, who were with Mr. Carr at the time:—

    “June 23, 1886.

    “We shall only be able to confirm the statement of Mr. T. Carr. So far as we can remember, while we were sitting in the room, T. C. came from his chair to the window; and, while looking out of the window, he made the remark, ‘Ah, there is [X.] coming to see us,’ and stepped back from the window, waiting to hear a knock at the door, which however did not come. T. C. remarked that he must have gone up the yard, and looked at the clock to see what time it was. We afterwards heard that at the time we thought [X.] was in the yard, he was just about dying.

    “CHARLES COATES.

    “ANNIE COATES.”

    In conversation, Mr. Coates gave the time as about 4 p.m.; and spoke of Mr. Carr’s consulting his watch.

    Page 72, case 250. In conversation I have learnt from Mr. Schofield that he had been absent from home for some days—which explains his having heard nothing of the illness. The deceased had a warm affection for his mother.

    Page 85, case 257. Since this case was printed, a hallucination representing the same person has been seen by a fourth percipient. Mrs. Glanville writes from Shute Haye, Walditch, Bridport, on Aug. 23, 1886:—

    “After breakfast this morning, I was outside the breakfast-room window, looking about, when I saw Mrs. Stone walking up one of the paths by the side of the lawn. I followed her. The path is long and winds round. I saw her turn the corner into a path that led through the orchard, but when I came there I could not see her. I wondered at her walking so quickly as to go out of sight, and strolled on, following the path, which led me back to the house. Here I saw Mrs. Stone talking to the gardener. She was surprised when I asked her how I could have missed her, and said she had not been walking at all, had not left her plants. Well, I saw her, her black dress, her white cap, her walk, Mrs. Stone certainly, but whether out of herself, or by an impression on my brain, I cannot tell—but I never saw anything more distinctly.” [A plan of the paths was enclosed.]

    Mrs. Stone writes, Aug. 25, 1886:—

    “You wish me to give an account of my proceedings when Mrs. Glanville {ii-xxiv} saw my double. About 10 on the morning of Monday, August 23rd, I had gone direct from the house to water some flowers in a greenhouse marked in Mrs. Glanville’s plan. My mind was rather disturbed at not hearing from my son. I was

    watering in a rather dazed, mechanical way, but did not lose consciousness. Walking from the place I met Mrs. Glanville, who said, ‘How could you get here without my seeing you?’ I had not been near the spot where she saw me.”

    The percipient in this case has had one other visual hallucination representing a living person, which was very likely telepathic. She thus describes it:—

    “I remember one experience of the same sort happening when I was a girl. I certainly did see an old gentleman in the street who was then on his death-bed, but nobody would believe it. He was standing outside his shop-door; there were two other men with him. I can see him now in my mind’s eye—a tall thin man; I knew his face quite well. When I said at dinner that Mr. Worth was better, for I had seen him in the street, my father told me he had just called, and Mr. Worth was very ill, in fact dying, and I must be mistaken.”

    Page 112, case 277. The narrator has explained to me that her mother was taken ill on the Saturday night, and lay all that night and the next day on the sofa, muttering to herself, but not thought to be dying.

    Page 116, case 281. We have procured, from the Acting Registrar-General at Fiji, a certificate which shows that the death took place on Sept. 8, 1875. But we learn from the Astronomer-Royal that, until recently, the nomenclature of days of the month at Fiji followed the rule of Australia. Sept. 8, 1875, therefore, began there nearly 12 hours before it began here; so that unless the deceased was bathing late in the evening, the narrator’s experience must have followed the death by more than 12 hours. This, of course, is on the supposition that the experience was really on the night of the 8th, and not of the 7th; in which latter case the coincidence might have been exact. The narrator is sure that the 8th was the date—not, however, from any independent recollection of the number 8, but on the ground that she referred to her diary after she heard of the death, and verified the coincidence, which she then mentioned to one or two persons. But it will be seen from her account that, for aught she knew, the death might have occurred on the 7th; and therefore the days would have seemed to her to have very probably coincided if the day which she found noted in her diary was also the 7th. Should the diary ever be found, the point may be cleared up.

    Page 123, case 287. Since this case was printed, I have learnt from Dr. Joseph Smith that he was seeing Mrs. Gandy nearly every day. He nevertheless feels pretty confident that his experience was not due to anything that he had heard or observed—arguing that that explanation of it, if it had been the true one, would have occurred to him at the time. But extremely slight and transient impressions may, for aught we know, serve as the germ of subsequent hallucinations, just as they may serve as the {ii-xxv} germ of subsequent dreams; and the case ought not, I think, to have received an evidential number.

    Page 199, case 319. Both witnesses are positive that the case was not one of mere illusion; though it was dusk, there was enough light for the clergyman to observe that the figure outside was rather badly dressed, besides differing from Dr. Cant in being considerably stouter and wearing a beard. They discussed the matter the same evening, at about 11 p.m. In the interval, something had occurred by which Dr. Cant tells us that he was a good deal impressed. At about 8 p.m. he was called to visit a stranger, who was dying, and who had expressly desired his attendance; and he was startled by the close (though not exact) resemblance of this man to the hallucinatory figure.

    Page 209, case 326. Mrs. R.’s sister, Miss Norman, of Stone, Stafford, has sent the following independent testimony, dated June 21, 1886:—

    “After the lapse of so many years, the statement I now write is all that I can remember of seeing my father and mother walking together, in the year 1843, in the village where we then resided. At the time, my father was from home, very ill; and my mother, to the best of my remembrance, was out on that day. I have a very vivid recollection of the vision, which I think remarkable. My parents were walking together by the churchyard wall, close to the parsonage. This happened in September, 1843.”

    Mrs. R. writes that she is confident that neither she nor the manservant saw her mother’s figure:—“He saw just what I saw—my father entering the church by the vestry door.” After so long an interval, it is likely enough that the sisters’ accounts might differ, even if their experiences had been identical. But it seems quite possible, on the analogy of several other cases, that the simultaneous hallucinations were not exactly identical.

    Page 237, line 24. After Mr. R. Hodgson insert “and later the present writer.”

    Page 247, lines 4, 5. The testimony in question has now been obtained, and is as follows:—

    “Lakeside Cottages, Newby Bridge.

    “June, 1886.

    “It was one evening, about 4 years ago, that I sat in the kitchen, at Lindale Parsonage, at supper, and looking at the window I saw, at the side of the blind, which was not hanging quite straight, a very pale face looking at me. It was turned sideways when I first saw it, and thinking it was one of the young men from the village come up to make game of us, I made a face at it; then it turned full face towards me, and I saw that it was the face of Mrs. John Robinson, my present husband’s first wife. It looked very pale. I watched it with the other servants for about 3 minutes perhaps, and then it dropped down and disappeared. I could see all round it,1 1 Compare cases 553 and 572. so that I {ii-xxvi} could see that it was not a real face, and it was too close to the window for that. It looked as if resting on the sill.

    “I have never on any other occasion seen anything which was not really there.

    “HELEN ROBINSON.”

    Page 297, line 14. Before p. 546 insert Vol. I.

    Page 336, case 366. The phenomena of mesmeric rapport described in this case strongly suggest a specific influence exercised by the operator, of a sort not as yet recognised in the various scientific theories of hypnotism; but a more decisive proof of such an influence is of course afforded if the same operator has produced kindred effects on more than one “subject.” After the case in the text was printed, I heard from Mrs. Pinhey of another occurrence which, from this point of view, is of the greatest interest, besides supplying a parallel to the examples of the telepathic production of hypnotic sleep given in Vol. I., p. 88, and below, pp. 679–87. During the period when the events described in case 366 were proceeding, Mrs. Pinhey was staying with some friends at Pakenham, and was requested by Sir Walter Trevelyan, one of the party, to try to induce mesmeric sleep in another guest, Miss Lofft. Mrs. Pinhey was rather unwilling, but at last consented.

    “The experiment was quite successful as far as it went. Miss L. soon went off into the sleep and was laid upon a bed in that state. I believe she did not wake for some hours. The Trevelyans and Miss Lofft were to leave the next day, and before they did so Sir Walter startled me by making the following request: ‘Would I, as an experiment and to oblige him, undertake to retire at a certain hour, which he fixed, that evening, and make the usual passes with an intention of again mesmerising Miss Lofft, who would by that time be with him and his wife at a hotel at Lincoln or Leicester, or some town which he named but which I have now forgotten?’ Again I hesitated. * * However, curiosity, and a comfortable assurance that there could be nothing in it, gradually conquered my repugnance, and I promised to make the attempt, heartily hoping that it might not succeed. The Trevelyans and Miss Lofft all left at about noon for the railway station, and travelled by train to their destination. The day passed as usual, and I began to feel more confidence and could almost laugh at my former fears. When the appointed time came, I retired quietly to my own room, and, imagining Miss Lofft before me, I made the usual passes1 1 Possibly effective indirectly, as aiding concentration of attention. just as I had done the evening before, and for about the same length of time. It appeared very absurd and I could not help laughing at the situation; but I kept my own counsel and said nothing to anyone.

    “A day or two later, when I had returned home, a letter came for me from Sir Walter Trevelyan. It informed me in a few words that at the preconcerted hour Miss Lofft was sitting at table after tea or supper, that she suddenly began to feel very drowsy, said her sensations were the same as when she was being mesmerised, and that at last she slept much as she had done the evening before, though, I think, less deeply and for a shorter time. I confess that I was so astonished at this news, and found it so disagreeable and bewildering, that I destroyed the letter, an act I have {ii-xxvii} often since regretted, and said as little as possible about the matter to anyone. I instinctively felt that it would be commonly regarded as so incredible that I had better say nothing about it, lest it should throw discredit upon the other experiments. Nevertheless, the main facts are perfectly true, though I will not undertake to answer for every detail. For instance, it is certainly true that Miss Lofft was affected in the way I have described, but I cannot remember to what exact extent.”

    [A niece of Miss Lofft tells us that she remembers Mrs. Pinhey mesmerising her aunt at Pakenham; but she was not told of the subsequent experiment.]

    Of course if this occurrence stood alone, the most natural hypothesis would be that Sir Walter Trevelyan had in some way betrayed what was being attempted, and that the trance was caused by suggestion and expectancy. But in view of other cases of the same sort, and especially of the recent French records, it is not unreasonable to suppose that he was sufficiently on his guard not to mar his own carefully-planned experiment, and that the incident was genuinely telepathic.

    Page 413, case 445. We find from the Register of Deaths that the lady’s death took place on March 2, 1843. The narrator tells me that there was no immediate apprehension of it—that, for aught he knew, “she might have lived for 20 years.” He thinks, but cannot be sure, that his eyes were open.

    Page 422, lines 4 and 16. For Harley read Holles. The note to this case (within brackets) is not quite correct, as a sailing-vessel bound for Melbourne might have 6 weeks’ start, and still be outstripped by a steamer. But even with this correction, the time of the second dream cannot be brought into correspondence with any customary hour for a London funeral.

    Page 460, second note. For 568 read 569; for 639 read 638; for 654 read 653.

    Page 485, case 522. A sister of the narrator’s, who had also heard of the experience from her father’s lips, confirms the account given.

    Page 511, case 552. In conversation, Mrs. Rooke mentioned that she saw the figure as she was coming out after prayers, all the students being behind her. This is important, as telling against the hypothesis of mistaken identity. She regards that hypothesis as out of the question, the recognition of the face being complete. The dress was a grey suit with black-barred pattern, and cap to match, such as the young man had been used to wear at the college. Mrs. Rooke did not mention her experience to her husband, not liking to appear superstitious; but both he and she agree that she mentioned it as soon as the news of the death arrived, which was about 6 weeks later; the words “many months” in her account seem therefore to be a slip.

    Page 612, note. Omit 659, and add cases 30, 190, 198, 495, 530, 537, 591.

    {ii-xxviii}
    {ii-1}

    CHAPTER XIII.

    THE THEORY OF CHANCE-COINCIDENCE.

    § 1. AN issue has now to be seriously considered which I have several times referred to as a fundamental one, but which could not be treated without a preliminary study of the subject of sensory hallucinations. That, as I have tried to show, is the order of natural phenomena to which “phantasms of the living” in general belong; they are to be regarded as projections of the percipient’s brain by which his senses are deceived. We have further found that in a certain number of cases—which may be taken as representing the still larger number to be cited in the following chapters—a phantasm of this kind is alleged to have coincided very closely in time with the death, or some serious crisis in the life, of the person whose presence it suggested. The question for us now is whether these coincidences can, or cannot, be explained as accidental. If they can, then the theory of telepathy—so far as applied to apparitions—falls to the ground. If they cannot, then the existence of telepathy as a fact in Nature is proved on the evidence; and the proof could only be resisted by the assumption that the evidence, or a very large part of it, is in its main features untrustworthy. It is very necessary to distinguish these two questions—whether the evidence may be trusted; and if trusted, what it proves. It is the latter question that is now before us. The character of the evidence was discussed at some length in the fourth chapter, and is to be judged of by the narratives quoted throughout the book. In the present chapter it is assumed that these narratives are in the main trustworthy; that in a large proportion of them the essential features of the case—i.e., two marked experiences and a time-relation between them—are correctly recorded.

    Here, then, is the issue. A certain number of coincidences of a particular sort have occurred: did they or did they not occur by {ii-2} chance? Now there are doubtless some who do not perceive that this question demands a reasoned examination at all. They settle it à priori. “One is constantly coming across very startling coincidences,” they observe, “which no one thinks of ascribing to anything but chance; why should not these, which are no more startling than many others, be of the number?” This idea need hardly detain us: the point in our cases is, of course, not that the coincidence is startling11It is however, something to get even the startling character of the coincidence admitted. For there are writers of repute who seem to think that the whole occurrence receives a sufficient rationalistic explanation when some plausible subjective cause for the hallucmation has been suggested. The Abbé de St. Pierre, after telling the well-known story of Desfontaines’ appearance to his friend Bezuel, at the time of the former’s death by drowning and while the latter was apparently in a swoon, opines that the swoon was the cause of the apparition; and Ferrjar, who agrees with the Abbé in this, and adds, “I know from my own experience that the approach of syncope is sometimes attended with a spectral appearance,” agrees with him also in leaving the little detail of the drowning wholly out of account. So with respect to the story told by Baronius, of the appearance of Ficino, at the time of his death, to Michael Mercato, who was studying philosophy. Ferriar (instead of making inquiry into the evidence of dates, which would show the story to be spurious) explains that Mercato’s study of philosophy may have revived the idea of his friend in a vivid manner. It would certainly be a very vivid manner that could kill the friend at the distance.—that alone would be insignificant—but that the same sort of startling coincidence is again and again repeated. That is clearly a fact which demands treatment by a particular method, often vaguely appealed to as “the doctrine of chances.” The actual application of that doctrine, however, even to simple cases, seems to require more care than is always bestowed upon it.

    Especially is care required in the simple preliminary matter of deciding, before one begins to calculate, what the subject-matter of the calculation is to be—what precise class of phenomena it is to which the doctrine of chances is to be applied. I need only recall Lord Brougham’s treatment of his own case (Vol. I., pp. 396–7). His attempted explanation, as we saw, entirely depended on his miscalling his experience, and referring it to the class of dreams—a class numerous enough, as he rightly perceived, to afford scope for numbers of startling coincidences. And his remarks illustrate what is really a very common outside view of psychical research. Dreams, and hallucinations, and impressions, and warnings, and presentiments—it is held—are the “psychical” stock-in-trade; and these phenomena are all much on a par, and may all be shown by the same arguments to be undeserving of serious attention. There has been the more excuse for this view, in that those who have claimed objective validity for what others dismiss as purely subjective experiences have often themselves been equally undiscriminating. Even this book might {ii-3}

    lead a critic who confined his perusal to the headings of the chapters to imagine that dreams form a corner-stone of the argument; and in admitting that topic at all, we have so far laid ourselves open to misunderstanding. Thus a distinguished foreign critic of our efforts thought the subjective nature of what we regard as telepathic incidents sufficiently proved by the suggestion that “any physician will consider it quite within the bounds of probability that one per cent. of the population of the country are subject to remarkably vivid dreams, illusions, visions, &c.,” and that each of these persons is “subject to a dream or vision once a week.”11Another trap lies in the word hallucination (see Vol. i., pp. 458–9); which in this book is strictly limited to sensory affections, but which common usage often applies to purely mental errors. But for this équivoque, an eminent physiologist would perhaps hardly have thought he made a point against us in the remark—a rather rash one from any point of view—that our evidence is manifestly derived for the most part “from a class of persons given to hallucination, especially clergymen and women, who are naturally inclined to believe marvels.” (Deutsche Rundschau for January, 1886, p. 45.) Among 509 informants from whom I have received accounts of apparently subjective hallucinations of sight and hearing, I find the proportion of females to males almost exactly 3 to 2, and clergymen most sparsely represented. Of the 527 percipients concerned in the hallucinations of sight and hearing which are included as telepathic evidence in these volumes, 241, or more than 46 per cent., are males; 286, or less than 54 percent., are females; and 28, or between 5 and 6 per cent., are ministers of religion. The slight preponderance of female informants may probably be due to their having, as a rule, more leisure than men for writing on matters unconnected with business. It is obvious enough that in circles whose members have “spectral illusions” of their friends as often as once a week, the approximate coincidence of one of these experiences with the death of the corresponding person will be an insignificant accident. But we have not ourselves met with any specimen of this class; and the present collection comprises first-hand accounts of recognised apparitions, closely coinciding with the death of the original, from 109 percipients, of whom only a small minority can recall having experienced even a single other visual hallucination than the apparition in question.22Explicit denials have been given by 73 out of the 109. From 22 others no answer has been obtained on the point, either through our own failure at first to realise its importance, or owing to death or some unavoidable cause; but of these 22, the majority have pretty clearly implied that what they describe was a unique experience. Of the 14 who can recall some further instance or instances, 4 have had a single apparently subjective hallucination under exceptional conditions of bad health or mental strain; 3 have had one such experience when in a normal state; and 7 have had several such experiences—some of which, however, differed from the telepathic cases in not representing a living figure, while others were themselves either probably or possibly of telepathic origin. I may add that in a large number of other cases, not given in the actual words of the percipient, there is very good reason to believe the experiences to have been unique. Once again, then, let me repeat that, though this work connects the sleeping and the waking phenomena in their theoretic and psychological aspects, it carefully and expressly separates them in their demonstrational aspect. The extent to which either class demonstrates the reality of telepathy can only be known through the application of the doctrine of chances; but the application {ii-4} must be made to them separately, not together; we must not, like Lord Brougham, argue to one class from the data of the other. I have already applied the doctrine to a particular class of dreams, with results which, though numerically striking, left room for doubt, owing to the peculiar untrustworthiness of memory in dream-matters. It remains to apply it to the waking phantasms; and here I think that the results may fairly be held to be decisive.

    § 2. It is clear that the points to be settled are two:—the frequency of the phantasms which have markedly corresponded with real events; and the frequency of phantasms which have had no such correspondence, and have been obviously and wholly subjective in character. These points are absolutely essential to any conclusion on the question before us; and if not settled in any other way, they must be settled by guesses or tacit assumptions. The theory of chance-coincidence, as opposed to that of telepathy, has so far depended on two such assumptions. The first is that the coincidences themselves are extremely rare. They can then be accounted for as accidental. For we know that there are such things as hallucinations representing human forms, which do not correspond with any objective fact whatever outside the organism of the percipient; and it would be rash to deny that the death of the person represented may now and then, in the world’s history, have fallen on the same day as the hallucination. The second assumption is that these purely subjective apparitions of forms are extremely common. It can then be argued that even a considerable number of them might fall on the same day as the death of the corresponding human being. Supposing that we could each of us recall the occasional experience of gazing at friends or relatives in places which were really empty, then—since people are perpetually dying who are the friends and relatives of some of us—every year might yield a certain crop of the coincidences.

    But as soon as we make these assumptions explicit and look at them, we see how baseless and arbitrary they are. Why should either of them be admitted without challenge? The second one especially seems opposed to what we may call the common-sense view of ordinary intelligent men. The question whether or not a very large proportion of the population have had experience of morbid or purely subjective hallucinations is one, I submit, where the opponents of the chance-theory might fairly take their stand {ii-5} on the ordinary observation of educated persons, and have thrown on others the onus of proving them wrong. On this point a broad view, based on one’s general knowledge of oneself and one’s fellows, does exist; and according to it, “spectral illusions”—distinct hallucinations of the sense of vision—are very far from the everyday occurrences which they would have to be if we are to suppose that, whenever they coincide in time with the death of the person seen, they do so by accident. Nay, if we take even one of our critics, and bring him fairly face to face with the question, “If you all at once saw in your room a brother whom you had believed to be a hundred miles away; if he disappeared without the door opening; and if an hour later you received a telegram announcing his sudden death—how should you explain the occurrence”? he does not as a rule reply, “His day and hour for dying happened also to be my day and hour for a spectral illusion, which is natural enough, considering how common the latter experience is.” The line that he takes is, “The supposition is absurd; there are no really authentic cases of that sort.” Under the immediate pressure of the supposed facts, he instinctively feels that the argument of chance-coincidence would not seem effective.

    Still, “common-sense”—though it would support what I say—is not here the true court of appeal. And, moreover, it is not unanimous. On the second point, as on the first, I have received the most divergent replies from persons whom I have casually asked to give a guess on the subject; and some have guessed the frequency of the purely subjective hallucinations as very much below what it actually is. The moral—that we cannot advance a step without statistics—seems pretty obvious, though the student of the subject may read every word that has ever been published on both sides of the argument without encountering a hint of the need. There is plenty of assertion, but no figures; and a single instance, one way or the other, seems often to be thought decisive. To A, who has himself seen a friend’s form at the time of his death at a distance, the connection between the two facts seems obvious; B, having heard of a phantasm of a living person which raised apprehensions as to his safety, but which “came to nothing,” is at once sure that A’s case was “a chance” I have even seen this view expanded, and a leading review gravely urging that the coincidences must be regarded as accidental, if against every hallucination which has

    markedly corresponded with a real event we can set another which has not. {ii-6} This is certainly a statistical argument—of a sort—and might be represented as follows:—At the end of an hour’s rifle-practice at a long-distance range, the record shows that for every shot that has hit the bull’s-eye another has missed the target: therefore the shots that hit the bull’s-eye did so by accident.

    § 3. Perhaps the neglect of statistics has in part been due to an apparent hopelessness of attaining a sufficient quantity of reliable facts on which to found an argument—to an idea that any census on which a conclusion could be founded would have to be carried out on a scale so vast as to be practically impossible. “Do you intend,” I have been sometimes asked, “to ask every man and woman in England whether he or she has experienced any subjective hallucination during, say, the last twenty years, and also to get a complete record of all the alleged coincidences within the same period, and then to compare the two lists?” Happily nothing at all approaching this is required. We shall find that approximately accurate figures are necessary only on one point—the frequency of the subjective hallucinations; and this can be ascertained by making inquiries of any fraction of the population which is large and varied enough to serve as a fair sample of the whole. Even this smaller task, however, is a very tedious one, consisting, as it does for the most part, in carefully registering negative information. The believer in telepathy may feel that he is doing much more to advance his belief by narrating a striking positive instance at a dinner party than by ascertaining, for instance, from twenty of his acquaintance the dull fact that they have never experienced a distinct visual hallucination. Just in the same way a scientific lecturer may win more regard at the moment by a sensational experiment with pretty colours and loud explosions than by laborious quantitative work in his laboratory. But it must be persistently impressed on the friends of “psychical research” that the laborious quantitative work has to be done; and it is some satisfaction to think that the facts themselves may stand as material for others to deal with, even if the conclusions here drawn from them are incorrect.

    Nor has the dulness of the work been by any means the only difficulty: its purpose has been widely misconceived, and its scope has thereby been much curtailed. The proposal for a numerical estimate was introduced in a circular letter, every word of which might have been penned by a zealous sceptic, anxious above all things to prove that, in cases where the phantasm of a distant person has appeared {ii-7} simultaneously with the person’s death, the coincidence has been an accidental one. Not a syllable was used implying that the authors of the letter had themselves any opinion as to whether phantasms to which no real event corresponds are or are not common things; it was simply pointed out that it is necessary to have some idea how common they are, before deciding whether phantasms to which real events do correspond are or are not to be fairly accounted for by chance. And since sensory hallucinations, whatever their frequency, are at any rate phenomena as completely admitted as measles or colour-blindness, it did not occur to us that the following question could possibly be misunderstood:—

    Since January 1, 1874, have you—when in good health, free from anxiety, and completely awake—had a vivid impression of seeing or being touched by a human being, or of hearing a voice or sound which suggested a human presence, when no one was there? Yes or no?11This comprehensive question has been actually asked in several parts. As first put, for example, it contained no limitation as to date—as I was anxious to obtain accounts of as many hallucinations of the sane as possible; and the fact that any experience recorded had or had not fallen within the specified period of 12 years was ascertained by subsequent correspondence. The details of the experience were also a matter of subsequent inquiry. I need hardly warn the reader not to confound the group of hallucinations belonging to the limited number of persons who were expressly asked the above question, with the large collection of similar experiences which has been frequently mentioned in some of the preceding chapters. That large collection includes the smaller group, and also census-cases which fell outside the 12 years’ limit; but it includes also a far larger number of cases which were received quite irrespectively of the census.

    Clearly, the more yeses are received to this question—i.e., the commoner the purely subjective hallucinations prove to be—the stronger is the argument for chance as an adequate explanation of the instances of coincidence; the more noes—the rarer the purely subjective hallucinations prove to be—the stronger the argument that the death or other crisis which coincides with the apparition is in some way the cause of the apparition. We should have expected, if any injustice was to be done us, that it would have taken the form of attributing to us an inordinate desire for noes. To our amazement we found that we were supposed to be aiming exclusively at yeses—and not only at yeses, but at yeses expanded into orthodox “ghost-stories”—to be anxious, in fact, that every one in and out of Bedlam who had ever imagined something that was not there, or mistaken one object for another, should tell us his experience, with a view that we might immediately interpret it as due to the intervention of a bogey. A more singular instance of the power of expectancy—of the power of gathering from words any {ii-8} meaning that a critic comes predisposed to find there—can hardly be conceived. A statistical question on a perfectly well-recognised point in the natural history of the senses was treated, in scientific and unscientific quarters alike, as a manifesto of faith in “supernatural” agencies; and we found ourselves solemnly rebuked for ignoring the morbid and subjective character of many hallucinations—that is to say, for ignoring the fact which we had set forth as the very basis of our appeal, and from which its whole and sole point was derived.

    § 4. If I have dwelt thus on difficulties and misconceptions, it is not that I may boast of having altogether triumphed over them. On the contrary, they have made it impossible to attain more than a fraction of what I once hoped. I began with the idea that the census might be extended to 50,000 persons; the group actually included numbers only 5705. Still, though this is certainly not a showy number, any one who is familiar with work in averages will, I think, admit that it is adequate for the purpose; and the friends who have assisted in the collection of the answers (to whom I take this opportunity of offering my grateful thanks) need certainly not feel that their labour has been in vain. It is possible for a small group to be quite fairly representative. Thus, if 50 males were taken at random from the inhabitants of London, if the heights of their respective owners were measured, and added together, and if the total were divided by 50, the result might be taken as representing, within extremely small limits of error, the average height of adult male Londoners; we should not get a much more correct result by taking the mean of 500, or 500,000 heights. This is the simplest sort of case. When it is a question of what proportion of the population have had a certain experience which many of them have not had, we must take a larger specimen-number, adjusting it to some extent by our rough previous knowledge. For instance, if we want to know what proportion of the inhabitants of London have had typhoid fever, it would not be safe to take 50 of them at random, and then, if we found that 10 of these had had the illness, to argue that one-fifth of the inhabitants of London had had it. Our rough knowledge is that a great many have not had it, and that a good many have; and in such circumstances we should probably get a very appreciably more certain result by enlarging our representative group to 500.11In the recently issued Supplement to the Registrar-General’s Reports for 1870–80. he bases his conclusions as to the proportionate deadliness of different diseases in the various occupations on batches of 500–1000 deaths.

    If, again, the {ii-9} experience was of extraordinary rarity, such as leprosy, the number of our specimen-group would have to be again increased; even if we took as many as 500,000 people at random, that is about one-ninth of the population, and ascertained that one of them was a leper, it would not be safe to conclude that there were nine lepers in London. Now our rough knowledge as to hallucinations would place them in this regard very much more on a par with typhoid fever than with leprosy. We realise that a great many people have not had experience of them; but we realise also that they are in no way marvellous or prodigious events. And if a group of 5705 persons seems a somewhat arbitrary number by which to test their frequency, the view that it is too small and that 50,000 would be greatly preferable, is one that can at any rate hardly be held with consistency by advocates of the theory of chance-coincidence. For the main prop of that theory, as we have seen, is the assumption that purely subjective hallucinations are tolerably common experiences; whereas it is only of decidedly rare experiences that the frequency, in relation to the whole population, would be much more correctly estimated from the proportion of fifty thousand people that have had them than from the proportion of five thousand people that have had them. However, the adequacy of the latter number approves itself most clearly in the course of the census itself. We find as we go on that hallucinations are sufficiently uncommon to force us to take our specimen-group of persons in thousands, not in hundreds, but not so uncommon as to force us to take very many thousands: after the first thousand is reached the proportion of “yeses” to “noes” keeps pretty uniformly steady—as would, no doubt, be the case if the question asked related not to hallucinations but to typhoid fever.

    As regards the sort of persons from whom the answers have been collected—if there have been any answers from persons whose deficiencies of education or intelligence rendered them unfit subjects for a simple inquiry bearing on their personal experience, they form, I may confidently say, an inappreciable fraction of the whole. Perhaps a fourth of the persons canvassed have been in the position of shopkeepers and artisans or employés of various sorts; but the large majority have belonged to what would be known as the educated class, being relatives and friends of the various collectors. It is, no doubt, safest to assume that a certain degree of education is a pre-requisite to even the simplest form of participation in scientific {ii-10} work; and this condition, it will be observed, in no way detracts from the representative character of the group. A few thousand educated persons, taken at random, present an abundantly sufficient variety of types; and, indeed, for the purpose in view, the group is the more truly representative for belonging mainly to the educated class, inasmuch as it is from that class that the majority of the cases which are presented in this work as probably telepathic are also drawn.

    § 5. To say, however, that the answers came in the main from an educated class, is not, of course, a guarantee of the accuracy of the census; and before giving the actual results it may be well to forestall some possible objections.

    It may be said, to begin with, that people may have had the experience inquired about, but may have forgotten the fact. This is the objection which was considered above in respect of dreams of death, and which there seemed to have decided force. In respect of waking hallucinations of the senses, its force is very much less. No doubt hallucinations may exhibit all degrees of vagueness; and it is very possible that extremely slight and momentary specimens may make little impression, and may rapidly be forgotten; but for the purposes of the census it would not in the least matter that persons whose experience had been of this slight and momentary kind should answer no instead of yes. It would have been unwise to complicate the question asked by an attempt to define the extent of vividness that the hallucination must have reached, to be reckoned as an item in our census; but clearly the only subjective hallucinations of which it really concerns us to ascertain the frequency are those which are in themselves as distinct and impressive as the hallucinations that we represent as telepathic; and any that fall below this point of distinctness and impressiveness have no bearing on the argument. And, per contra, it will be seen that by not limiting the wording of the question to distinct and impressive hallucinations, the collector exposes himself to receiving the answer “yes” from persons whose hallucination actually was very vague and momentary, but who do, as it happens, remember its occurrence. In point of fact, this has occurred a good many times; and the swelling of the list of yeses by this means probably outweighs any losses of what should have been genuine yeses through failure of memory. For consider what such failure of memory would imply. A fact of sight, hearing, or touch, as clear and unequivocal as most of the sensory impressions which we adduce as evidence for telepathy, must be very clear and {ii-11} unequivocal indeed. And the absence of the normal external cause of such an impression, when recognised, can hardly fail to give rise to genuine surprise—the surprise that follows a novel and unaccountable experience: this has been the result of almost all the “telepathic” phantasms, quite independently of the news which afterwards seemed to connect them with reality. Now, can it be a common thing for an experience as unusual and surprising as this to be, within a dozen years or any shorter period, so utterly obliterated from a person’s mind that his memory remains a blank, even when he is pointedly asked to try and recall whether he has had such an experience or not?

    A second objection is this. It has been suggested that untrue answers may be given by persons wishing to amuse themselves at our expense. Now I cannot deny that persons may exist who would be glad to thwart us, and amuse themselves, even at the cost of untruth. But when the question is put, “Do you remember having ever distinctly seen the face or form of a person known to you, when that person was not really there?” it is not at once obvious whether the amusing untruth would be “Yes” or “No” In neither case would the joke seem to be of a very exhilarating quality; but, on the whole, I should say that “Yes” would be the favourite, as at any rate representing the rarer and less commonplace experience. “Yes” is, moreover, the answer which (as I have explained) it has been very generally thought that we ourselves preferred; so that to give it might produce a piquant sense of fooling us to the top of our bent. But the reader has seen that, so far as the census might be thus affected, it would be affected in a direction adverse to the telepathic argument; for the commoner the purely casual hallucinations are reckoned to be, the stronger is the argument that the visions which correspond with real events do so by chance. And if the number of these coincident visions makes the chance-argument untenable, even when the basis of estimation is affected in the way supposed, à fortiori would this be the case if the yeses were reduced to their true number.

    Yet another objection is that persons who have had hallucinations may sometimes be disinclined to admit the fact, and may say “No” instead of “Yes” in self-defence. This source of error must be frankly admitted; but I feel tolerably confident that it has not affected the results to a really detrimental extent. Any reluctance to give the true answer is, as a rule, observable at the moment; and {ii-12} in most cases it disappears when the purpose of the census is explained, and careful suppression of names is guaranteed. And against this tendency to swell the noes may be set several reasons why, quite apart from untruth, a census like this is sure to produce an unfair number of yeses. Quite apart from any wish to deceive, the very general impression that yeses were what was specially wanted could not but affect some of the answers given, at any rate to the extent of causing indistinct impressions to be represented as vivid sensory experiences;1

    1For instance, a lady who answers that she has had an auditory hallucination, and is written to with the view of finding out in what it had consisted, then states that “it was not an auditory experience, but merely a feeling that something had happened” Here the answer could be rectified; but even the many hundreds of letters that have been written on the subject have not served to eliminate all doubtful cases. and it has also led some of those who have aided in the collection to put the questions to persons of whom it was known beforehand that their answer would be yes. Moreover, when question-forms to be filled up are distributed on a large scale, it is impossible to bring it home to the minds of many of the persons whose answer would be “No” that there is any use in recording that answer. They probably have a vague idea that they have heard “negative evidence” disparaged, and fail to see that every percentage in the world involves it—that we cannot know that one man in 100 is six feet high without evidence that 99 men in 100 are not six feet high. This difficulty has been encountered again and again; and on the whole I have no doubt that the proportion of yeses is decidedly larger than it ought to be. Fortunately, incorrectness on this side need not trouble us—its only effect being that the telepathic argument, if it prevail, will prevail though based on distinctly unfavourable assumptions.

    § 6. And now to proceed to the actual results of the census, and to the calculations based thereon. I will begin with auditory cases. Of the 5705 persons who have been asked the question, it appears that 96 have, within the last 12 years, when awake,22I have not made a separate calculation for “borderland” cases; as the attempt to obtain separate statistics under that head would have complicated the census, and the only chance of carrying it through successfully was to keep it as simple as possible. The question as to hallucinations specially included the condition of being awake; but naturally some of the experiences recorded had taken place when the hallucinated person was in bed (Vol. i., p. 393). I reckon these cases among the yeses; and I include similar experiences in the group of coincidental hallucinations which appears later in the calculation. experienced an auditory hallucination of a voice. The voice is alleged to have been unrecognised in 48 cases, and recognised in 44, in 13 of which latter cases the person whose voice seemed to be heard was known to have been dead for some time. In the remaining 4 cases it has been {ii-13} impossible to discover whether the voice was recognised or not; the numbers being so even, I shall perhaps be justified in assigning 2 of these to one class, and 2 to the other. The computation will be clearer if we consider only the cases in which the voice was recognised, and the person whom it suggested was living; these, then may be taken as 33. But, out of the 33 persons, 1011Some of these cases were quite clearly “after-images” (Vol. i., pp. 502). One informant describes the impressions as very faint, and another experienced them only when over-tired. profess to have had the experience more than once. Such cases of repetition, or at any rate most of them, might fairly have been disregarded; for since the large majority of the persons who have had one of the coincidental hallucinations, which appear later in the calculation, can recall no other hallucination besides that one, I might in the same proportion confine the present list, which consists wholly of non-coincidental or purely subjective hallucinations, to similarly unique experiences, and leave out of account those occurring to people who seem rather more pre-disposed to such affections. However, in order to make ample allowance for the possibility that the witnesses in the coincidental cases may have had subjective hallucinations which they have forgotten, let us take the repetitions into account; and let us suppose each of the 10 persons just mentioned to have had 4 experiences of the sort within the specified 12 years. The most convenient way of making this allowance will be to add 30 to the former total of 33—i.e., to take the number of persons who have had the experience under the given conditions as 63. This amounts to 1 in every 90 of the group of 5705 persons named, or (if that group be accepted as fairly representative of the population of this country) 1 in every 90 of the population.[☼]

    Let us now see what the proportion of the population who have had such an experience ought to be, on the hypothesis that the similar impressions of recognised voices presented in this book as telepathic were really chance-coincidences. As before in the case of dreams (Vol. I., pp. 303–7), I take cases where the coincidence of the hallucination was with death—the reasons for this selection being (1) that death is the prominent event in our telepathic cases; and (2) that for the purpose of an accurate numerical estimate it is important to select an event of a very definite and unmistakeable kind, such as only happens once to each individual. Again also, in accordance with the official returns which give 22  1000 as the annual death-rate, the proportion of anyone’s relatives and acquaintances {ii-14} who die in the course of 12 years is taken as 264  1000; and as we have seen (Vol. I., pp. 305–6), it will make no appreciable difference to the calculation whether a person’s circle of relatives and acquaintances, the voice of any one of whom his hallucination may represent, is large or small. The probability, then, that a person hallucinated in the way supposed will, by accident, have his hallucination within 12 hours on either side of the death of the relative or acquaintance whose voice it represents, is 1 in 12 × 365 × 1000  264, or  16,591. That is to say, each coincidental hallucination of the sort in question implies 16,590 purely subjective cases of the same type. Now our collection may be reckoned to include 13 first-hand and well-attested coincidental cases of this kind, which have occurred in this country within the specified time.11Nos. 33, 158, 184, 190, 197, 272, 273, 278, 298, 300, 310, 340, 702. In one of these cases, No. 197, it is possible, on the facts stated, that the 12 hours’ limit was slightly exceeded. I have not included case 613, as though there were only a very few people by whom the percipient could have been addressed as “Pa,”—which was the word he heard—and one of these died at the time at a distance, the father did not identify the voice with the particular son who died. On the hypothesis, therefore, that these cases were accidental, the circle of persons from whom they are drawn ought to supply altogether, in the specified 12 years, 215,670 examples.

    The next point to decide is the size of the circle from which our coincidental cases are drawn. The number here is not one that it is possible to estimate accurately: what must be done, therefore, is to make sure that our margin is on the side adverse to the telepathic argument, i.e., to take a number clearly in excess of the true one. Our chief means of obtaining information has been by occasional requests in newspapers. A million-and-a-half would probably be an outside estimate of the circulation of the papers which have contained our appeals; but it by no means follows that every paragraph in a paper is studied by every person, or by a tenth of the persons, whom the paper reaches. However, I will make the extreme assumption that as many as a quarter of a million of people have by this means become aware of the kind of evidence that was being sought—an assumption which probably arrogates to us who sought it many times as much fame as we really possess; and I will allow another 50,000 for those who have become aware of the object of our work through private channels. This would raise the number of the circle from whom our evidence is drawn to 300,000, or about  80 of the adult population.2

    2In the “adult population” I mean to include all persons above 15 years of age. In the Supplement to the 45th Annual Report of the Registrar-General, p. xix., the proportion of such persons is given as •64 of the whole; which would make their number about 24,000,000. No one, I think, {ii-15} will maintain on reflection, that I am taking too low an estimate. Would anyone, for instance, suppose that if he canvassed the first 1000 adults whom he met in the streets of any large town, he would find that 12 or 13 of them had, within the last three years, been aware of what we wanted, and of the address to which information might be sent?and for rural districts such a supposition would be even more violent. But I am further supposing that this area of 300,000 persons has been drained dry—again an extravagant concession; for though it is easily assumed that anyone who has ever had a “psychical” experience is desirous to publish it abroad, as a matter of fact people do not usually take the trouble to write a letter about family and personal matters to perfect strangers, on the ground of a newspaper appeal; and I have already mentioned that we ourselves know of much evidence which the reluctance or indifference of the parties concerned has made unavailable for our collection; we cannot, therefore, doubt that much more remains unelicited even among those whom our appeal has reached. A further strong argument for the existence of these unelicited facts is the very large proportion of our actual cases that has been drawn from a circle of our own, unconnected with “psychical” inquiry—from the friends, or the friends’ friends, of a group of some half-dozen persons who have had no such experiences themselves, and who have no reason to suppose their friends or their friends’ friends better supplied with them than anybody else’s.11An approximation to an estimate of the actual circle whom we have effectively reached may perhaps be made as follows:—Of the 24 coincidental dreams of death, mentioned in Vol. i., p. 307, 4 were derived from a canvassed group of 5360 persons; of the 13 coincidental auditory hallucinations mentioned above, none were derived from the canvassed group of 5705 persons; and of 27 coincidental visual hallucinations (of a definite type to be explained immediately), 1 was derived from a canvassed group of 5705 persons. Thus of 64 coincidental experiences of specified sorts, 5, or about one-thirteenth, were obtained by canvassing a body which (to take a mean) we may call 5535: we may surmise, then, that the circle from whom the whole number were drawn amounts to about 13 times 5535, or 71,955. This is no doubt a very rough calculation; the number of coincidental (or, as we should say, telepathic) experiences yielded by a random group of 5535 persons being too small for us to be confident that it represents the average proportion in other groups of the same size. But the estimate is probably not so inexact but that it may safely be taken as showing the assumption of 300,000, made in the text, to be extravagantly unfair to the telepathic argument.

    Here, then, is the conclusion to which we shall be driven, if our coincidental cases were really purely subjective hallucinations, and the coincidence was an accident:—that in a circle of 300,000, within 12 years, 215,670 subjective hallucinations of the type in question have taken place; that is that, on an average, 7 persons in every 10 have had such an experience within the time. But the result of the census above described showed the proportion to be 1 person in every 90 only. Thus the theory of chance-coincidence, as applied to this {ii-16} class of cases, would require that the proportion of those who have not had, to those who have had, a subjective hallucination of a recognised voice should be 63 times as large as it has been shown to be; that is, would require either that the subjective hallucinations should be 63 times as numerous as they actually are, or else that the circle from whom our coincidental cases are drawn should amount to 63 times the assumed size—in other words, that our existence and objects should have been prominently before the minds of more than three-fourths of the adult population of the country! Another form of the estimate is as follows. The probability that a person, taken at random, will, in the course of 12 years, have the form of hallucination in question is  90; the probability that any assigned member of the general population, and therefore any particular person whose phantasmal voice is heard, will die within 12 hours of an assigned point of time is 22  1000 ×  365; hence the probability that, in the course of 12 years, a hallucination of this form and the death of the person whose voice seems to be heard will fall within 12 hours of one another is  90 × 22  1000 ×  365, or almost exactly 1 in 1,500,000. And the circle from which our coincidental cases are drawn is assumed to be 300,000. From these data it may be calculated that the odds against the occurrence, by accident, of as many coincidences of the type in question as that circle produced, are more than a trillion to 1.

    § 7. But the reductio ad absurdum becomes far more striking when we apply the doctrine of chances to visual cases. Out of the 5705 persons taken at random, of whom the above question was asked, only 21 could recall having, in the conditions named and within the specified 12 years, experienced a visual hallucination representing a living person known to them. But two of the 21 had had 2 experiences of the sort; so let us take the total as 23.11This is a liberal allowance; for it includes several cases where there was such an amount of anxiety or expectancy on the part of the hallucinated person as would prevent us, if it were present in a coincidental case, from including such a case in our telepathic evidence. In 7 of the cases, the form seen was an “after-image” of what had been, for some time previously, part of the perceiver’s daily visual experience. That is, the experience has fallen to the lot of one 248th of the group of persons asked, or, if that group be fairly representative, to 1 person in every 248 of the population.22It will be seen that 1 in 248, though a small proportion, is yet quite large enough to make it likely that most of us should casually have heard of a case or two of the kind. For there are probably more than 248 persons whom we are each of us sufficiently near to make it natural that an unusual experience—such as a distinct “spectral illusion”—befalling one of them, should directly or indirectly reach our ears. This is worth noting, because one sometimes hears the statement, “Why I heard the other day of a person who had been disturbed by seeing an apparition of a friend, and nothing came of it,” made as though it amounted to a proof that such experiences were common enough to afford scope for any number of marked coincidences. Now, just as before, each coincidental {ii-17} hallucination of the sort in question, supposing it to have been purely subjective and the coincidence to have been accidental, should stand for 16,590 purely subjective hallucinations. But our collection includes 31 first-hand11 In 3 of the cases the evidence is not first-hand from the percipient, but is of the nature described in Vol. i., p. 148. and well-attested coincidental cases of this type, which have occurred in this country within the specified time;22Nos. 26, 27, 28, 29, 170, 172, 173, 174, 175, 182, 184, 195, 197, 199, 233, 202, 214, 231, 236, 237, 238, 240, 249, 298, 300, 350, 355,

    695, 697, 702, and the case described in Vol. i., p. 130, note. As regards recognition, Nos. 170 and 355 do not stand on quite the same ground as the other cases. I am not reckoning case 241, where the recognition, such as it was, was retrospective; nor case 500, where it seems at any rate as likely as not that the 12 hours’ limit was somewhat exceeded. In 3 cases, Nos. 197, 233, 231, it is possible, on the facts stated, that the limit was exceeded; but in the two latter cases this is very improbable, and the coincidence may have been exact. and the circle of persons from whom they were drawn—liberally supposed, as before, to number 300,000—ought, therefore, to supply altogether, in the specified 12 years, 514,290 examples. That is to say, it ought to have happened on an average to everybody once, and to most people twice, within the given time, distinctly to see an absent relation or acquaintance in a part of space that was actually vacant. But the census has shown that, within the given time, only about 1 in every 248 persons has had such an experience even once. Thus the group of visual coincidental cases now in question, if ascribed to accident, would require either that the subjective hallucinations should be more than 396 times as numerous as they actually are; or else that the circle from whom our coincidental cases are drawn should amount to more than 396 times the assumed size—in other words, that our existence and objects should have been prominently before the minds of every adult member of a population 5 times as large as the existing one.

    The second form of estimate in the last section, applied to visual cases, will give as the probability that the hallucination and the death will fall within 12 hours of one another,  248 × 22  1000 ×  365, or 1 in 4,114,545. And the circle from which our coincidental cases are drawn is assumed to be 300,000. From these data it may be calculated that the odds against the occurrence, by accident, of as many coincidences of the type in question as the 31 which that circle produced, are about a thousand billion trillion trillion trillions to 1. Or, to put it in yet another way—the theory of chances, which gives 1 as the most probable number of coincidences of the type in question for every 4,114,545 of the population to yield, will give 6 as the most {ii-18} probable number for the whole adult population to yield, within the given period. Yet we draw more than 5 times that number from a fraction of the adult population which can only by an extravagantly liberal estimate be assumed to amount to an 80th part of the whole, and which has been very inadequately canvassed.

    § 8. In the above estimates, I have allowed to the so-called coincidence the rather wide limit of 12 hours. But in most of the actual cases it has been much closer than this; and it will be worth while to show how a single case of very close coincidence may legitimately strengthen the argument. First, it must be unreservedly admitted that a single case, if it stood alone and no similar one had ever been heard of, would have no cogency whatever as evidence of the operation of anything beyond chance. The most extraordinary coincidence, as above remarked, may yet be totally insignificant. The à priori improbability that the tallest man of the century will be born during a transit of Venus is enormous; but such a conjunction of events, if it happened, might be at once and with moral certainty ascribed to accident; and with equal certainty might it be predicted that such a conjunction would never recur. And without resorting to imaginary examples, we often encounter conjunctions and coincidences which would have appeared, before they happened, to be extremely improbable, but the happening of which is none the less clearly accidental. The odds are very great against two of the foremost men in a century being born on the same day; yet this happened in the case of Darwin and Lincoln, and no one imagines that one birth depended on the other. “Extraordinary coincidences” are, in fact, quite ordinary things; and only when previous experience has given us ground for suspecting (however faintly) that the conjunction in time or special combination is due to some positive causal link, can we connect the à priori improbability of a new case with an á posteriori argument that cases of that type are not due to chance.11In a general way, coincidences where previous experience affords some ground for suspecting (however faintly) a cause other than chance are distinguished from coincidences where no such ground exists by this fact—that the latter sort of cases, if à priori highly improbable, are not mentioned or described until after they have happened. From the mere fact that they do not belong to any known or surmised type, they do not enter into anyone’s head: no one suggests, without any sort of grounds, that a particular thing will happen to some one at a particular time, or predicts any particular highly improbable coincidence, and then afterwards finds this thing or this coincidence actually occurring. Now it will scarcely be contended that the coincidence of an apparition with the death of the person seen is a combination of events which has never entered anyone’s head; for it has entered the heads even of those who deny that it has ever occurred, or who ascribe its occurrence to accident. But the idea has of course had much more than this negative sort of existence; there has been a good deal of positive belief that such combinations occur, and that their occurrence implies a causal connection between the death and the apparition. And though this belief may have been rash and premature before the necessary statistics had been obtained, I have tried in the last two sections to show that it may now be justified by precise calculation. Now the result of § 7 may be {ii-19} summarised as follows. The census leads us to infer that, during the years 1874–85, out of 300,000 inhabitants of this country taken at random, 23 × 300,000  5705 or 1209 have had a recognised visual hallucination, representing a living person, which did not coincide with the death of that person. And during the same period, out of the same number of persons (supposing our inquiries really to have extended to so wide a circle,) at least 31 have had a recognised visual hallucination which did coincide—in the sense of falling withing 12 hours of—the death of the person seen. That is, out of 1209 + 31 or 1240 hallucinations, 31, or 1 in 40, have fallen within 12 hours of the death of the person seen. Now let us apply this conclusion to case 28 (Vol. I., p. 210). When Mr. S. had his visual hallucination representing his friend, he would have been justified in regarding the probability that his friend would prove to have died within 12 hours of the vision as 1 in 40; whereas, if there was no ground at all for surmising that a causal connection may exist between deaths and apparitions, he would only have been justified in regarding the probability of his friend’s dying on that day as about 1 in 20,440—estimated from the death-rate which tables of mortality give for men of his friend’s age (48 years). But it will be observed that the death and the apparition, for aught we know, were absolutely simultaneous, and at any rate were within a quarter of an hour of one another. Since, however, the death may have occurred 12 minutes before or 12 minutes after the apparition, we must take into account the double period; or, to allow for difference of clocks, let us say half-an-hour. Now, on the supposition that telepathy is a reality in the world, closeness of coincidence rather increases than otherwise the probability that the death and the apparition in any particular case are causally connected; whereas the probability of a death accidentally falling in a particular half-hour is, of course, 48 times less than that of its falling on a particular day. Thus the à priori probability that the death, if unconnected with the apparition, would fall in the particular half-hour in which the apparition fell, was 1 in 981,120; and in considering the question of connection, it is this extremely small degree of probability which has to be contrasted with the 1 in 40 which we have taken as {ii-20} about the true é priori probability that this particular half-hour would prove to be that of the death.

    But the significance of extreme closeness of coincidence may be yet more strikingly suggested, if we consider the probability of the joint event before either part of it has occurred. My census gives

    1 ⁄ 248 as the probability that a particular individual would within 12 years have a visual hallucination of a friend not known to be dead. Mr. S. has, say, x friends, of whom about a fourth would naturally die in this period; and the period comprises 210,240 half-hours. Thus the probability of Mr. S.’s hitting off by chance such a coincidence as he did hit off was  248 ×  x ×  4 ×  210,240 or about 1 in 208 millions.11The denominator of the third of the four fractions which are multiplied together will diminish or increase according as the period considered is longer or shorter than 12 years. Otherwise the length of the period is not material; since the first fraction may be assumed to vary inversely with the last. The death, it will be observed, might happen in any half-hour; and therefore the total of half-hours must be reckoned, without deduction of those in which a waking hallucination would be impossible—as in sleep; or of those in which it would be specially improbable—as during conversation or active exercise. The case is like that of drawing two tickets simultaneously from two bags, one of which contains the numbers from 1 to 100, and the other the numbers from 1 to 1000. The probability that the two tickets drawn will bear the same number is not  100 but  1000. I neglect the remote chance that several friends might die in one half-hour—which, however, can be shown not to affect the result. It might, I think, be safely said that, in the world’s history, no one has ever contemplated the possible participation of himself, or of any other specified person, in an event of this degree of unlikelihood, and has afterwards found his idea realised. But apart from this, the points to be specially weighed are (1) that Mr. S.’s case was drawn from a very inconsiderable fraction of the population—a fraction liberally estimated at  80; and (2) that this fraction of the population has supplied many other parallel instances of great closeness of coincidence. Taking only the “borderland” and waking phantasms recorded on first-hand testimony in the main body of this work, I find that 66 of them are represented as having occurred within an hour of the event on the agent’s side—which event in 41 of the 66 cases was death; 15 more, according to the facts stated, were within two hours of the event, which in 10 of the 15 cases was death; and in nearly all these cases, as well as in several others, it is quite possible that the coincidence was absolutely exact. I do not forget, what I have expressly pointed out in Chapter IV., that exaggeration of the closeness of the coincidence is a likely form for exaggeration in such matters to take;22Thus it would be quite unjustifiable to add to the list a number of cases in the Supplement where the coincidence is stated to have been exact. Still the Supplement contains several accounts—e.g., Nos. 508, 510, 569, 584, 599—which may fairly be assumed to be correct in this particular. but in a considerable {ii-21} number of the cases mentioned, good reason is shown for believing it to have been as close as is stated.

    But the huge total of improbability is nothing like complete. Nothing has been said of the aggregate strength of the casus where the phantasm was unrecognised. Nothing has been said of the large array of cases where the coincident event was not death, but some other form of crisis—a class which does not lend itself easily to a precise numerical estimate, but whose collective force, even if it stood alone, would be very great. Once more, each of the two classes of cases—the “reciprocal” and the “collective”—which still await discussion, includes specimens of visual and auditory phantasms; and some of these afford an immensely higher probability for a cause other than chance, than the more ordinary cases where only one person is impressed. For the improbability of one sort of coincidence, that between B’s unusual hallucination and A’s condition—has now to be multiplied by the improbability of another sort of coincidence, that between B’s hallucination and a second unusual impression (whether a hallucination or of some other form) on the part of A or C. Nor even so will the argument for telepathic phantasms be nearly exhausted. For it will have been observed that throughout I have been taking into account nothing beyond the bare facts of the death and the hallucination, and altogether neglecting the correspondences of detail which in some cases add indefinitely, and almost infinitely, to the improbability of the chance occurrence.

    It would be very easy to amplify this reasoning, and to extend and vary the computations themselves; but the specimens given are perhaps sufficient. They cannot possibly be made interesting; but they are indispensable if the question is ever to be set at rest, and the appeal to the doctrine of chances to be anything better than empty words. Figures, one is sometimes told, can be made to prove anything; but I confess that I should be curious to see the figures by which the theory of chance-coincidence could here be proved adequate to the facts. Whatever group of phenomena be selected, and whatever method of reckoning be adopted, the estimates founded on that theory are hopelessly and even ludicrously overpassed. With so enormous a margin to draw on, there is no particular temptation to exaggerate the extent to which the evidence for the phenomena is to be relied on. In some cases it is possibly erroneous; in many it is undoubtedly incomplete; narratives may have been admitted which a more sagacious criticism would have excluded. But after {ii-22} all allowances and deductions, the conclusion that our collection comprises a large number of coincidences which have had some other cause than chance will still, I believe, be amply justified.11I have given no separate estimate of the coincidental cases which happened before Jan. 1, 1874; as to do so would have been simply to reproduce the reasonings of §§ 6 and 7 with rather less striking results. Nor have I taken account of the experiences of foreigners, as these could not be brought into relation to statistics on subjective hallucinations belonging to this one country. But these further cases have a true force of their own, in indicating the general diffusion of the phenomena.

    § 9. But I have not yet done. There are considerations of a quite different kind which still further strengthen the argument for telepathy as against chance. At the close of the last chapter, I briefly referred to certain points of contrast between the telepathic and the purely subjective class of hallucinations. I have now to take up this thread and to show that, though the hallucinations which may be regarded as telepathic or veridical include many cases which may differ from purely subjective hallucinations of the sane only in the fact of being veridical, yet the group, as a whole, presents some well-marked peculiarities.

    The first of these peculiarities is the great preponderance of visual cases. Among hallucinations of the insane, the proportion of auditory to visual cases is often given as about 3 to 1; this estimate, however, seems to have been merely copied by one writer from another since the days of Esquirol; and I am not aware that any statistics, on a large scale, have been obtained or published. Dr. Savage, however, tells me that he thinks that this is about the usual proportion at Bethlem Hospital; and Dr. Lockhart Robertson writes to me, “Esquirol has put the proportion lower than I should do. I should say 5 to 1 at least; auditory hallucinations are very frequent, visual rare.” With respect to the transient hallucinations of the sane, so far as the results of my census are accepted, there is no doubt on the matter. We have seen that, out of 5705 persons taken at random, 46 proved to have had, within the last 12 years, an auditory hallucination of the “recognised” type, of whom 10 had had the experience more than once; and only 21 a visual one, of whom 2 had had the experience more than once. It becomes, then, at once a very remarkable fact that of the hallucinations which, within the same period, have coincided with real events, 31 should be visual, and only 13 auditory—or 26 and 8, if we omit 5 which affected both senses; while the whole collection of numbered cases in this work includes 271 phantasms which were visual without any auditory element, and 85 only which were auditory without any visual

    element. This {ii-23} difference would alone be a serious objection to explaining the coincidences as accidental. Nor could the advocates of the chance-theory fairly evade the objection by attributing the inversion of the ordinary proportion to faults of evidence. For why should evidence be faulty in this partial and one-sided way? Why should people’s memories deceive them more as to the fact of having seen something on a particular day than as to the fact of having heard something? On the telepathic theory, on the other hand, the peculiarity seems to admit of explanation. The majority of the auditory cases, in transient hallucinations of the sane, are of hearing the name called, or of hearing some short familiar phrase; and of such cases, as we saw above (Vol. I., pp. 489–90), the most natural physiological explanation is that they are not produced by a downward stimulation from the higher tracts of the brain, but are due to a sudden reverberation at the sensory centre itself, which is readily excited to vibrations of a familiar type. The telepathic hallucinations, on the other hand, were traced (as far as their development in the percipient is concerned) to a stimulation passing downwards to the sensory centres from the higher or ideational tracts of the brain. There is, then, no difficulty in supposing that the auditory centre is more prone than the visual to spontaneous recrudescence of vibrations; but that the downward excitation, which hurries ideas and images on into delusive sensory percepts, finds a readier passage to the visual centre than to the auditory—or at any rate that, where the idea of a particular individual is to be abnormally embodied in a sensory form, it is more natural and direct to visualise it, in a shape that conveys his permanent personal attributes, than to verbalise it in some imagined or remembered phrase.

    A subordinate point, but one which is still worth noting, is that the proportion of cases where more senses than one have been concerned is considerably larger in the telepathic than in the purely subjective class of hallucinations—which seems to imply what may be called a higher average intensity in the former class. Out of 590 subjective cases, I find that 49, that is, a trifle over 8 per cent. of the whole number, are alleged to have concerned more senses than one; of which 24 were visual and auditory, 8 visual and tactile, 13 auditory and tactile, and 4 concerned all three senses. Taking the telepathic evidence, I find that, out of 423 cases where a sensory hallucination seems to have been distinctly externalised, 80, or 19 per cent. of the whole number, are alleged to have concerned more senses than one; {ii-24} of which 53 were visual and auditory, 13 visual and tactile, 6 auditory and tactile,[☼] and 8 concerned all three senses. I may add that the proportion of 19 per cent. remains exactly the same if only the first-hand cases included in the body of the work be taken into account, and cannot therefore be attributed to exaggeration of the facts in those narratives in the Supplement which are given at second-hand.11If only the subjective cases received from the canvassed group of 5705 persons be considered, those which concerned more than one sense amount to less than 4 per cent.; while of the 40 special coincidental cases enumerated in p. 14, first note, and p. 17, second note, 8, that is 20 per cent., concerned more than one sense—or 17½ per cent. if we exclude one case, No. 199, where it is not quite certain that what was heard was not a real sound.

    The next distinguishing mark of the class of phantasms which have coincided with real events is the enormous proportion of them in which the figure or the voice was recognised. In the purely subjective class of transient hallucinations of the sane, the recognised and unrecognised phantasms seem to be about equal in number. Thus, if we confine ourselves to cases where a human presence was suggested, of the canvassed group of 5705 persons, 17 had seen unrecognised figures, to 21 who had seen recognised ones; and 50 had heard unrecognised voices, to 46 who had heard recognised ones. Of the visible phantasms described in this work as probably telepathic, which represented human forms or faces without any sound of a voice, 237 have been recognised, and only 13 unrecognised. Of the phantasms described in this work as probably telepathic, which consisted simply of voices uttering words, 36 have been of a recognised and 21 of an unrecognised voice; but among these 21 I include 6 cases where the words heard were as closely associated with the agent as if the tone had been his, since they actually named him; and a seventh where a place specially connected with him was named. Out of 38 cases which included both a form and a voice, the phantasm was unrecognised in only 2. It may be said that the fact of recognition is the very fact which has led us to refer the phantasm to the telepathic class, and that therefore it is no wonder if the recognised phantasms preponderate in our evidence. But this is not what has happened. Important as the recognition is, and greatly as the lack of it detracts from the evidential force of a case, it is the coincidence, not the recognition, that we have throughout regarded as the main point; and cases have never been suppressed for lack of recognition alone, provided the coincidence was close—non-recognition being easily explicable on the view of telepathic hallucinations above propounded {ii-25} (Vol. I., pp. 539–40). The fact is simply that we have received comparatively few cases of unrecognised phantasms of human figures or voices which have closely coincided, and afterwards been associated, with some marked event closely affecting the percipient; and those which we have received, on trustworthy authority, have been included in our collection. And if it be further suggested that the persons concerned are themselves little likely to remark the coincidence, if the phantasmal form or voice was not recognised, my reply is (1) that this seems a very sweeping assumption; and (2) that so far as it is valid as an argument, it implies the existence of a large number of unnoted cases, over and above those which it is possible to collect, of those very coincidences whose perpetual repetition is already such a mountainous obstacle to the theory that they occur by chance.1[☼]1It may still be thought that the visual and the recognised phantasms are at any rate more interesting than the auditory and the unrecognised, and that that is a reason for their preponderating among the telepathic cases that we have received. I would admit this to some extent. That some difference in the record is made by the superior interest of visual and of recognised phantasms, may be argued from the numbers in my total collection of hallucinations, putting aside those presented as telepathic evidence. Thus, in spite of the visual hallucinations being shown, by the canvassing of a limited group of persons, to be the rarer phenomena, I have a total of 311 visual cases to only 187 auditory—a fact, by the way, which may suggest how Krafft-Ebing (Die Sinnesdelirien, p. 32), Griesinger (Die Pathologic und Therapie der Psychischen Krankheiten, p. 100) and Wundt (Grundzüge der Physiologischen Psychologie, Vol. ii., p. 353) have been led into asserting that the visual class is the more numerous. Again, among cases where a human presence was suggested, in spite of the recognised and unrecognised classes being shown, by the canvassing of a limited group of persons, to be about equal, I have 172 visual examples of the recognised sort to only 116 of the unrecognised, and 82 auditory examples of the recognised sort to only 64 of the unrecognised. Still, remembering that the vitally interesting point in the coincidental cases is, after all, the coincidence, and not the mere form of the phantasm, the allowance which may thus be fairly made cannot, I think, suffice to explain the proportions given in the text.

    Further knowledge may possibly bring to light other points in which the hallucinations that have corresponded with real events—taken in their immediate aspect as phenomena and quite apart from this correspondence—may be distinguished from the general body of transient hallucinations of the sane. And while the resemblances, brought out in the two preceding chapters, between the coincidental and the non-coincidental or purely subjective experiences, were sufficient, I think, to show that the coincidental cases are truly hallucinations of the percipient’s senses, clearly every feature which can be named as distinguishing these hallucinations,—every feature which tends to separate them off as a restricted group—thereby increases the difficulty of attributing the correspondences to chance.

    The last point to which I must call attention, as conflicting with {ii-26} the theory of chance-coincidence, is a characteristic not of the telepathic phantasms themselves, but of the distant events with which they and other telepathic impressions coincide; but it none the less serves to distinguish these coincidences as due to a definite and peculiar cause. It is the very large proportion of cases in which the distant event is death.11 The point is one to which I have adverted in connection with dreams (Vol. i., p. 308–10). But there we saw a certain force in the objection that the coincident dream of death might get remembered just by virtue of the coincidence, while other equally vivid dreams of death might be forgotten. Let us see what would be implied if a similar supposition were made in the case of the waking-hallucinations. Taking the number of adults in the country as 24 millions, then, even on the extravagant assumption which I made as to the size of the area from which our cases are drawn, the probable number of coincidental phantasms for the United Kingdom, during the last 12 years, amounts to as many as 32 × 80, or 2560. Now the census gives 24,000,000  248, or 96,744, as the number of persons in the United Kingdom who, on being asked, would remember having had a purely subjective visual hallucination of this type. Therefore, if these were all the hallucinations that had occurred, 1 in every 38 of them would correspond with the death of the person whose figure appeared; that is to say, for each hallucination, the probability that it would coincide with the death would be 1 in 38. Now for each of the remembered hallucinations we found the probability of the accidental occurrence of the coincidence to be  16591. We thus arrive at the total which the purely subjective hallucinations, remembered and unremembered, will have to reach in order to bring the probability of an accidental coincidence up to  38: they will have to be altogether 16,591  38 or 436 times as numerous as the remembered cases. But as 1 person in 248 remembers a case, this will mean either that nearly every sane and healthy adult in the country, while awake, has seen a phantasm representing a living acquaintance twice within the last 12 years, or that a very large proportion of them have seen such a phantasm more than twice; and that 435 out of every 436 of these startling experiences have been totally forgotten by the persons affected. It is in this profoundest shock which human life encounters that these phenomena seem to be oftenest engendered; and, where not in death itself, at least in one of those special moments, whether of strong mental excitement or of bodily collapse, which of all living experiences come nearest to the great crisis of dissolution. Thus among the 668 cases of spontaneous telepathy in this book, 399, (or among 423 examples of the sensory externalised class, 303,)[☼] are death-cases, in the sense that the percipient’s experience either coincided with or very shortly followed the agent’s death; while in 25 more cases the agent’s condition, at the time of the percipient’s experience, was one of serious illness which in a few hours or a few days terminated in death. Nor, in this connection, can I avoid once more referring to the large number of cases in which the event that befell the agent has been death (or a very near approach to it) by drowning or suffocation. Out of the 399 death-cases just mentioned, there are 35, or nearly 9 per cent., where the death was by drowning,—clearly a very much higher proportion than deaths of this particular form bear to all deaths, for even of accidental deaths among the male population, only 5 per cent. are due to drowning—and in 6 other cases the agent’s escape {ii-27} from such a death was a narrow one.11Nos. 48, 59, 60, 105, 138, 159, 165, 188, 236, 281, 282, 297, 341, 349, 416, 487, 513, 525, 528, 529, 535, 536, 537, 540, 541, 559, 570, 581, 582, 583, 596, 600, 603, 608, 636, 648, 659, 662, 664, 674, 675. I have explained (Vol. i., p. 335–6) that cases are not admitted as evidence where the percipient’s experience might be attributed to his own state of apprehension as to the agent’s fate. And if we do not insist on the form of death, but only on its suddenness, the above proportion still remains a very striking fact; since deaths by accident, even among males, are only a little over 4 per cent. of the total of deaths.

    We do not know why the conditions of death generally, or of sudden death, or of any particular form of death,22At the same time, with respect to drowning, one cannot but recall the peculiar vividness and concentration of psychical life which (from the accounts of many persons who have been ultimately rescued) seem to characterise the earlier stages of that form of death. or of excitement or collapse, should be effective; but we at all events know that the conditions are themselves unusual. Similarly in most cases of experimental thought-transference, the agent’s mind is unusually occupied by its concentrated fixation on a single object; and whether it be in the curiosities of an afternoon or in the crises of a lifetime that telepathy finds its occasion, the peculiarity of the agent’s state has at any rate that degree of explanatory power which succeeds in connecting the rare effect with the rare cause. In neither case can we trace out the actual process whereby the percipient is influenced; but we have the same sort of ground for refusing to attribute to chance the oft-repeated apparitions at the time of death, as the oft-repeated successes in guessing cards and reproducing diagrams.

    The only way of meeting this argument would be to show that similar coincidences have been frequently met with in connection with definite events which produced no unusual physical or mental state in the person to whom they occurred.[☼] For instance, if B at a distance has a vision of A on the day that A scratches his finger or orders a new pair of boots, it would seem wholly irrational to connect the two facts. Accordingly, if many, or even several, such coincidences were on record, I should have to admit that the operations of chance altogether overpass my estimate, and that the data on which the previous argument rested must, therefore, be somehow defective. Or, to take a case where some emotional disturbance is, as a rule, involved, if it proved to be not extremely uncommon to have a vision of an absent friend on the morning of his marriage, I should feel that my argument was so far weakened; for it would be difficult to suppose that the emotions connected with that one {ii-28} morning stood distinctly apart from those of other seasons dedicated to happiness and the affections.11In accordance with this view, and in the absence of very special details, we should feel bound to exclude from our evidence, as an “ambiguous case,” any stray coincidence of the sort that we encountered. The following is an instance: Miss Keith Bremner, daughter of Captain Bremner, the chief constable of Fifeshire, was sitting at the window of the dining-room in the forenoon (precise hour forgotten) of the 18th June, 1884, when looking out of the window she saw, in a flower-bed about 20 feet distant, what seemed to her the face of Mary D., growing out of a yellow pansy. The face was quite distinct and life-like, and seemed to be laughing as it looked at her. Miss Bremner is quite certain that what she saw was not merely a fancied resemblance in one of the flowers to Miss D.’s face. The face was too clearly and distinctly seen for that. Moreover, it seemed to be of the size of life. There could have been no mistake about it. Miss Bremner did not look long. She turned away, and the face was gone when she

    looked again. Later in the day she told her mother what she had seen, and Mrs. Bremner remarked, “I wonder when Mary D. will be married; it should be about this time.” They heard afterwards that Miss D. had actually been married on that day, and at about the time when Miss Bremner saw the apparition of her. Miss Bremner has never had any other hallucination of the senses. This account was written down by Mr. Podmore after an interview with Miss Bremner, and submitted to her. She writes:— “The above account correctly describes what I saw.—Keith Bremner.” Mrs. Bremner wrote from Sandilands, Cupar, Fife, on September 22nd, 1884:— “Mrs. Bremner begs to inform Mr. Podmore that her daughter told her immediately she saw the face in the pansy. Mr. Podmore’s written statement is quite correct. The wedding took place on Wednesday, the 18th of June.” But in point of fact we do not find that coincidences of these types prevail. The coincidental phantasms seem limited to seasons of exceptional crisis or excitement on the agent’s part; and this limitation, in once more marking out these phantasms as a distinct group of natural phenomena, strongly confirms the substantial accuracy of the statistical results.

    I am not forgetting, in these final remarks, what I have expressly stated before (Vol. I., p. 97), that the action of telepathy must not be dogmatically confined to those examples of striking coincidence which are suitable to be quoted in demonstration of it; and even in respect of such extreme affections as hallucinations of the senses, I should hesitate to assert that they cannot be due to an absent agent whose condition is not markedly abnormal.22 See, for example, the cases in Chap. xiv., § 7. I regard it, however, as so unlikely that this is often their source—I regard the probability as so enormous that a phantasm seen or heard by A only, and representing B who is at the time living a piece of ordinary life, is of purely subjective origin—that the above argument remains in my view a fair one; and it is at any rate fairly addressed to those (whom of course I have had chiefly in view throughout the present chapter) who have not hitherto admitted or considered the case for telepathy even as based on the markedly coincidental examples.

    {ii-29}

    CHAPTER XIV.

    FURTHER VISUAL CASES OCCURRING TO A SINGLE PERCIPIENT.

    § 1. IN Chapter XII., a good many specimens of telepathic phantasms were quoted, in illustration of certain special points; and particularly as showing what part in the phenomena we may attribute to the obscure action of the agent’s and of the percipient’s mind respectively, and how the original impulse may become modified in transitu. A still larger number of cases remain, of which only a few present specially noticeable characteristics of dress, or development, or phantasmal imagery; but which have their share with the others in the cumulative proof of telepathy, and include moreover several fresh features and types. The present chapter will be devoted to visual examples.

    In the “General Sketch of Hallucinations” (Vol. I., pp. 480–3 and 488), I mentioned the various degrees of externalisation that the phenomena may present; beginning with the ideal picture which is not a sensory hallucination at all—which is realised as a purely internal impression, as seen by the “mind’s eye”; and ending with the actual percept, which, though equally the product of the percipient’s mind, seems to take its place in the external world on a par with all the other objects within his range of vision. Now between these first and last stages there seems a wide gap; and if our review of telepathic incidents had to pass at one step from the vivid pictures flashed from mind to mind, to the phantasmal figure “out in the room,” there might be a certain difficulty in conceiving two such different-seeming phenomena as having a similar origin. It is satisfactory, then, to be able to point to several intermediate stages. That such stages are found in the telepathic, as well as in the purely subjective or pathological, class of phantasms, is only a fresh indication that telepathic phantasms, in spite of their peculiar origin, are worked (so to speak) by the ordinary mechanism of hallucination.

    {ii-30}

    I may first quote a case which shows how the percipient may himself be doubtful as to the degree of externality that the phantasmal appearance had. In the summer of 1884, Mr. Henry H. Howorth, M.P., of Eccles, Manchester, filled up a question-form with the information that one morning, in 1857, he had a visual hallucination representing a great-uncle; and added:—

    (218) “My great uncle died at the very time; and someone came to bring me home from school, where I then was. I don’t think I was at all excitable or impressionable. My uncle was a very unlikely person for me to have thought about. He had been for years troubled with gout of a chronic type, but was otherwise hearty and well, and to a boy had the appearance of robust health. He was much attached to my mother and her children.

    “HENRY H. HOWORTH.”

    Recounting the same incident on December 2nd, 1885, Mr. Howorth wrote:—

    “I was a young boy about 12 years old, and at school at Whalley, when I felt an overpowering sense that something very serious had happened to my great-uncle, who had been a foster-father to my mother, and was much attached to me. The same day someone came to fetch me home, as he had died. When you look across a gap of 30 years, memory is blunted as to details, and I cannot pretend to fill in the story. I never remember having a similar visitation.”

    On my pointing out that the second account differed from the first in making no mention of any visual experience, Mr. Howorth wrote:—

    “I could not say at this distance of time whether the experience I had was visual or mental merely, for the distinction in the case of a boy would perhaps not be marked in the memory. I can only say the impression was a very vivid and sharp one.”

    I should regard this indistinctness of memory as a tolerably sure sign that the impression was not of the truly sensory (that is, of the most unique and startling) sort, but rather a vivid mental picture of the type noticed in Vol. I., pp. 209, and further exemplified in the 6th chapter. In the stage next above this, the observer may still find it hard to say whether what impresses him is purely ideal, or whether his sense-organs are partly concerned—there being a sense of externality, but not exactly a projection into the surrounding world. Case 66 (Vol. I., pp. 267) was really an example in point—the scene having apparently been something more than a vivid mental picture but not confounded with the objective world, or located in the actual place where the percipient was at the time. Very similar is an experience which befell a master at a large public school, in the {ii-31} summer of 1874 or 1875. Having been detained at home while a party of boys, accompanied by some masters and ladies, made a steamer excursion, he was, he says,

    (219) “Standing vacantly at the door of his house, doubtless thinking of the absentees and conjecturing how they were then employed. Suddenly he seemed to see a boy slip, when crossing the landing stage from the quay to the vessel, and fall into the water, wounding his mouth as he fell. There the vision ended. Mr. A. [the narrator] returned to his work, in which he was absorbed, until the return of Mrs. A.; but so vivid was the impression on his mind of the reality of the occurrence that he had looked at his watch and noted the time exactly.

    “On his wife’s return Mr. A. at once said to her, ‘Did you get that boy out of the water?’

    “‘Oh, yes; there was no harm done beyond the fright. But how should you know anything about it? I am the first to arrive; they are walking. I drove.’

    “‘Well, how about his lip? Was it badly cut?’

    “‘It was not hurt at all; you know X. has a harelip.’

    “Mr. A. has no explanation to offer: these are the facts”

    [Mr. A. was under the impression that the coincidence was precise. But the time of the vision was about 7 p.m.; and we learn from the wife of the head-master, who was present, that the accident occurred before luncheon; therefore, if telepathic, the case was one of the deferred class. This lady remembers that some of the party were afraid that the boy had cut his face, till the fact of the harelip was recalled. If we suppose the agent to have been Mrs. A., then the impression of the scene (as in the somewhat similar dream-case, No. 101) would seem to have been transferred, so to speak, ready-made—and to have received no development from the percipient.]

    The following case, though undoubtedly sensory, seems still to belong to a somewhat indescribable stage of visualisation. If interpreted as telepathic, it is further of interest as illustrating that rarer type where the phantasm is not merely representative of the agent, but visibly reproduces some actual percept or idea which is prominently present at the time to the agent’s consciousness (see Chap. XII., beginning of § 5). The account is from Mr. F. Gottschalk, of 20, Adamson Road, Belsize Park, N.W., and is dated Feb. 12, 1886.

    (220) Mr. Gottschalk begins by describing a friendship which he formed with Mr. Courtenay Thorpe, at the rooms of Dr. Sylvain Mayer, on the evening of February 20th, 1885. On February 24th, being anxious to hear a particular recitation which Mr. Thorpe was shortly going to give, Mr. Gottschalk wrote to him, at the Prince’s Theatre, to ask what the hour of the recitation was to be. “In the evening I was going out to see some friends, when on the road there seemed suddenly to develop itself before me a disc of light, which appeared to be on a different plane to everything else in view. It was not possible for me to fix the distance at {ii-32} which it seemed to be from me.11Cf. a remark in M. Marillier’s account of his interesting subjective experiences, referred to in Vol. i., pp. 521:—“Je ne pourrais indiquer ni la place de l’image que j’ai objectivée, ni la distance à laquelle elle se trouve.”I could say neither where the image was, nor how far away it was. The indescribableness of a certain sort of externalisation is well brought out in the same writer’s description of his vision of parts of his body which could never actually be seen by him—e.g., the back of his head. Examining the illumined space, I found that two hands were visible. They were engaged in drawing a letter from an envelope which I instinctively felt to be mine and, in consequence, thought immediately that the hands were those of Mr. Thorpe. I had not previously been thinking of him, but at the moment the conviction came to me with such intensity that it was irresistible. Not being in any way awe-struck by the extraordinary nature and novelty of this incident, but in a perfectly calm frame of mind, I examined the picture, and found that the hands were very white, and bared up to some distance above the wrist. Each forearm terminated in a ruffle; beyond that nothing was to be seen. The vision lasted about a minute. After its disappearance I determined to find out what connection it may have had with Mr. Thorpe’s actual pursuit at the moment, and went to the nearest lamp-post and noted the time.

    “By the first post the next morning, I received an answer from Mr. Thorpe, which began in the following way: ‘Tell me, pray tell me, why did I, when I saw your letter in the rack at the Prince’s Theatre, know that it was from you?’ [We have seen this letter, which is dated “Tuesday night”; and February 24th, 1885, fell on a Tuesday.] Mr. Thorpe had no expectation of receiving a letter from me, nor had he ever seen my writing. Even had he seen it, his knowledge of it would not affect the issue of the question, as he assured me that the impression arrived the moment he saw there was a letter under the ‘T clip,’ before any writing was visible. [Mr. Gottscbalk explains that from the construction of the rack, which he has examined, the address on the envelope would be invisible.]

    “On the evening of February 27th, by arrangement, I again met him at the rooms of Dr. Mayer, and there put questions to him with a view to eliciting some explanation. As near as possible, I give them as they were put at the time, and add the answers. It is necessary for me here to state that he and the Doctor were in complete ignorance of what had happened to me. Having first impressed upon him the necessity of answering in a categorical manner and with the greatest possible accuracy, I commenced:—

    “‘When did you get my Tuesday’s letter?’ ‘At 7 in the evening, when I arrived at the theatre.’ ‘Then what happened?’ ‘I read it, but, being very late, in such a hurry that when I had finished I was as ignorant of its contents as if I had never seen it.’ ‘Then?’ ‘I dressed, went on the stage, played my part, and came off.’ ‘What was the time then?’ ‘About 20 minutes past 8.’ ‘What happened then?’ ‘I talked for a time with some of the company in my dressing-room.’ ‘For how long?’ ‘Twenty minutes.’ ‘What did you then do?’ ‘They having left me, my first thought was to find your letter. I looked everywhere for it, in vain. I turned out the pockets of my ordinary clothes, and searched among the many things that encumbered my dressing-table. I was annoyed at not finding it immediately, especially as I was anxious to know what it was {ii-33} about. Strangely enough I discovered it eventually in the coat which I had just worn in the piece “School for Scandal.” I immediately read it again, was delighted to receive it, and decided to answer at once.’ ‘Now be very exact. What was the time when you read it on the second occasion?’ ‘As nearly as I can say 10 minutes to 9.’

    “Thereupon I drew from my pocket a little pocket-diary in which I had noted the time of my vision, and asked Dr. Mayer to read what was written under the date 24th February.

    “‘Eight minutes to 9.’

    [Mr. Gottschalk has kindly allowed us to inspect his diary, which confirms all the dates given.]

    “Having established in this way, without any assistance, the coincidence of time between his actually opening the envelope and my seeing him do so, I was satisfied as to the principal part, and proceeded to analyse the incident in detail. The whiteness of the hands was accounted for by the fact that actors invariably whiten their hands when playing a part like the one Mr. Thorpe was engaged in—‘Snake’ in the ‘School for Scandal.’ The ruffles also formed part of the dress in this piece. They were attached to the short sleeves of the shirt which Mr. Thorpe was actually wearing when he opened my letter.

    “This is the first hallucination I ever had. I have had one since of a similar nature, which I will recount separately.

    “FERDINAND GOTTSCHALK.”

    Dr. Mayer, of 42, Somerset Street, Portman Square, W., corroborates as follows:—

    “March 1, 1886.

    “I well remember having read something [i.e., in Mr. Gottschalk’s diary]—the exact words memory will not allow me to give—which tallied almost exactly with the story told by Courtenay Thorpe; and can bear positive testimony of the above conversation having taken place.

    “SYLVAIN MAYER.”

    [We cannot lay any stress on Mr. Thorpe’s impression as to the letter and its writer, since that may easily have been accidental. But it is a point to be noticed that he read the letter with very decided pleasure, after a considerable hunt for it—in other words, that the reading of the letter stood out rather distinctly from the general run of such experiences. Though the incident is trivial, the close correspondence of time and detail is strongly suggestive of telepathic clairvoyance. In the second case mentioned, an illuminated disc was again seen, which “seemed not to belong to the surroundings”; but the details were not quite as distinctive as in the above instance.]

    The fragmentary nature of the hallucination in this case has parallels, as we have seen, in the purely subjective class.11 Vol. i., pp. 504. The case in the Phrenological Journal, referred to below (p. 38, note), included visions of parts of figures, faces, half-faces, and limbs. There are many degrees of incompleteness. Thus, one of my correspondents, when out of doors, was startled by the sight of a man whose bearded face was clearly distinguished, but whose form stopped short at the knees; another, on waking, saw “a shadow” bending over her, but with a face that was distinct. A very interesting case is that of the quarter-length Mr. Gabbage, cited by M. Ribot, Maladies de la Personnalité, p. 111; with which compare case 301 below. For further telepathic examples, see cases 161, 240, 350 (in “Additions and Corrections”), 553, 572.

    The “disc of light” is also to be noticed. (See Chap. XII, § 7, and compare the {ii-34} “bright oval” in Vol. I., pp. 503, the “large flickering oval,” p. 176, and the face “in the centre of a bright, opaque, white mass,” in case 184. The exact description—a “disc of light”—recurs in the dream-case No. 464.)

    In the next stage of visualisation the percipient sees a face or figure projected or depicted, as it were, on some convenient surface—the image being thus truly externalised, but in an unreal and unsubstantial fashion, and in a bizarre relation to the real objects among which it appears. In this respect it might be compared to the “after-image” of the sun, or of some object that has been intently-scrutinised through a microscope, which we involuntarily import into our views of the surrounding scene. The following example is taken from the Memoirs of Georgiana, Lady Chatterton, by E. H. Dering (1878), pp. 100–102. It exemplifies again the peculiarity observed in the last case—the blood being a feature in the vision which we may confidently refer to the agent’s mind. Lady Chatterton narrates:—

    (221) “My mother [the wife of the Rev. Tremonger Lascelles, Prebendary of Winchester,] had not been very well, but there was nothing alarming in her state. I was suffering from a bad cold, and went early to bed one night, after leaving her in the drawing-room in excellent spirits, and tolerably well. I slept unusually well, and when I awoke, the moon was shining through the old casement brightly into the room. The white curtains of my bed were drawn to protect me from the draught that came through the large window; and on this curtain, as if depicted there, I saw the figure of my mother, the face deadly pale, with blood11Compare the dream-cases Nos. 432, 463  466, 467. flowing on the bed-clothes. For a moment I lay horror-stricken and unable to move or cry out, till, thinking it might be a dream or a delusion, I raised myself up in bed, and touched the curtain. Still the appearance remained (although the curtain on which it was depicted moved to and fro when I touched it) as if reflected by a magic-lantern. In great terror I got up, and throwing on a cloak, I rushed off through some rooms and a long passage to my mother’s room. To my surprise, I saw from the further end of the passage that her door was open, and a strong light coming from it across the passage. As she invariably locked her door when she went to bed, my fears were increased by the sight, and I ran on more quickly still, and entered her room. There she lay, just as I had seen her on the curtain, pale as death, and the sheet covered with blood, and two doctors standing by the bedside. She saw me at once and seemed delighted to see me, though too weak to speak or hold out her hand. ‘She has been very ill,’ said the doctor, ‘but she would not allow you to be called, lest your cold should be made worse. But I trust all danger is over now. … The sight of you has decidedly done her {ii-35} much good.’ So she had been in danger, and would not disturb me! Oh! how thankful I felt to the vision or fancy, or whatever it may have been.”

    Mrs. Ferrers, of Baddesley Clinton, Knowle, a niece of Lady Chatterton’s, wrote to us on October 24th, 1883, “This account is taken from a diary of my aunt’s.” She adds later:—

    “I have often and often heard my aunt relate that vision, but it was not, so far as I know, recorded in any contemporary diary.

    “Lady C. related the story to Lockhart and his daughter about 1843, and then wrote it down in her diary. The entry is not dated; the date before it is May, 1843, that which follows, 1842, but it was evidently written down between 1839 and 1848. The book is very badly arranged as to chronology. I can’t fix the date of Lady C.’s mother’s death from it except that it was prior to 1836.

    “R. H. FERRERS.”

    Here the picture, though not producing the impression of a solid and independent object, was clearly no mere illusion, no mere momentary translation of the folds or pattern of the drapery into a human face; it was accurate and persistent enough to resist a touch which shook the curtain on which it was shown. It is a point of interest that (besides a second veridical case given in Chap. XII, § 7,) Lady Chatterton mentions having experienced another hallucination which, like the one just quoted, appeared on a flat surface.11She records—apparently in her journal—that, when sleeping as a child in a “haunted room,” she woke in the middle of the night, and saw a brilliant light on the wall, and figures of men passing over it, as in a panorama, fighting. She inferred from the words and gestures of her nurse, who was apparently sitting up in her sleep with fixed and open eyes, that she saw the same scene; and the nurse may possibly have been the “agent” of the child ‘s impression (see Chap. xviii, § 5) On the theory of telepathic phantasms explained in Chap. XII, § 5, it is of course quite natural that a veridical and a non-veridical vision, or that several veridical visions, occurring to the same person, should present this amount of likeness, as, e.g., in Mr. Gottschalk’s experience. But the point is one that we can rarely observe, as few of our telepathic percipients have had any second hallucination of the senses at all.

    But yet further stages remain, on the path to the final one of natural solid-looking externality. In the following case the image appeared with somewhat more of apparent relief than in Lady Chatterton’s, but certainly not yet as co-ordinate in any natural fashion with the real objects in view. The account is from Mr. Richard Searle, barrister, of Home Lodge, Herne Hill, who tells us that he has had no other experience of a hallucination.

    “November 2nd, 1883.

    (222) “One afternoon, a few years ago, I was sitting in my chambers in the Temple, working at some papers. My desk is between the fireplace and one of the windows, the window being two or three yards on the left side of my chair, and looking out into the Temple. Suddenly I became aware that I was looking at the bottom window-pane, which was about on a level {ii-36} with ray eyes, and there I saw the figure of the head and face of my wife, in a reclining position, with the eyes closed and the face quite white and bloodless, as if she were dead.

    “I pulled myself together, and got up and looked out of the window, where I saw nothing but the houses opposite, and I came to the conclusion that I had been drowsy and had fallen asleep, and, after taking a few turns about the room to rouse myself, I sat down again to my work and thought no more of the matter.

    “I went home at my usual time that evening, and whilst my wife and I were at dinner, she told me that she had lunched with a friend who lived in Gloucester Gardens, and that she had taken with her a little child, one of her nieces, who was staying with us; but during lunch, or just after it, the child had a fall and slightly cut her face so that the blood came. After telling the story, my wife added that she was so alarmed when she saw the blood on the child’s face that she had fainted. What I had seen in the window then occurred to my mind, and I asked her what time it was when this happened. She said, as far as she remembered, it must have been a few minutes after 2 o’clock. This was the time, as nearly as I could calculate, not having looked at my watch, when I saw the figure in the window-pane.

    “I have only to add that this is the only occasion on which I have known my wife to have had a fainting-fit. She was in bad health at the time, and I did not mention to her what I had seen until a few days afterwards, when she had become stronger. I mentioned the occurrence to several of my friends at the time.

    “R. S.”

    Mr. Paul Pierrard, of 27, Gloucester Gardens, W., writes as follows:—

    “4th December, 1883.

    “It may be interesting for special observers to have a record of an extraordinary occurrence which happened about four years ago at my residence, 27, Gloucester Gardens, W.

    “At an afternoon party of ladies and children, among whom were Mrs. Searle, of Home Lodge, Herne Hill, and her little niece, Louise, there was a rather noisy, bustling, and amusing game round a table, when little Louise fell from her chair and hurt herself slightly. The fear of a grave accident caused Mrs. Searle to be very excited, and she fainted.

    (224) “Le 21 février, 1879, j’ètais invite a dîner chez mes amis, M. et Mme. B——. En arrivant dans le salon, je constate I’absence d’un commensal ordinaire de la maison, M. d’E——, que je recontrais presque toujours à leur table. J’en fais la remarque, et Mme. B—— me répond que d’E——, employé dans une importante maison de banque, était sans doute fort occupé en ce moment, car on ne l’avait pas vu depuis deux jours. A partir de ce moment, il ne fut plus plus question de d’E——. Le repas s’achève fort gaiement, et sans que Mme. B—— donne la moindre marque visible de préoccupation. Pendant le dÎner, nous avions formé le projet d’aller achever notre soirée au théàtre. Au dessert Mme. B—— se lève pour aller s’habiller dans sa chambre, dont la porte, restée entr’ouverte, donne dans la salle-à-manger. B—— et moi étions restée à table, fumant notre cigare, quand, après quelques minutes à peine, nous entendons un cri terrible. Croyant à un accident, nous nous précipitons dans la chambre, et nous trouvons Mme. B assise, prête à se trouver mal. Nous nous empressons autour d’elle; elle se remet peu à peu, et nous fait alors le récit suivant. [Translation]On February 21, 1879, I was invited to dine with my friends, M. and Mme. B. Upon entering the salon, I realized that one of the usual guests was not there, M. d’E., whom I almost always encountered at their table. I mentioned it, and Mme B. replied that d’E., who worked for a leading bank, was doubtless very busy at that time, for they had not seen him for two days. From that point on, there was no further mention of d’E. The meal was marked, throughout, by gaiety, and Mme B. gave not the least sign of any preoccupation. During dinner, we had come up with the idea of finishing our evening at the theater. At dessert, Mme B. rose to go dress in her room, whose door opened onto the dining room and was left ajar. B. and I remained at the table, smoking our cigars. After only a few minutes, we heard a horrible cry. Fearing an accident, we rushed into the room, and we found Mme B. seated and on the verge of collapse. We hurried to her side; she recovered slowly, and then told us the following story.

    “Après vous avoir quittés, je m’ habillais pour sortir, et j’étais en train {ii-39} de nouer les brides demon chapeau devant ma glace, quand tout-à-coup j’ai vu dans cette glace d’E entrer par la porte.11The vision in the glass is, of course, itself the hallucination in this case (cf. Vol. i., pp. 444, note), and does not imply either actual reflection, or even a corresponding phantasm to be seen in the room, had Mme. B. turned her head. That such a phantasm might have appeared is, however, shown by the case in Vol. i., pp. 469, note. Il avait son chapeau sur la tête; il était pâle et triste; sans me retourner je lui adresse la parole, “Tiens, d’E——, vous voilà; asseyez-vous donc”; et comme il ne répondait pas, je me suis alors retourné et je n’ai plus rien vu; prise alors de peur, j’ai poussé le cri que vous avez entendu.’ [Translation]"After I left you, I was getting dressed to go out, and I was just tying the ribbons on my hat in front of the mirror, when I suddenly saw d’E. in the mirror, coming in the door. He had his hat on; he was pale and sad. I spoke to him without turning around. "Oh, d’E., there you are. Do sit down." As he did not reply, I turned, and saw nothing. I was frightened, and I gave the cry you heard."

    “B——, pour rassurer sa femme, se met à la plaisanter, traitant l’apparition d’hallucination nerveuse, et lui disant que d’E serait très flatté d’apprendre à quel point il occupait sa pensée; puis, comme Mme. B—— restait toute tremblante, pour couper court à son émotion, nous lui proposons de partir tout de suite, alléguant que nous allions manquer le lever du rideau. ‘Je n’ai pas pensé un seul instant à d’E——,’ nous dit Mme. B——, ‘depuis que M. F m’a demandé la cause de son absence. Je ne suis pas nerveuse, et je n’ai jamais eu d’hallucination; je vous assure qu’il y là quelque chose d’extraordinaire, et quant à moi, je ne sortirai pas avant d’avoir des nouvelles de d’ E——. Je vous supplie d’aller chez lui, c’est le seul moyen de me rassurer.’ Je conseille à B—— de céder au désir de sa femme, et nous partons tous les deux chez d’E——, qui demeurait à très peu de distance. Tout en marchant nous plaisantions beaucoup sur les frayeurs de Mme. B——. [Translation]To calm his wife, B. began to tease her, calling the appartion a nervous hallucination, and telling her that d’E. would have been greatly flattered to learn how much he was on her mind. Then, as Mme B. was still quite shaken, we suggested to her that we should go on at once, on the grounds that we were going to miss the curtain. “I have not thought of d’E. a single time,” said Mme B, “since M. F. asked me why he was not here. I do not have weak nerves, and I have never had a hallucination. I tell you there is something unusual going on, and I for one will not go out until I have found out about d’E. Please, let us go to his lodgings. It is the only way to reassure me.” I advised B. to accede to his wife’s wishes, and we both went off to d’E.’s place, which was not far off at all. As we went along, we joked quite a bit about Mme B.’s anxiety.

    “En arrivant chez d’ E——, nous demandons au concierge, ‘D’ E——, est-il chez lui’? ‘Oui, messieurs, il n’est pas descendu de la journée.’ D’ E—— habitait un petit appartement de garçon; il n’avait pas de domestiques. Nous montons chez lui, et nous sonnons à plusieurs reprises sans avoir de réponse. Nous sonnons plus fort, puis nous frappons à tour de bras, sans plus de succès. B——, émotionné malgré lui, me dit, ‘C’est absurde, le concierge se sera trompé; il est sorti; descendons.’ Mais le concierge nous affirme que d’E—— n’est pas sorti, qu’il en est absolument sûr. Véritablement effrayés, nous remontons avec lui, et nous tentons de nouveau de nous faire ouvrir; puis n’ entendant rien bouger dans Tappartement, nous envoyons chercher un serrurier. On force la porte, et nous trouvons le corps de d’E, encore chaud, couché sur son lit, et troué de deux coups de revolver. [Translation]When we reached d’E.’s building, we asked the concierge if d’E. were at home. “Yes, gentlemen, he has not come down all day.” D’E. lived in a small bachelor apartment and had no servants. We went up to his door, and we rang over and over without getting any answer. We rang harder, and then we knocked with all our might, with no greater success. B. was worried in spite of himself, saying “This is silly; the concierge will have made a mistake; he has gone out; let us go back down.” But the concierge insisted he was absolutely certain that d’E. had not gone out. By now really frightened, we went back upstairs with the concierge, and tried once more to get in; then, having heard no movement in the apartment, we sent for a locksmith. The door was forced open, and we found the body of d’E., still warm, on his bed, with two bullet holes in him.

    “Le médecin, que nous faisons venir aussitôt, constate que d’E—— avait d’abord tenté de se suicider en avalant un flacon de laudanum, et qu’ ensuite, trouvant sans doute que le poison n’ agissait pas assez vite, il s’était tiré deux coups de revolver à la place du coeur. D’après la con-station médicale, la mort remontait à une heure environ. Sans que je puisse préciser l’heure exacte, c’était cependant une coïncidence presqu’ absolue avec la soi-disant hallucination de Mme. B——. Sur la cheminée il y avait une lettre de d’E——, annonçant à M. et Mme. B—— sa resolution, lettre particulièrement affectueuse pour Mme. B——. [Translation]

    We sent for a doctor at once. The doctor found that d’E. had first attempted to commit suicide by swallowing a bottle of laudanum, and then, doubtless thinking that the poison was acting too slowly, had shot himself twice, aiming for the heart. According to the medical evidence, he had been dead about an hour. Without being able to specify an exact time, I can say it matched almost exactly the time of the so-called hallucination that Mme. B. had had. On the mantel, there was a letter from d’E., telling M. and Mme. B. of his intentions, with expressions of special affection for Mme. B.

    “GASTON FOURNIER.”

    In conversation with Mr. Myers, M. Fournier expressed himself uncertain as to the correctness of his date. We have procured a copy of the Act de Décès,[☼] which records that the date of d’E’s death was October 7, 1880; also that it took place at 10 a.m. If this was so, it {ii-40} would still be quite possible that the body, which was clothed, should be found warm in the evening. Probably the hour could not be stated with anything like precision; and it is as likely that the official record fixed it too early as that M. Fournier’s medical authority (supposing him to be correctly quoted) fixed it too late. But we clearly cannot assume the coincidence to have been nearly as exact as M. Fournier imagined.

    Mme. B. is dead. M. B. is unfortunately in South America; and though we hope to obtain his account of the occurrence, it has not arrived in time for insertion.

    Mrs. Leonard Thrupp, of 67, Kensington Gardens Square, W., narrates:—

    “November, 1883.

    (225) “In the month of October, 1850, I was staying in the house of Mr. D., an East Indian merchant, No. 1, Southwick Crescent, Hyde Park.

    “One evening, a Mr. B., with three daughters, came to dine—the youngest a blooming rosy girl of 17. Mr. B. had lately bought a house in Devonshire, which was being added to and furnished. He made our host promise to go down to the house-warming at Christmas.

    “A few weeks afterwards, that gentleman was out one night, and his sister, Mrs. R., and I sat by the fire in a large double drawing-room. She was knitting, and from her position could see into the smaller room which was not lighted. I had my back to that room, and was reading aloud one of Charles Dickens’ serial stories. All of a sudden she dropped her work, exclaiming faintly, ‘Good God!’ ‘What is the matter?’ I cried. She pointed into the semi-darkness, and whispered (as if awe-struck), ‘There’s Louisa B.’ I rose, looked, but saw nothing. She said, ‘Are you afraid to go in?’ ‘Not at all,’ I replied, and went, and passed my arm round to prove it was mere fancy on her part. However, the result showed that was youthful presumption on my part.

    “The next morning, Mr. D. heard the story from his sister in her own apartment, where she breakfasted. He said to me in the breakfast-room, ‘Did not you see anything last night, Miss Hill?’ ‘Nothing whatever,’ I replied. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘I suppose you think us Scotch very superstitious, but an aunt of ours and two of my sisters have the gift of second-sight.’

    “That day passed, but the following day at noon, Mr. D. met me at the bottom of the stairs with an open letter and said, ‘That was no fancy of Mrs. R.’s; poor Louisa B. died at 9 o’clock that evening, of brain fever, after measles.’

    “ANNE ELIZABETH THRUPP

    Since giving this account, Mrs. Thrupp has referred to old letters, and has come to the opinion that the date must have been towards the end of 1847. We find, however, from the obituary in the Gentleman’s Magazine that a death, which is almost certainly that of the Miss Louisa B. of the narrative, took place on July 8, 1847. This suggests that the detail of sitting by the fire is inaccurate—the temperature at 9 p.m. on that day, as we learn from the Greenwich Observatory, having been 60°; but Mrs. Thrupp is quite certain that her memory is right on this point. She further tells us that there were reasons why Miss B. should have wished to see Mr. D., who was an old friend of the family, but that she knew little of Mrs. R. Mrs R. has been dead some years; and Mrs. Durward, a lady who was her companion at the {ii-41} time, and who—as Mrs. Thrupp recollects—assisted Mrs. R. to bed, remembers no more of the matter than that Mrs. R. was excited. She mentions, however, that Mrs. R. was “subject to a kind of seizure,” in which she would become quite rigid, and point with her finger to where she imagined her husband to be, exclaiming, “There he is.” These fits occurred perhaps half a dozen times in a year, and were brought on by any news of him that distressed her. Mrs. Durward never knew her to have apparitions of anyone except her husband.

    This case is an example of an appearance to a person only slightly connected with the agent; and it cannot but suggest the question, would Mr. D. have seen the figure had he been present? I shall recur to the point in connection with “collective” hallucinations (Chap. XVIII., § 7). As to Mrs. R.’s pathological visions, I may point out that the extent to which they weaken the evidence for telepathy afforded by the present incident may easily be exaggerated. People seem sometimes to regard any real or supposed tendency to subjective hallucination on the part of the percipient as at once fatal to an alleged telepathic case. Now let us grant for the moment that Mrs. R’s visions of her husband prove a tendency to similar subjective visions of other persons known to her; and let us make the extreme supposition that, unknown to her intimate attendant who never knew her to have any such experience, she actually had 50 in the course of her adult life—or on an average one in every 292 days, if we reckon her adult life as 40 years. Then the probability of her having a vision of the sort on the particular day on which Miss B. died would be  292. But the probability that that particular vision would represent Miss B., with whom she had only a slight acquaintance, would clearly be very small; let us be liberal, and call it  50. Thus the probability of her hitting off the above coincidence by accident would be at most  14600, even if we took only the identity of day into account; and very much less if we relied on the alleged identity of hour. It would surely be irrational to exclude from the cumulative telepathic evidence a case where the probability of accidental occurrence remains as minute as this.

    The next case is from General H., who, unfortunately, will not permit the publication of his name. The account was procured through the kindness of Miss A. A. Leith, of 8, Dorset Square, N.W.

    “November 11th, 1884.

    (226) “In 1856 I was engaged on duty at a place called Roha, some 40 miles south of Bombay, and moving about in the districts (as it is termed in India). My only shelter was a tent, in which I lived for several months in the year. My parents, and only sister, about 22 years {ii-42} of age, were living at K., from which place letters used to take a week reaching me. My sister and I were regular correspondents, and the post generally arrived about 6 a.m., as I was starting to my work. It was on the 18th April of that year (a day never to be forgotten) that I received a letter from my mother, stating that my sister was not feeling well, but hoped to write to me the next day. There was nothing in the letter to make me feel particularly anxious. After my usual out-door work, I returned to my tent, and in due course set to my ordinary daily work. At 2 o’clock my clerk was with me, reading some native documents that required my attention, and I was in no way thinking of my sister, when all of a sudden I was startled by seeing my sister (as it appeared) walk in front of me from one door of the tent to the other, dressed in her night dress.11For this feature, compare the dream-case, No. 118. The apparition had such an effect upon me that I felt persuaded that my sister had died at that time. I wrote at once to my father, stating what I had seen, and in due time I also heard from him that my sister had died at that time.[☼]

    “J. C. H.”

    An obituary notice in Allen’s Indian Mail shows that General H.’s sister died on April 18th, 1856.

    In answer to inquiries, General H. writes:

    “By the context of the narrative you will see it was 2 p.m., broad daylight. My vision corresponded with the exact time of death.

    “I have never seen any other apparition.

    “You must excuse my sanctioning my name being appended to the account, though I am as certain of it as I am of my own existence.”

    [General H. further informs us that his parents are dead, and that there is no friend living who may have seen his letter.]

    The next case—a recent one—is of a very unusual type as regards the effect on the percipient, and, perhaps, on that very account suggests the telepathic explanation rather more strongly than the facts warrant. But as regards the facts themselves, there can be little doubt. The evidence, though it does not come from the percipient, is of the sort which is as good as first-hand; and this is the more fortunate, in that, as it happens, there never was a moment at which the first-hand evidence could have been given. The account is in the words of Mr. H. King, of the Royal Military College, York Town, Farnborough, Hants.

    “March, 1885.

    (227) “On Thursday night, October 30th [1884], H. M. and I went to dine at Broadmoor. We stayed till 10 p.m. or so, and on leaving the house were talking of different things, M. being quite as usual; when, after five minutes’ walk, M suddenly stopped, and said, ‘Look, look! oh, look!’ We thought nothing of it at first, but he still kept pointing with his finger at some imaginary thing in the darkness. The spot we were in was very dark, with a wood on our right and a field on our left, {ii-43} separated from us by a railing. Thinking M. saw somebody hiding behind a bush I went forward, but saw nothing. M. now, still saying ‘Look at her, look at her,’ fell back against the railing and lay motionless with his back against it. We ran to him, asking him what was the matter, but he only moaned. After a while he seemed better. We wanted him to come on, but he said, ‘Where is my stick?’—which he had dropped. ‘Oh, never mind your stick,’ I said, for I was afraid of not being at the college before the shutting of the doors; but he would look for his stick, which he found by lighting a match. We walked on together, M., notwithstanding all my efforts to get him into conversation, not saying a word. After walking for about a quarter of a mile, he suddenly said, ‘Where were they carrying her to? I tell you they were carrying her; didn’t you see them carrying her?’ I tried to quiet him, but he kept on saying, ‘I tell you they were carrying her.’ In a short time he was pacified and walked quietly on for half a mile or so, when he said, looking round in surprise, ‘Hullo! we must have come a short cut. I know this house.’ I said we hadn’t; but he said, ‘We must have run then. It seems only a minute ago since we left the house.’ He several times expressed his surprise at the quickness we had done the last half-mile in. He was all right from this to the college.

    “On Sunday morning he told me that something very bad happened on Thursday night. An old lady who was very fond of him, but whom he hadn’t seen for a long time, had died suddenly of heart disease. She had been out somewhere and had come home, when, as she was receiving some friends, she fell dead, and, to use his words, she was carried out. I immediately asked him at what hour did she die? He said at between 10 and 11. (It was a little after 10 when he saw his vision.) I could not get the exact hour of the lady’s death, as he didn’t like the subject. When he told me this, he knew nothing of what occurred on the walk home. When he was told of it, he didn’t remember a thing about the vision; but said if he hadn’t known that he hadn’t drunk anything (which was true), he would have said he had been drunk. He seemed to have been in a sort of stupor all the time. I think I ought to mention that he told me long before this that he had seen a vision of a girl who had been drowned.11This other vision followed closely on an accident which had much distressed the percipient. This is a true account of what happened.

    (Signed) “H. KING (the writer of the above).

    “A. HAMILTON-JONES.”

    Mr. H. King adds, “My friend [Mr. Jones] remembers perfectly M.’s not being surprised at the news [of the death], and his saying it seemed to have happened before.”

    [Mr. R. A. King, of 36, Grove Lane, Denmark Hill, uncle of the narrator, through whose kindness we obtained this account, says: “M. has such a horror of the whole affair that my nephew does not let me write to ask him about the old lady’s death.” We are thus unable to verify the date of the death independently. M.’s name is known to me. He has left the Military College.]

    The next case is from the Rev. F. Barker, late Rector of Cottenham, Cambridge.

    {ii-44}

    “July 2nd, 1884.

    (228) “At about 11 o’clock on the night of December 6th, 1873, I had just got into bed, and had certainly not fallen asleep, or even into a doze, when I suddenly startled my wife by a deep groan, and when she asked the reason, I said, ‘I have just seen my aunt. She came and stood beside me, and smiled with her old kind smile, and disappeared.’ A much-loved aunt, my mother’s sister, was at that time in Madeira, for her health, accompanied by my cousin, her niece. I had no reason to think that she was critically ill at this time, but the impression made upon me was so great that the next day I told her family (my mother among them) what I had seen. Within a week afterwards we heard that she had died on that very night, and, making all allowance for longitude, at about that very time.

    “When my cousin, who was with her to the last, heard what I had seen, she said, ‘I am not at all surprised, for she was calling out for you all the time she was dying.’

    “This is the only time I have experienced anything of this nature. I think, perhaps, this story first-hand may interest you. I can only say that the vivid impression I received that night has never left me.

    “FREDERICK BARKER.”

    We find the date of death confirmed in the Times obituary.

    Mrs. Barker’s account is as follows:—

    “I recollect the circumstances well, upon which my husband wrote to you. It must have been somewhere about 11 o’clock. He was not asleep (for he had only just spoken), when he groaned deeply. I asked what was the matter, and he said his aunt, who was then in Madeira, had appeared to him, smiling at him with her own kind smile, and then vanished. He said she had ‘something black, it might have been lace, thrown over her head.’ The next day he told many relations of the occurrence, and it turned out she died that very night. Her niece, Miss Garnett, told me she was not at all astonished that he should have seen her aunt, for that while she was dying she was calling out for him. He had been to her almost like a son.

    “P. S. BARKER.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Barker says, “My recollection is of some lace-like head-gear, as of a black lace veil thrown round the head.”

    The following statement is from Miss Garnett, who was with Mr. Barker’s aunt at the time of her death:—

    “Wyreside, near Lancaster.

    “October, 1885.

    “I beg to certify that I was with my aunt, Miss ——, at the time of her death in Madeira, December 6th, 1873. On hearing that my cousin, the Rev. F. Barker, now living in Stanley Place, Chester, had had some kind of a vision of my aunt at a time almost exactly corresponding with that of her death, I told my uncle, from whom I heard of the occurrence, that I was not surprised, since my aunt had so frequently expressed a wish to see Mr. Barker during the last few days of her life.

    “LOUISA GARNETT.”

    {ii-45}

    The following case was first published in Burma, Past and Present, by Lieut.-Gen. Albert Fytche, CSI, Vol. I., pp. 177–8.

    (229) “A remarkable incident occurred to me at Maulmain, which made a deep impression upon my imagination. I saw a ghost11See p. 48, note. with my own eyes in broad daylight, of which I could make an affidavit. I had an old schoolfellow, who was afterwards a college friend, with whom I had lived in the closest intimacy. Years, however, passed without our seeing each other. One morning I had just got out of bed, and was dressing myself, when suddenly my old friend entered the room. I greeted him warmly; told him to call for a cup of tea in the verandah, and promised to be with him immediately. I dressed myself in all haste, and went out into the verandah, but found no one there. I could not believe my eyes. I called to the sentry who was posted at the front of the house, but he had seen no strange gentleman that morning; the servants also declared that no

    such person had entered the house. I was certain I had seen my friend. I was not thinking about him at the time, yet I was not taken by surprise, as steamers and other vessels were frequently arriving at Maulmain. A fortnight afterwards news arrived that he had died 600 miles off, about the very time I had seen him at Maulmain.”

    General Fytche writes to Professor Sidgwick as follows:—

    “Durling Dean, West Cliff, Bournemouth,”

    “December 22nd, 1883.”

    “A paper containing answers to your list of questions is enclosed. I don’t think I have anything further to add, except to reiterate my conviction that my friend’s εἴδωλονeidolon (spectral double) did appear to me as stated. My friend’s death was a sudden one; I had never heard of his previous illness, nor had I been thinking about him in any way. In animistic philosophy, savage or civilised, I believe it is admitted that an apparition of the kind bears the likeness of its fleshly body.

    “Answers to questions as to the apparition at Maulmain:—

    (1) “The printed narrative was written from memory. I kept no diary after my papers were burnt at Bassein (see p. 24 of book). There are no letters extant which I am aware of which were written at the time of the occurrence.

    (2) “The news of my friend’s death was conveyed by the public newspapers, which arrived at Maulmain by the mail steamer about a fortnight after the incident in question. They stated that the death of my friend occurred in the early morning of the day his spirit appeared to me.

    (3) “When the apparition was addressed by me, it did not respond by word or sign, at least so far as I observed. I was not thinking of an apparition. I took it for my friend in the flesh.

    (4) “The event occurred some 26 years ago, and the persons who resided near me at the time, and whom I visited on the morning of the occurrence, are dead. The year following I visited England, and mentioned the circumstance to several members of my family, and amongst others, I think, my cousin, Louis Tennyson d’Eyncourt, one of the London magistrates, but it was not a matter that I ever talked much about.

    (5) “I have had no similar experience. I have had no hallucination of {ii-46} sight or hearing, and have always been considered as a person of the strongest nerve.

    “A. FYTCHE (General).”

    Mr. d’Eyncourt writes from 31, Cornwall Gardens, S.W., on Dec. 21, 1885:—

    “General Fytche paid me a visit at Hadley a year or two11The interval must have been longer than this, as the book was published in 1878. before he published his book—I should say from 15 to 18 years since, and told me the story as narrated afterwards in his book; and it made a great impression on me and my family. I cannot remember what year he told me, but certainly not 25 years since; perhaps 20 would be nearer the mark.”

    [General Fytche is under a promise not to disclose his friend’s name; which prevents us from ascertaining the exact date of the incident.]

    The next case is from Mr. Evans, of Byron Cottage, Chalford, near Stroud.

    “April 17th, 1884.

    (230) “In the fall of 1867, I took a trip to Canada; and one evening, the early part of October, the same year, I was sitting with a merchant of Toronto, in the dress-circle of the theatre; and during the evening my attention was attracted towards a portion of the pit, which was, through shadow, slightly obscured, by a face looking up at me in an intent, weird, and agonising manner, that caused a feeling of awe to overpower me, as I recognised in the features my twin brother,22 Other cases where the agent was a twin brother are Nos. 76, 77, 78, and 134. who at that time was in China. The figure, although in shadow, appeared lighted up supernaturally, and revealed itself plainly, so that I could not be mistaken about the face. I instantly exclaimed to my friend, ‘Good God! there is my brother,’ pointing at the same time to the figure. He said, ‘I cannot see anyone looking up here.’ However, I was so excited I rushed down to the pit where he stood, but could not see anyone resembling him in features whatever. I am not superstitious or a Spiritualist, but could not get over the startling circumstances for some time.

    “On my return home to England, shortly afterwards, much to my grief and sorrow, I found my brother had died at the French Hospital, Shanghai, on the 6th October, 1867. The incident in the theatre flashed into my thoughts, and impressed me I had seen his apparition, and I took the trouble to ascertain date of performance, and found it corresponded. I could not be mistaken, as it occurred the first week I was in Toronto, and the patronage of the military placed the performance precisely on the 6th October, 1867.

    “I am prepared to make an affidavit that such are the facts.

    “J. EVANS.”

    We find from a certified copy of the Register of Deaths kept at the British Consulate, at Shanghai, that the death took place on October 6th, 1868 (not 1867), at the General Hospital.

    I wrote to Mr. Evans, explaining that it would be the evening, (10.37 p.m.) not of October 6th, but of October 5th, at Toronto, that would correspond with October 6th, midday, at Shanghai. As I anticipated, it {ii-47} turned out that he had assumed that October 6th in one place would be October 6th in another, and had simply asked which opera was performed on October 6th. He says:—

    “I wrote to my friend in Toronto, asking him if the ‘Grand Duchess’ were performed on October 6th, and he replied in the affirmative; but at the same time it was performed on the 5th, I am sure, as well as on the 6th. The company was performing opera bouffe during the entire week.

    “I have never had any hallucinations before or since.”

    We have procured from Toronto a copy of the Daily Globe, which shows that the “Grand Duchess” was performed on both nights.

    [Mr. Evans has had no recent communication with his companion of the evening, who was only an acquaintance; and corroboration cannot be obtained. The uncertainty as to the day of the apparition seems irremovable. If it was the 5th, the coincidence may have been quite exact; if it was the 6th, the 12 hours’ limit must have been exceeded, unless the death took place in the hour or two preceding midnight.]

    Here we have to notice once more the luminous appearance of the phantasm (Chap. XII, § 7).

    The following narrative appeared in the Daily Telegraph, in October, 1881. Unfortunately we have been unable to obtain corroboration or further details, as we have failed to discover the writer’s present address. We learn from the War Office that he resigned his militia commission in August, 1880.

    “West Brompton.

    “October 25th, 1881.

    (231) “SIR,—Of many comrades who gave up their lives for Queen and country in Zululand and Natal, for none have I, or those who knew him, felt a keener pang of regret than for Rudolph Gough. In November, 1878, Gough, having retired from the Coldstream Guards, proceeded as a volunteer to Natal, where on arrival he was given a company in Commandant Nettleton’s battalion of the Natal Native Contingent, with which regiment he served in the first advance into Zululand. The Etshowe relief column commenced its advance on March 29th, and reached the Inyone River on the evening of that day. To all our astonishment, Gough, who had risen from a sick bed in Durban, accompanied by Lieutenant George Davis of his own regiment, arrived in camp at dusk, having ridden through from Durban, a distance of 82 miles, in little over a day. Gough, who had suffered badly en route, was again severely attacked by that curse of South African Armies—dysentery—and was ordered to one of the ambulances, where he remained until the morning of the action of Gingihlovo. The moment the alarm sounded, the poor fellow staggered out and took command of his company, and afterwards actually led his men over the shelter trench, when the cheer was started and the charge sounded. The excitement and exertion proved too much for my poor friend’s enfeebled frame, and utter collapse followed.

    “On April 17th, just before ‘tattoo,’ I was sitting in the gipsy-looking edifice that the officers of the King’s Royal Rifle Corps had rigged up, {ii-48} which we dubbed the ‘mess house’ or ‘banqueting hall,’ finishing a letter to a newspaper for which I acted as correspondent, when the brigade bugler rang out ‘last post.’ I walked to the door, outside of which I saw standing the man who, two days ago, I had been told was dying on the other side of the Tugela. I could not describe on paper the extraordinary sensation that Gough’s unexpected appearance gave me.

    “Some few days after I returned to Fort Pearson to re-assume command of the Natal Native Pioneers. After reporting my arrival, I made my way to the post-office, where I was much shocked at being told of my friend’s death. The postmaster handed me a telegram, which had been suffered to remain in a pigeon-hole for some days, instead of being sent on to the front. It was from the civil surgeon, who helped to soothe the last moments of my friend, and ran as follows: ‘Captain the Hon. H. R. Gough is dying. He has been asking for you all day. Come down here if possible.’ On subsequent inquiries at the hospital, I found that he had died at exactly the hour I fancied I had seen him outside the mess house at Gingihlovo. Prior to the occurrence I have narrated, I never had the faintest belief in the actuality of supernatural11 I must once again disclaim all responsibility for this and similar expressions on the part of informants. phenomena of any nature.

    “STUART STEPHENS.

    “(Late Lieutenant 4th Battalion Royal Dublin Fusiliers.)”

    Miss I. F. Galwey writes to us from 5, Earlsfort Terrace, Dublin:—

    “May 18th, 1885.

    “I met two of young Gough’s cousins on Saturday; and they assure me that the account given by Mr. Stephens is a perfectly authentic one, and is fully believed by all the family; but they know nothing of Mr. Stephens, except that he was a comrade of poor Rudolph’s, and that just before his death he had expressed an earnest desire to see him.”

    [The London Gazette for July 22nd, 1879, gives the date of the death of Captain Gough as April 19th. It seems very probable that the “17th” in Mr. Stephens’ account is a misprint. For if he inquired at the hospital and learnt the identity of hour, it is not likely that he made so grave a mistake as to the day. But from the South African Campaign of 1879, by J. R. Mackinnon, we learn that Captain Gough had been desperately ill for some days before his death; so that even if the vision did precede the death by two days, it might still be connected with his condition. It is clear, too, from the words of the telegram that his thoughts had been directed to the percipient for some little time before his death.]

    It might perhaps seem that this case ought to have been disallowed, on the principle that, when the percipient is in anxiety about the person whose phantasm appears, there is an appreciable chance that the appearance is the purely subjective creation of his own brain (Vol. I., pp. 508–9). But it would, perhaps, be a trifle pedantic to apply this principle to cases which occur in the thick of a war, where the idea of death is constant and familiar. In such circumstances, the {ii-49} mental attitude caused by the knowledge that a comrade is in peril seems scarcely parallel to that which similar knowledge might produce among those who are sitting brooding at home. At any rate, if anxiety for the fate of absent comrades be a natural and known source of hallucinations during campaigns, it is odd that, among several hundreds of cases of subjective hallucination, I find no second instance of the phenomenon.

    The following account is from a lady, Miss H., whose name and address may be given to private inquirers, and who would gladly have allowed its publication had friends not been unwilling. Having stated that on Thursday, November 16th, 1854, about 10 o’clock at night, she had a vision of an intimate friend, who died that evening at 7, she was asked to furnish particulars, and replied:—

    “November, 1885.

    (232) “I had had 16 hours’ travelling in the interior of a diligence, crossing the Apennines from Bologna to Florence. I was perfectly well, but unusually tired. I was in the Hotel Europa, in Florence, and was quite wide awake, not having had the necessary moments in which to compose myself to sleep. My sister had just fallen asleep. My friend stood at the side of the bed nearest to me, near the foot, and looked at me fixedly. She was in white, and looked exactly as she did in life. She was an old lady, and had been almost bedridden for long. She had taken very keen interest in our Italian tour. I lost my presence of mind, and woke my sister. I also called out to my father, who was in the adjoining room, not yet asleep, but too tired to do more than answer, though he remembered the circumstance of my calling to him the next morning. Directly this alarm was shown, the vision disappeared. It was both vivid, and produced a supernatural sensation which I never before or since experienced to anything like the same extent.

    “E. H. H.”

    We find from the Times obituary that the death took place on Thursday, November 16th, 1854. Inquiries have been made at the hotel in Florence, in order to obtain confirmation of the date of Miss H.’s stay there: but the hotel changed hands a few years later, and the information cannot be got.

    Miss H. has experienced only one other hallucination, and that was “in the height of a severe illness,” when she fancied her maid was at the bedside. In answer to inquiries, she writes that the sister who was with her cannot recall the occurrence; and adds:—

    “The fact is she only woke for an instant, and as she is 9 years younger than myself, and I saw she believed I had only been dreaming this, I spared her. I had not fallen asleep. I did not argue the point with her, or refer to it again for some long time after. It was the same with my father. I called out Mrs. W.’s name, and he referred to it as a dream in the morning. But I confided in a sister, then recently married to a Norfolk clergyman, who was very near my own age. I was the more led to do this as the lady who stood near me was her husband’s mother.[Quotation marks missing in text.—Ed.] The account goes on to say how exceptionally {ii-50} interested the lady had been in the route and experience of the travellers; and concludes thus: “In those days such things were subjects of ridicule and unbelief more than they now are, and I am surprised how lightly I took what yet I felt positive was no dream.”

    The sister to whom Miss H. mentioned her experience writes to her as follows, on December 4th, 1885:—

    “MY DEAR ELISE,—I fully remember your naming the vision of Mrs. W. which you had on the very evening on which she died. We compared notes faithfully at the time; and it was most remarkable because she had not been visibly worse, and died at the last suddenly. She had thought a great deal about you being in a Roman Catholic country at the time of some great council, and had named in two or three letters that she should be glad when you got home; so you were on her mind. I believe you named it in a letter, but I can’t find it. But I am as sure of the fact of your telling me (on your return home, and coming here on the way) all particulars as if it was yesterday—the rooms en suite, and our father hearing you call out to Memie, who had fallen asleep before you; and you naming ‘Mrs. W.’ to father, and he, supposing it was a dream, trying to soothe you. And you, though feeling sure you were awake, yet tried to think it was a sort of dream ‘as when one awaketh.’ The first news you received from England was the account of the peaceful and rather sudden death of one who was renowned for energy of spirit all her life, and who was full of imagination and great love for you. This is my statement. The dates were carefully compared, that I am sure of. My husband is as certain as I am of all I say.—Your affectionate sister,

    “M. A. W.”

    The next case, like the last, seems fairly to fall among waking rather than “borderland” impressions, since a special reason is remembered for wakefulness. It is, however, still more remote, and depends on a single memory. The Rev. H. E. Noyes, of Christ Church Vicarage, Kingstown, a nephew of Mrs. G., the narrator, (formerly of the Parsonage, Kingstown,) vouches for the strength of the impression made on her.

    “1883.

    (233) “On February 26, 1850, I was awake, for I was to go to my sister-in-law, at Kingstown, and visiting was then an event to me. About 2 o’clock in the morning my brother walked into our

    room (my sister’s) and stood beside my bed. I called to her, ‘There is ——.’ He was at the time quartered at Paisley, and a mail car from Belfast passed, about that hour, not more than about half a mile from our village. When he could get a short leave, he liked to come in upon us and give us a delightful surprise. I even recollect its crossing my mind what there was in the house ready that we could give him to eat. He looked down most lovingly and kindly, and waved his hand and he was gone. I recollect it all as if it were only last night it all occurred, and my feeling of astonishment, not at his coming into the room at all, but at where he could have gone. At that hour he died.”

    We have confirmed the date of death in the Army List, and find from a newspaper notice that the death took place in the early morning, and was extremely sudden.

    {ii-51}

    The next account was given to us by Mrs. Swithinbank, of Ormleigh, Mowbray Road, Upper Norwood. The incident occurred about 1867.

    “1882.

    (234) “When my son H. was a boy, I one day saw him off to school, watching him down the Grove, and then went into the library to sit, a room I rarely used at that time of the day. Shortly after, he appeared, walking over the wall opposite the window. The wall was about 13 feet distant from the window and low, so that when my son stood on it his face was on a level with mine, and close to me. I hastily threw up the sash, and called to ask why he had returned from school, and why he was there; he did not answer, but looked full at me with a frightened expression, and dropped down the other side of the wall and disappeared. Never doubting but that it was some boyish trick, I called a servant to tell him to come to me, but not a trace of him was to be found, though there was no screen or place of concealment. I myself searched with the same result.

    “As I sat still wondering where and how he had so suddenly disappeared a cab drove up with H. in an almost unconscious state, brought home by a friend and schoolfellow, who said that during a dictation-lesson he had suddenly fallen backward over his seat, calling out in a shrill voice, ‘Mamma will know,’ and became insensible. He was ill that day, prostrate the next; but our doctor could not account for the attack, nor did anything follow to throw any light on his appearance to me. That the time of his attack exactly corresponded with that at which I saw his figure was proved both by his master and class-mates.”

    The Rev. H. Swithinbank, eldest son of the writer of the above, explains that the point at which the figure was seen was in a direct line between the house (situated at Summerhill Terrace, Newcastle-on-Tyne) and the school, but that “no animal but a bird could come direct that way,” and that the walking distance between the two places was nearly a mile. He describes his brother as of a nervous temperament, but his mother as just the opposite, a calm person, who has never in her life had any other similar experience.

    The next account is from Colonel Swiney, of the Duke of Cornwall’s Regiment. Possibly, in this as in some other cases, publication may lead to our obtaining corroborative evidence from persons to whom we have as yet been unable to apply for it.

    ” Richmond Barracks, Dublin, July 14th, 1885.

    (235) “It was some time in the latter end of September, 1864, when quartered at Shorncliffe Camp, I thought I saw my eldest brother (whom at the time I believed to be in India, where he was serving in the Royal Engineers) walking towards me, and before I could recover from my astonishment, the figure had disappeared. I perfectly well remember mentioning the fact to some of my brother officers, and saying how curious it was, but never thought much about it until I received news of his death, which had occurred about (as near as I can recollect, without having made any note) the time I had imagined I had seen him—viz., September 24th, 1864—at Nagpore, East Indies, and but for the fact of his death, I should never probably have recalled the circumstance. I do {ii-52} not attach much importance to this; it might have been a coincidence, remarkable certainly, but nothing more. I am afraid it will not be of much use to you in your inquiries, as half its value is gone by my not being able to bring corroborative evidence to prove that I had mentioned the fact prior to hearing of his death, although in my own mind I am perfectly certain I did so. Richard Edgcumbe was quartered at Shorncliffe at the very time this occurred.

    “S. C. SWINEY.”

    [It was from Mr. R. Edgcumbe that we first heard of this incident. He did not himself hear of it until some years after its occurrence.]

    In answer to inquiries Colonel Swiney adds:—

    (1) “Years afterwards, in 1871, at the Cape of Good Hope, I wrote a long account of it to a Yorkshire gentleman who was collecting data on the subject of hallucination.

    (2) “I have had a personal interview with Colonel Schwabe, who was a subaltern with me in the Carabineers, and he cannot recall the circumstances at all, indeed has no recollection whatever about it. This may be accounted for by the fact of his having gone abroad very shortly afterwards, and we did not meet for some months after I had heard of my brother’s death. At the time I heard of his death I was stopping with Charles Gurney, shooting, near Norwich, some time the latter end of October, if not the beginning of November. When I received the letter I knew what was in it; and if I only knew Charles Gurney’s address, I should like to have asked him if he ever remembers the morning I received the bad news before I left for London, saying ‘How curious; I thought I saw him coming towards me at Shorncliffe a few weeks ago.’

    (3) “The 24th of September, 1864, was a Sunday. I cannot say whether that was the day I mentioned it. My brother died some time, as far as I can recollect, after the family with whom he was stopping had returned from church; for I remember the letter saying: ‘He was so much better, and asleep, that we thought it safe to leave him for an hour or so. On our return,’ it went on to say, ‘we found he was very feverish, and he died that afternoon.’ Now the time I saw the hallucination could not have been later than 2 p.m. Allowing for the five hours difference of longitude, that would be about 9 a.m., and would not tally.”

    [Colonel Swiney seems to have reckoned the difference the wrong way, At any moment the time of day in India is four or five hours later than the time of day in England; and thus, if the days were the same, the death and the vision may have coincided exactly.]

    The Army List for December, 1864, and Allen’s Indian Mail for October 20th, 1864, give the date of Lieut. John D. Swiney’s death as September 25th; and it was the 25th, not the 24th, that fell on a Sunday. When Colonel Swiney heard of the death he was clearly under the impression that his experience had occurred on a Sunday—which is a marked day; and his subsequent mistake as to the day of the month seems therefore unimportant.

    The next case is from Miss Bale, of Church Farm, Gorleston.

    “September 17th, 1885.

    (236) “In the June of 1880, I went to a situation as governess. On the first day of my going there, after retiring for the night, I heard a noise which {ii-53} was like the ticking of a watch. I took no particular notice of it, but I noticed that every time I was alone I heard it, more especially at night. I even went so far as to search, thinking there must be a watch concealed somewhere in the room. This continued until I grew quite accustomed to it. It was on the 12th of July, when I was coming from the dining-room with a tray of glasses that I saw what appeared to me to be a dark figure standing just outside the door, with outstretched arms. It startled me, and when I turned to look again it was gone.

    “On the 23rd September I received news that my brother was drowned on the 12th of July. I heard the ticking up to the time I had the letter, but never once afterwards.

    “F. A. BALE.”

    Writing again, Miss Bale says:—

    “I enclose the letter informing us of my brother’s death, also one from the captain of the ship, for your perusal.

    “I made no entry in my diary of the apparition I saw on the 12 th of July, but I distinctly remember the time. I sat down a little while to recover my fright, and then I looked at the time; it was 20 minutes past 6. I enclose the address of a friend who I am sure remembers it as well as I do. You will see by enclosed where my brother was when he met with his death.

    “The apparition did remind me of my brother, as I last saw him in a long dark ulster, and it was about his height, but that was all I could discover, for when I looked a second time it was gone. What made me mention the ticking was the peculiarity of its following me everywhere, providing I was alone.”

    The enclosed letter, written by the Rev. W. A. Purey-Cust on board the Ship “Melbourne,” announced that Mr. William Bale’s death occurred at 6 p.m., on July 12th, 1880, about 150 miles south of Tristan d’Acunha, longitude 12 deg. 30″ W. Mr. Purey-Cust has since told us that on that day—and on that day only—the position of the ship had to be found by dead reckoning, the sun not being visible. The error in time arising in this way could not, however, have amounted to more than a minute or two, and Mr. Purey-Cust gives particulars which make it almost impossible that he can be mistaken in stating that the accident occurred at 6 p.m, by the ship’s clock.

    Mrs. Hart, of Baker Street, Gorleston, writes to us:—

    “September 28th, 1885.

    “On the night of the 12th of July, 1880, Miss Bale came to my house to supper, and she told me that she was coming from the drawing-room and she saw a dark figure standing just outside the door; she appeared very nervous. She said it reminded her of her brother, and remarked to me then that she knew something must have happened to him. I asked her if she noticed the time she saw it, and she told me that the apparition had startled her very much, and she had sat down a little time to recover the fright it gave her, and then she looked at the time; it was 6.20. She had previously told me of a ticking she heard everywhere she went, so long as she was alone, but directly anyone joined her it ceased; and she told me she heard it up to the day she received the news of her brother’s death, but not afterwards.

    “H. HART.”

    Miss Bale adds:—

    {ii-54}

    “September 24th, 1885.

    “There was one incident I did not tell you, thinking it too trivial, as I did not notice the date or hour, but I know it was shortly before I heard the news of my brother’s death. I had been in bed a short time, and I heard a tremendous crash like the smashing of a lot of china. I felt too nervous to go and see what it was, but nothing was broken or disturbed in the morning, and for three nights in succession I heard the same. I am not inclined to think that it was in any way corresponding with my brother’s death. I certainly have never heard imaginary voices nor seen imaginary figures except the apparition I saw the day my brother was drowned.”

    [There seems to be no reason for connecting the ticking sound with Mr. Bale’s death, any more than the crash of china; and it is probable that it was due to a merely physical affection, to which the shock of receiving the news perhaps put an end. It seemed right, however, to mention it; since, if it was a hallucination, it would tend to show that Miss Bale was for some time in a condition favourable to purely subjective hallucinations—which would slightly weaken the force of the coincidence of the visual hallucination with her brother’s death. It will be noticed that, allowing for longitude, the death occurred—according to the statements made—about half-an-hour after the apparition But as the difference is so small, it seems more probable that it is due to error in Miss Bale’s observation or memory, or in the time of her clock, than that so close a coincidence was purely accidental.]

    The next few cases, though depending in the first instance on witnesses in a humbler station, are, as far as I can judge, faithfully reported. The narrator of the first of them is Ellen M. Greany, a trusted and valued servant in the family of Miss Porter, at 16, Russell Square, W.C.

    “May 20th, 1884.

    (237) “I sat one evening reading, when on looking up from my book, I distinctly saw a school-friend of mine, to whom I was very much attached, standing near the door. I was about to exclaim at the strangeness of her visit, when, to my horror, there were no signs of any one in the room but my mother. I related what I had seen to her, knowing she could not have seen, as she was sitting with her back towards the door, nor did she hear anything unusual, and was greatly amused at my scare, suggesting I had read too much or been dreaming.

    “A day or so after this strange event, I had news to say my friend was no more. The strange part was I did not even know she was ill, much less in danger, so could not have felt anxious at the time on her account, but may have been thinking of her; that I cannot testify. Her illness was short, and death very unexpected. Her mother told me she spoke of me not long before she died, and wondered I had not been to see her, thinking, of course, I had some knowledge of her illness, which was not the case. It may be as well to mention she left a small box she prized rather, to be given to me in remembrance of her. She died the same evening and about the same time that I saw her vision, which was the end of October, 1874.

    “ELLEN M. GREANY.”

    {ii-55}

    In answer to an inquiry, Ellen Greany adds that this hallucination is the only one she has ever experienced. She tells Miss Porter that she went to see her dead friend before the funeral, which accords with her statement that she heard the news of the death very soon after it occurred; and there is no reason to doubt that, at the time when she heard the news, she was able correctly to identify the day of her vision.

    Her mother corroborates as follows:—

    ” Acton, July, 1884.

    “I can well remember the instance my daughter speaks of. I know she was not anxious at the time, not knowing her friend was ill. I took no notice of it at the time, as I do not believe in ghosts, but thought it strange the next day, when we heard she was dead, and died about the same time that my daughter saw her.

    “MARGARET GREANY.”

    [I have seen Ellen Greany, who is a superior and intelligent person. She went over her story without prompting, giving an entirely clear and consistent account, and standing cross-examination perfectly. But the favourable effect of such an interview on one’s own mind cannot, of course, be conveyed to others.]

    The following account was first published in The Englishman, on May 13th, 1876.

    (238) “A labourer named Duck, employed by Mr. Dixon, of Mildenhall Warren Farm, near Marlborough, was in charge of a horse and water-cart on the farm, when the animal took fright and knocked him down. The wheel went over his chest, and he died shortly afterwards. Immediately after the accident, Mr. Dixon despatched a woman to Ramsbury, where Duck lived, to make known the fact to his wife. On arriving at her home the messenger found her out gathering wood, but shortly after a girl, who was her companion, arrived, and without being told of what had occurred, volunteered the statement that Ria (Mrs. Duck) was unable to do much that morning, that she had been very much frightened, having seen her husband in the wood. Shortly afterwards Mrs. Duck returned without any wood, and being informed by a neighbour that a woman from Mildenhall Woodlands wished to see her, ejaculated ‘My David’s dead then.’ Inquiry has since been made by Mr. Dixon of the woman, and she positively asserts that she saw her husband in the wood, and said, ‘Hallo, David, what wind blows you here?’ and that he made no answer. Mr. Dixon inquired what time this occurred, and she replied about 10 o’clock, the time at which the fatal accident occurred.”

    On the appearance of this account, our friend, Mr. F. W. Percival, of 36, Bryanston Street, W., wrote to Mr. Dixon to inquire into the facts, and received from him the following confirmation:—

    “May 25th, 1876.

    “As soon as it happened (Duck’s death), I sent one of my female servants to inform his wife of the sad occurrence, to a place called Ramsbury, about four miles from where it occurred. But when she got {ii-56} there, his wife was gone to get wood at a distant wood, the woman stopping for her return at an adjoining cottage. But Maria returned without any wood, saying she had seen her husband, and asked him how he came there—telling the woman that she knew her business, that she was come to inform her of her husband’s death, and that she had seen him as plain as ever she did in her life, and said to him, ‘Hallo, David, what wind blew you here?’ but as she saw him no more, she became much frightened, and left the wood.”

    “June 1st, 1876.

    “The woman I sent told me, when she got to Ramsbury to Duck’s house, her neighbour told her that she was gone to get wood and her (the neighbour’s) little girl was gone with her. The girl soon returned saying Maria Duck was much frightened in the wood, and had seen her husband and spoken to him, but as he made no reply she became faint, and told the girl to go home, as she knew something had happened to David. That was before she knew the woman was sent. When she got home and found the woman waiting for her return she said she knew her errand, and asked her if her husband was not dead, and seemed much frightened, the woman telling her he was very ill, and thought he would not be living to see her again. When she got to Warren, she found him dead, and told us the time she saw him, which was exactly the time he lost his life; therefore I

    think the public is bound to believe it, although it seems to us quite a mystery. Duck’s wife is now in Hungerford Union, her home broken up by his death. The woman I sent is Mary Holick, has been living with me some time, and her word is to be relied on.

    “BENJAMIN DIXON.”

    Mrs.Duck has since died; but Mrs. Holick dictated and signed the following account:—

    “January 26th, 1886.

    “I well remember about poor old David Duck. I am never likely to forget it. The cart-wheel passed over his chest and killed him, and I was sent down by Mr. Dixon to tell his wife at Ramsbury. She was not at home; she was out gathering wood with the little girl of a neighbour; so I went to this neighbour’s house to wait. Presently the little girl came in, and said that Mrs. Duck was in a great way because she had seen her husband in the wood, and when she spoke to him and said, ‘What wind blows you here, Davie?’ he disappeared away, and she fell back on the bank half fainting with fright; and the little girl ran down and found her like it. So she had gathered very little wood. If the little girl had not told me first, I never could have really believed that she had seen him. But when she came back, about half-an-hour after the little girl (who had come on in front, full of what Mrs. Duck had seen), it was all true. I shall never forget her; she came in with her hands stretched out, and said, looking at me, ‘She has come to tell me that my Davie is killed. I knew he was; I have seen his ghost. I didn’t need anyone to tell me.’ And then she told us, afterwards, how she had suddenly seen him in front of her, in his usual clothes; and how she spoke to him, and he vanished. She lived about half a mile from the woman I was waiting with; and we sent another woman to her house to tell her, when she came home, that a person from Mr. Dixon’s wanted to see her. So directly she told her, {ii-57} she said, ‘She has come to tell me my poor Davie is killed; but I didn’t want anyone to tell me, for I know; I have just seen his ghost.’ And the woman said, ‘Don’t give way now, but come with me, there’s a good woman.’ And they came; and I shall never forget her as she came stumbling up the steps, and looked at me and said, ‘For God’s sake tell me; my Davie is dead.’ She had seen him just as natural as life, every bit; but the little girl never saw anything, only she knew Mrs. Duck had, when she helped her off the bank, where she fell when he disappeared. She was a very good woman, I think, and her husband was a very quiet man; and she was as strong as any man, and worked hard from early morning.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that David Duck died on March 31, 1874.

    [Mrs. Holick’s account fairly comes into the class of evidence reckoned as on a par with first-hand (Vol. I., pp. 148); as, though she did not actually receive a description of the apparition from Mrs. Duck’s own lips before Mrs. Duck heard the fatal news, she saw her in the state of agitation, and heard her express the conviction, which the apparition had produced. Mrs. Holick is quite clear that she herself was the first to communicate the news.]

    In the next example accident has made the evidence for the facts very fairly strong; but the case is to some extent weakened by the percipient’s knowledge that the person whose phantasm he saw was ill. The case was first described to us by a clergyman as follows:—

    “March 5th, 1885.

    (239) “Some 18 or 19 years ago, I remember calling on a working maltster, whose employer was living at Lincoln. His employer was ill at the time, and I asked the man if he had heard from him lately.’No,’ he said, ‘but I am afraid he is dead.’ And on my inquiring why he thought so, he replied that on going out that morning early, he had seen his employer standing on the top of the steps that lead up to the kiln door, as plainly as he ever had seen him in his life.

    It was as he expected: the first news that came reported his employer’s death.

    “I have no doubt the man I speak of either saw this appearance, or believed he saw it.”

    In answer to inquiries, this informant says:—

    “March 12th, 1885.

    “Since receiving your letter, I have had the curiosity to look over my old diaries, thinking I might have made a note of the occurrence, and under the date of Thursday, the 22nd of October, 1863, I find the following:—‘Report of Mr. W.’s death. ^Dead.** In the text, the caret appears below the word “Dead.” —[Eds.] M. saw his “wraith” on Tuesday morning about 5 o’clock.’

    “This differs somewhat from what I told you in my last letter, for I said that the man had seen the appearance that same morning in which I spoke with him. Here it seems it was two days before. But still he had {ii-58} told me before it was known for a certainty that Mr. W. was dead. For you observe the word ‘dead’ put in over the ^. This I know from my own habit was put in afterwards. There is no communication between this place and Lincoln, except on the market day, Friday. At that time of year, moreover, the carriers who go to Lincoln would not get back before night, and consequently I should most probably not have learned the certainty of the report until some time on Saturday. Then, instead of making a new note of it, I simply put in the word ‘dead’ to show that the report was true when I first heard it. Moreover, I used the Scotch word ‘wraith’ instead of ‘ghost’ or ‘spirit,’ as I had an idea that the former word was applied to appearances before death.

    “I observe that the man said ‘about 5 o’clock.’ Of course, this would be a vague expression for any time up to 5.30, or thereabouts, when the morning would not be very clear perhaps, but sufficiently so to enable one to see an object some 10 or 12 yards off, and I am not sure it was quite so much. “I cannot say that Mr. W. was dead at the time M. saw the appearance, but he was certainly dead at the time he told me of it, otherwise I should not have inserted the word ‘dead’ where I did.

    I may add that Mr. W. had formerly lived in this village, and I had known him well. He had gone to live in Lincoln only a short time before his death. His malt kiln was his only means of providing for his wife and family—five or six young children—and he had been in the habit of coming over to see how things went on, twice a week. There is nothing more natural than that his thoughts (and they must have been very anxious thoughts) should have been fixed on that one place.”

    The following is the percipient’s own account:—

    “Ridley’s Yard, North Gate, Newark, Notts., March 16th, 1885.

    “I have received your letter asking me to forward you what I said about my dear Mr. Wright, for he was a very good master. I said I saw him standing on the steps, with one hand on the handrail; my light went out, and I saw no more, and he died, and I hope he is at rest. That was at 4 o’clock in the morning, before he departed from us.

    “J. MERRILL.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Merrill adds, on April 6, 1885:—

    “I am very sorry to let you know that I do not remember the date that dear Mr. Wright died, but I think it was the latter end of 1863. I looked my old books over, but, with the trade being carried on in the same way, I have nothing to go by. I saw him as plain as in the middle of the day, for he stood just the same as he did when he came at noon, looking on to the house for me to go to him. I never saw anything before, to my mind.” [The last sentence is in answer to the question whether the above was his only experience of a hallucination.]

    We find from the Register of Deaths that Mr. Wright died on October 22, 1863, of “gastric fever.” The apparition therefore took place two days before the death, but no doubt at a time of critical illness. In conversation, Mr. Merrill’s wife stated that she remembered laughing at her husband’s account of his strange experience when he returned home. Neither of them seems to have then connected the apparition with the idea of death.

    The following case was written down by our valued helper, Miss {ii-59} Porter, from the account of Mrs. Banister, of Eversley, mother of the percipient, Mrs. Ellis, of Portesbery Road, Camberley, who has signed it as correct.

    “August 5th.

    (240) “In September, 1878, I, then residing in York Town, Surrey, three times during the day distinctly saw the face of an old friend, Mr. James Stephenson, who I afterwards heard died that day in Eversley, five miles off. I saw it first about half-past 10 in the morning; the last time it was nearly 6 o’clock. I knew him to be ill.

    (Signed) “MARY ELLIS.”

    A memorial card shows that Mr. Stephenson died on Sept. 19, 1878.

    Mr. Stephenson had not been on friendly terms with Mrs. Banister or her daughter; but Mrs. Banister, by his desire, went to see him just before his death.

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Ellis says:—

    “I told my husband, and a young man, whose name is Swiney, at the tea-table the same afternoon, and after leaving the table to go into another room I saw it again—which was the last time. I did not hear of Mr. Stephenson’s death until the next day, nor did I know that he was so near death. My husband remembers it well, but the children were then too young to notice such a thing. I have never seen anything like it before or since, and I hope I never shall again.

    “MARY ELLIS.”

    Mr. Ellis writes:—

    “I quite well remember my wife speaking of the figure that she had seen during the day. The next day we heard of Mr. Stephenson’s death.

    “E. J. ELLIS.”

    Mr. Herbert Swiney, writing on September 29th, 1885, from Tregarthen House, Romford Road, Forest Gate, says that he only faintly recollects the matter.

    If correctly reported, this case presents two of the rarer features which are common to telepathic and to purely subjective hallucinations; the fragmentary nature of the percept—a face only,—and the repetition after an interval of some hours.11 As to the first point see above, p. 33, note; as to the second, see Vol. i., p. 445, an[d] below p. 237, note.

    The next case must be reckoned as one of non-recognition, as the resemblance between the phantasm and the person who died was not remarked until the fact of death was known. The narrator, Mr. S. J. Masters, of 87, Clifford Crescent, Southampton, will hardly be accused of excessive sentimentality.

    “December 14th, 1882.

    (241) “Last Easter Sunday, I was retiring to bed, just after 11 o’clock, and had stepped off the stairs on the landing that led to my room (my parents’ bedroom door being in front of me, about 10 or 12ft., and my door {ii-60} being about 2ft. to the right, so that I had to pass it to get to my room). I saw their bedroom door was open, and I was rivetted to the spot by seeing standing in the room doorway in front of me, a figure of a female; although I could not distinguish the dress, I could plainly see the features, and especially the eyes. I must have stood there at least 20 seconds, for my mother, hearing me stop suddenly before reaching my room, at last opened the door (below) and asked what was the matter. I then came downstairs and stopped with them till we all retired together. The figure collapsed when my mother called upstairs, and the light I held in my hand shone through the doorway to the opposite wall, which had been obscured by the figure, as if it had had a tangible body.

    “It was not till the following Wednesday that my mother, on reading the mid-weekly local paper, saw the death of a young lady with whom I had once kept company for a short time. On inquiry, I found she died about the same time as I saw the apparition. I feel convinced it was her, for the eyes had the same expression, although I could not recognise her at the time; not having seen the girl for quite six months, I had almost forgotten her existence. She died in decline, which accounts for her not being about the town before her death.

    “S. J. MASTERS.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that the death took place on March 5, 1882. This was a Sunday, but not Easter Sunday. The mention of the Wednesday paper seems also to be a mistake; as the death does not appear in the Wednesday issue of either of the two bi-weekly Southampton papers, though it appears in the Saturday issue of one of them, on March 11th. These mistakes are not important. For even apart from Mr. Masters’ observation of the coincidence at the time, Easter Sunday seems a very unlikely day to have been named, if the experience had really fallen on a week-day; and if it fell on a Sunday, there is no reason to doubt that it fell on the Sunday before the announcement of the death—i.e., on the day of the death.

    The narrator’s mother corroborates as follows:—

    “I remember, perfectly well, the circumstance, and the effect it produced on my son at the time. He is not of a nervous disposition, nor a believer in anything at all approaching Spiritualism, as we all belong to the Church. His father and I thought it might betoken the death of some near friend or relative, having heard of such things, but never had seen so direct an appearance ourselves.

    “ELIZABETH MASTERS.”

    [Mr. Masters has reason to think that the young lady’s attachment to him had continued. He reports that on more exact inquiry, he finds the death to have occurred within a quarter-of-an-hour of the apparition—probably after rather than before it. Asked if he had ever experienced any other hallucinations, he replied in the negative.]

    The next case is one of the most singular in our collection. It is from Mrs. Clerke, of Clifton Lodge, Farquhar Road, Upper Norwood, S.E.

    {ii-61}

    “October 30th, 1885.

    (242) “In the month of August, 1864, about 3 or 4 o’clock in the afternoon, I was sitting reading in the verandah of our house in Barbadoes. My black nurse was driving my little girl, about 18 months or so old, in her perambulator in the garden. I got up after some time to go into the house, not having noticed anything at all—when this black woman said to me, ‘Missis, who was that gentleman that was talking to you just now?’ ‘There was no one talking to me,’ I said. ‘Oh, yes, dere was, Missis—a very pale gentleman, very tall, and he talked to you, and you was very rude, for you never answered him.’ I repeated there was no one, and got rather cross with the woman, and she begged me to write down the day, for she knew she had seen someone. I did, and in a few days I heard of the death of my brother in Tobago. Now, the curious part is this, that I did not see him, but she—a stranger to him—did; and she said that he seemed very anxious for me to notice him.

    “MAY CLERKE.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Clerke says:—

    “(1) The day of death was the same, for I wrote it down. I think it was the 3rd of August, but I know it was the same.

    “(2) The description, ‘very tall and pale,’ was accurate.

    “(3) I had no idea that he was ill. He was only a few days ill.

    “(4) The woman had never seen him. She had been with me for about 18 months, and I considered her truthful. She had no object in telling me.”

    In conversation, I learned that Mrs. Clerke had immediately mentioned what the servant said, and the fact that she had written down the date, to her husband, Colonel Clerke, who corroborates as follows:—

    “I well remember that on the day on which Mr. John Beresford, my wife’s brother, died in Tobago—after a short illness of which we were not aware—our black nurse declared she saw, at as nearly as possible the time of his death, a gentleman, exactly answering to Mr. Beresford’s description, leaning over the back of Mrs. Clerke’s easy-chair in the open verandah. The figure was not seen by any one else.

    “SHADWELL H. CLERKE.”

    We find it stated in Burke’s Peerage that Mr. J. H. de la Poer Beresford, Secretary for the Island of Tobago, died on August 3, 1863 (not 1864).

    If this incident is to be interpreted telepathically, it is scarcely possible to suppose that Mrs. Clerke’s own presence did not play a part in the phenomenon. The case would then be comparable to some of the “collective” cases (to be cited in Chap. XVIII.), where one of the percipients is a stranger to the agent; the difference being that here the person who should (so to speak) have been the principal percipient was as unconscious of the impression which she received {ii-62} as we have found the percipient to be in some of the experimental cases.11 As one more example of the psychological identity of hallucinations and dreams (Chap. xii., § 5), I may quote an account of a dream which is an exact parallel to the above waking case. In the last week of February, 1885, Miss Harris, of 9, Queen Square, Bloomsbury, W.C., wrote to us as follows:—“On Thursday night, the 19th of February, 1885, I dreamed the following dream. A servant, a Lincolnshire woman, has lived in our house for two years; and of her, whom I never see in the day, I dreamt, as portentously as if her troubles were my own. There is nothing remarkable in this young woman’s character or experience. She is but an ordinary rather rough specimen of a village girl, quiet and respectable. “In my dream a long country lane was before me; in this I walked with the Lincolnshire cook, without speaking; yet I knew that my companion was going with me as a sort of escort to some errand of my own. Then a face appeared over the hedge, a solemn, silent face, exactly resembling that of the one who noiselessly moved beside me; the sternest suffering was impressed upon the plain hard-lined countenance. From beside me the country servant instantly departed to follow the warning voiceless form through the hedge, into a little house. Only a long minute passed, and the servant rushed from the hedge, absolutely wringing her hands, crouching to the ground in dumb agony. ‘’Tis my sister called me, she beckoned me in; but she will not speak: she will not have me with her.’ As she spoke the vision returned. It looked over the low hedge, with the same indescribable expression of sadness unspeakable—of a terrible woe impossible of utterance. It flung back its sleeve, and lifting one arm, pointed to a single white spot in the centre of a finger. And as suddenly as I had fallen on this dream, so suddenly I awoke. I tried to cast off the shadow the dream had cast on me. But the same evening came the news that the country cook’s sister was very ill, and had prematurely been confined with a child born dead.“EMILY MARION HARRIS.” In answer to inquiries, Miss Harris adds:— “Certainly I repeated my dream even before I left my room. I asked the housemaid whether she knew of any reason her fellow-servant might have to fear, or to hear bad news. She said, ‘No,’ and after that I told my sister. Nothing was said about the dream during Friday. On Saturday morning, when I returned from a class—having dismissed the occurrence from my mind for the time—my sister immediately told me that the coincidence of dream and fact were marvellously similar. The poor woman whom I saw with such dumb appeal on her countenance, was alone, unable to speak, meeting her trouble alone, her husband, who is a policeman, being on night duty. She thought it was impossible to be heard, till she found a stick of his, and contrived to knock on the floor.” Miss Harris’s sister corroborates as follows:—“March 16th, 1885. “It was directly I came out of my room, before I went down stairs, that my sister told me the dream she wrote to you about, and which she had dreamed between night and morning.“CLARA DE H. HARRIS.” Another instance of the same kind is No. 355 (p. 256, and see p. 267).

    § 3. I will now give a group of cases in respect of which the hypothesis of mistaken identity has to be taken into account. The apparition in all of them was seen out-of-doors, and in several of them in the street—which is the place where such mistakes are most liable to occur. Now, with respect to mistakes of identity, made at the time when the person who seems to be seen is really dying at a distance, one general remark has to be made—namely, that cases in which they have occurred are not thereby at once put out of court, for the purpose of my argument. For if telepathic hallucinations are facts in nature, the possibility of telepathic illusions cannot reasonably be excluded. Illusions, as I have remarked, (Vol. I., p. 460,) {ii-63} are merely the sprinkling of fragments of genuine hallucination on a background of true perception; and it is surely not more difficult to suppose that a mind which is telepathically affected can project its sensory delusion on some real figure which bears a general resemblance to the agent, than that it can project it in vacancy. But of course the coincidence with A’s death of an illusion in which the perceiver mistook B for A would have far

    less force as evidence for telepathy than the coincidence with A’s death of a hallucination representing him, simply because purely subjective mistakes as to identity are far commoner things than purely subjective hallucinations. To find the probability that a person will by accident make a particular mistake of identity on a particular day of his life, we must multiply the fraction  number of days of his life by the number of similar mistakes, in similar circumstances of light, distance, &c., that he makes altogether; and we must divide the result by the number of acquaintances any one of whom, if chance alone acted, is as likely as the one who died on the particular day to be the one wrongly identified on that day. This process may reduce the probability of a telepathic explanation of the coincidence from odds of millions to 1 (as found in the case of hallucinations, pp. 18–20) to odds of thousands to 1; but in a cumulative argument, odds of that magnitude are clearly not to be neglected. However, with regard to the following specimens, or most of them, such considerations are hardly needed. They seem pretty certainly to be cases of hallucination, and stand, for instance, on different ground from the incidents mentioned above (Vol. I., pp. 123–4), where the hypothesis of mistaken identity seemed fairly plausible.

    The first account is from the Chevalier Sebastiano Fenzi, of the Palazzo Fenzi, Florence, a corresponding member of the S.P.R. The peculiar melancholy described as preceding the vision may possibly exemplify the gradual emergence of telepathic impressions into consciousness, which was exemplified in Chap. XII., § 3.

    “November 13th, 1883.

    (243) “Some months before his demise, my brother (Senator Carlo Fenzi) one day, as we were driving to town together from our villa of St. Andrea, told me that if he should be summoned first, he would endeavour to prove to me that life continued beyond the chasm of the grave, and that I was to promise him the same in case I went first; ‘but,’ said he, ‘I am sure to go first, and, mind you, I feel quite sure that before the year is out—nay, in three months—I shall be no more.’ This was said in June and he died on the 2nd of September, the same year, 1881.

    {ii-64}

    “Now, on that fatal morning (the 2nd of September), I was some 70 miles away from Florence, namely, at Fortullino, a villa of ours on a rock on the sea, 10 miles south-east of Leghorn. Well, at about half-past 10 in the morning, I was seized with a fit of deep melancholy—a thing very unusual with me, who enjoy great serenity of mind. I had, however, no reason for being alarmed about my brother, who was then in Florence—as, although he had not been very well, the latest news of him was very good, as my nephew had written to say, ‘Uncle is doing very comfortably, and it cannot even be said that he has really been ill’—so that I could not account for this sudden gloomy impression; yet the tears stood in my eyes, and in order not to burst out crying like a baby before our family party, I rushed out of the house without my hat on, although it was blowing a hurricane, and the rain fell in torrents, accompanied by permanent flashes of lightning, and the loud and unceasing roar of the sea and of thunder.

    “I ran and ran, and only stopped when I had reached the end of a spacious lawn, from whence are seen, close on the other side of a small stream (the Fortulla), the huge stones or rocks heaped on one another, and stretching for a good half mile along the sea coast. I there gazed to try and see a youth, a cousin of mine, who, having been born among the Zulus, retained enough of love for savage life to have yielded to the wish of going out in that terrible weather, ‘to enjoy,’ he said, ‘the fury of the elements.’ Judge of my surprise and astonishment when, instead of Giovanni (such is my cousin’s name), I saw my brother, with a top hat and his big white moustachios, stepping leisurely along from one rock to another, as if the weather were fair and calm! I could not believe my eyes; and yet, there he was—he, unmistakeably! I thought of rushing back to the house to call every one out to give him a hearty welcome, but then preferred waiting for him, and meanwhile waved my hand to him and called out his name as loud as I possibly could, although with the awful noise of wind, and sea, and thunder combined, nothing could naturally be heard. He meanwhile continued to advance, until, having reached a rock larger than the rest, he slipped behind it. The distance between myself and the rock was, as nearly as I can judge, not more than 60 paces. I waited for him to reappear on the other side—but to no purpose, and I only saw Giovanni, who was just then emerging from a wood, and stepping on to the rocks. Giovanni, tall and slight, with a broad-brimmed hat and dark beard, was altogether a very different type, and I thought that my having seen Charles, my brother, must have been a freak of my sense of vision, and felt rather annoyed, and almost blushed at the idea that I could have been so deceived by a sort of phantom of my own fancy; yet could not

    help telling Giovanni, ‘There must be some family likeness, for I must positively have taken you for Charles, although I cannot make out how you could have gone from behind the huge rock into the wood without my seeing you cross over.’ ‘I never was behind the rock,’ he said, ‘for when you saw me, I had but just put my foot on the rocks.’

    “Meanwhile we went home, put on fresh clothes, and then joined the rest to breakfast. My melancholy had left me, and I conversed merrily with all the young people. After breakfast a telegram came, telling me and my daughter Christina to hasten home, as Carlo had suddenly been taken very {ii-65} ill. We made preparations to at once depart, and meanwhile another telegram came, urging us to make all possible haste, as the illness was making rapid strides, but although we caught the nearest train, we only arrived in Florence at night; where we found, to our horror, that my brother had died just at the time when in the morning I had seen him on the rocks, when, feeling that his moments were numbered, he had been continually asking for me, regretting not to see me appear.

    “In kissing his cold forehead with intense sorrow, as we had lived together, and loved one another during our whole lives, I thought, ‘Poor, dear Charlie; he kept his word!

    “SEBASTIANO FENZI.”

    In answer to inquiries, Chevalier Fenzi tells us that his “eyesight is excellent, especially at moderate distances.” He has had one other experience of visual hallucination—representing an unrecognised figure—which was probably subjective.

    The “Giovanni” of the narrative corroborates as follows:—

    “Athens, (English address, 131, Tavistock Street, Bedford).

    “May 3rd, 1884.

    “My cousin, Sebastiano Fenzi, of Florence, has sent me your letter of 13th March last, with a request that I would give you my recollections of the strange circumstance attending the death of his brother, Carlo Fenzi, in September, 1881, a circumstance which made (and has left) a deep impression on my mind. I will endeavour to recall the whole circumstance. Nearly three years, it is true, have since passed, but my recollection of the event, on account of its strangeness, remains clear.

    “Passing through Italy in the autumn of 1881, I profited by the occasion to visit my relatives. At Milan I learnt that the major portion were at Fortullino, my cousin’s seaside villa. Thither I accordingly went, arriving the last days of August. Fortullino is a charming villa, situated on the top of a cliff on the sea, and surrounded by deep growths of trees and shrubs. The weather, during the beginning of my stay, was very bad, rain, thunder, strong winds, and heavy sea. I remember that on the morning of my cousin’s death—none then dreamed the end was near—indulging in a favourite weakness (?).—I started off alone for an escapade along the shore. Descending by the hillside to the beach, I passed on, leaping from boulder to boulder, climbing over, or passing round them when too huge, past a bend, which hid me from a view of the villa, for some distance along the shore.

    “Returning for breakfast, I found the rain (driven into my face by the wind) blinding, and, fearing an accident, entered the wood. The undergrowth of the shrubs, and the wet state of the ground, urged me to try the open again. This I did, emerging just inside the bend, in full sight of the house. To my surprise I saw my cousin standing on the edge of the cliff. When I approached him he remarked that there must be a strange family likeness, as he had mistaken me for his brother Carlo, being on the rocks, but wondered how I had managed to enter the wood unseen by him, and then suddenly leave it again. I replied that he had not seen me on the rocks before leaving the wood (for I was out of sight). The matter shortly afterwards dropped. Scarcely was breakfast over than a wire arrived, summoning him and his daughter Christina to Florence,—Carlo was very ill. They left at once, I staying, at their request, with {ii-66} the younger members at Fortullino. Our next news was that Carlo Fenzi had died—about the very time that Sebastiano had fancied to have mistaken me for his brother.

    “JOHN DOUGLAS DE FENZI.”

    [Even apart from the evidence that “Giovanni” was not in sight when the figure was seen, it would be difficult to regard this as a case of mistaken identity. For Chevalier Fenzi, being specially on the look out for “Giovanni,” would be specially unlikely to mistake him for someone else.]

    Here we encounter a feature of which there are altogether nine examples in the present collection1[☼]1 See cases 146, 165, 169, 194, 355, 514, 526, 537; also Mr. Cooper’s “ambiguous” case, Vol. i., p. 507. In case 210 there had been a request, but not a compact: and in case 197 a promise on the side of the person who died.—a previous compact between the parties that the one who died first should endeavour to make the other sensible of his presence. Considering what an extremely small number of persons make such a compact, compared with those who do not, it is difficult to resist the conclusion that its existence has a certain efficacy. The cause of this might be sought in some quickening of the agent’s thought, in relation to the percipient, as the time for fulfilment approached. But considering how often spontaneous telepathy acts without any conscious set of the distant mind towards the person impressed, it is safer to refer the phenomenon to the same sort of blind movements as seem sometimes, at supreme crises, to evoke a response out of memories and affinities that have long lapsed from consciousness (see Chap. XII., § 9); on which view, the efficacy of the compact may quite as readily be conceived to depend on its latent place in the percipient’s mind as in the agent’s.

    In the next case—from Major Owen, of 4, Grove Road, Eastbourne—the tie between the two parties was, we learn, one rather of blood than of affection.

    “November 17th, 1883.

    (244) “In the year 1870, I went one morning from my then home, in Clifton, to order various eatables for the day. On my way, I saw coming towards me, on the same side of the street, J. E. H., a male cousin. To avoid meeting him, I went across to the other side, and walked into a fishmonger’s shop, and watched him pass on. I remained in the same place, looking into the street, and I saw him (or it) pass back again. I felt so annoyed at the idea of J. E. H. being in Clifton that I hurried home to tell my wife that I had seen J. E. H., and that he was evidently making inquiries as to our residence, and would certainly be here directly. I stayed at home all that morning, but J. E. H. never appeared.

    “The next day, or day after, I received a letter from a son of J. E. H., telling me his father had died the very day I had seen the apparition.

    “H. M. ARTHUR OWEN.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Owen says:—

    {ii-67}

    “I have ascertained from the widow of J. E. H. that he died Tuesday, November 2nd, 1869, not as I wrote to you, 1870, between 2 and 3 p.m. I saw, as I believe to this moment, J. E. H., certainly before noon on that day. My wife can testify to the fact of my having seen J. E. H. before I heard of his death, as I went back to my house to tell her J. E. H. was in Clifton, and she must expect to see him any moment.”

    Mrs. Owen corroborates as follows:—

    “I perfectly recognise the circumstance detailed to you by my husband of his having, as he thought, seen J. E. H. walking in the streets of Clifton; indeed, he came home on purpose to prepare me for his coming to our house, and the whole day we were expecting he would appear.

    “M. OWEN.”

    [Major Owen has had no other hallucination, and his sight is excellent. In conversation, Mrs. Owen described J. E. H.’s figure to Mr. Podmore as unmistakeable; very tall and thin, with small black eyes and a very small head.]

    The next case is from the Rev. W. E. Dutton, of Lothersdale Rectory, Cononley, Leeds. It will be seen that the impression may possibly have been reciprocal.

    “January, 30th, 1885.

    (245) “I am not quite clear as to the exact date, but about the middle of June, in the year 1863, I was walking up the High Street of Huddersfield, in broad daylight, when I saw approaching me, at a distance of a few yards, a dear friend who I had every reason to believe was lying dangerously ill at his home in Staffordshire. A few days before, I had heard this from his friends. As the figure drew nearer, I had every opportunity of observing it; and, although it flashed across my mind that his recovery had been sudden, I never thought of doubting that it was really my friend. As we met he looked into my eyes with a sad longing expression, and, to my astonishment, never appeared to notice my outstretched hand, or respond to my greeting, but quietly passed on. I was so taken by surprise as to be unable to speak or move for a few seconds, and could never be quite certain whether there was uttered by him any audible sound, but a clear impression was left on my mind, ‘I have wanted to see you so much, and you would not come.’ Recovering from my astonishment, I turned to look after the retreating figure, but it was gone. My first impulse was to go to the station and wire a message;[☼] my next, which was acted upon, was to start off immediately to see whether my friend was really alive or dead, scarcely doubting that the latter was the case. When I arrived next day I found him living, but in a state of semiconsciousness. He had been repeatedly asking for me, his mind apparently dwelling on the thought that I would not come to see him. As far as I could make out, at the time I saw him on the previous day he was apparently sleeping. He told me afterwards that he fancied he saw me, but had no clear idea how or where. I have no means of accounting for the apparition, which was that of my friend clothed, and not as he must have been at the time.1 1 On the view of telepathic hallucinations which has been here advanced, this point of course presents no difficulty; see Chap. xii., §§ 5 and 6. My mind was at the moment fully occupied with other matters, and I was not thinking of him.

    {ii-68}

    “I may add that he rallied afterwards, and lived for several months. At the time of his death I was far from home, but there was no repetition of the mysterious experience.

    “W. E. DUTTON.”

    In answer to the question whether this was his only experience of a hallucination of the senses, Mr. Dutton replies:—

    “I have never had, so far as I can remember, any other experience of the nature described in my narrative, and do not think I am a subject for such impressions. This makes the solitary experience all the more mysterious to me.”

    Asked as to his eyesight, he adds:—“I am not and never have been shortsighted, but just the contrary. Nor do I remember to have made a mistake of identity except on one occasion, and that in the case of a person I had seen only once.”

    [Here the behaviour of the phantasm is very unlike that of a stranger who found himself mistaken for someone else. The case is of course weakened by Mr. Dutton’s knowledge of his friend’s serious illness, which makes it more likely than it would otherwise be that the hallucination was purely subjective (Vol. I., p. 509). But the fact of his friend’s mind having been distinctly occupied with him (possibly even telepathically clairvoyant of him) is a point on the other side.]

    Mr. Arthur Ireland, of the School House, South Witham, near Grantham, wrote to us on January 5, 1884:—

    (246) “About 14 years ago, about 3 o’clock one summer’s afternoon, I was passing in front of Trinity Church, Upper King Street, Leicester, when I saw on the opposite side of the street a very old playmate, whom, having left the town to learn some business, I had for some time lost sight of. I thought it odd he took no notice of me; and while following him with my eyes, deliberating whether I should accost him or not, I called after him by name, and was somewhat surprised at not being able to follow him any further, or to say into which house he had gone, for I felt persuaded he had gone into one. The next week I was informed of his somewhat sudden death at Burton-on-Trent, at about the time I felt certain he was passing in front of me. What struck me most at the time was that he should take no notice of me, and that he should go along so noiselessly1 1 This feature recurs in Dr. Leslie’s narrative, p. 252. Visual hallucinations, as we have seen often involve further the sounds that a real person would have made; but the absence of this complete development (cf. case 252) is only on a par with the common occurrence of hallucinations of voices close at hand, where no visible phantasm appears. and disappear so suddenly, but that it was E. P. I had seen I never for one moment doubted. I have always looked upon this as a hallucination, but why it should have occurred at that particular time, and to me, I could never make out.

    “ARTHUR IRELAND.”

    To inquiries, Mr. Ireland replies:—

    (1) “I have never on any other occasion had any hallucination of the senses at all.

    (2) “I mentioned the incident of having met E. P. to my mother, and remarked on the seeming slight of his not acknowledging me. Of course, when the news of his death came, mother remarked that I was mistaken, {ii-69} and although not feeling convinced, I had to assent to such a seemingly-apparent truism. My mother has since died, or we might have had this added testimony.

    (3) “I am thankful to say that my eyesight is good, and I remember no instance of mistaking one person for another. Of course I could not swear that there was no mistake; but I do assert that I, without knowing he had left the town, and with nothing to make me think of him, was suddenly certain that E. P. was coming towards me on the opposite side of the street; that I watched him attentively for any sign of recognition; that I called after him, and could never explain his disappearance, or account for the unnatural noiselessness of his movements or the suddenness of his appearance.

    “I conclude by assuring you that so far I have been of a very realistic turn of mind, and am not aware that I am in the least superstitious or even imaginative. That which I have written is the truth, according to my experience, placed at your disposal to help, if of any service, in the unravelling of that for which at present there seems no adequate explanation.”

    Mr. Ireland was in doubt as to the exact date. We learn through a sister of Mr. E. P.’s—and have confirmed her statement by the Register—that the death occurred on January 9th, 1869. Mr. Ireland was therefore mistaken in referring it to the summer. But he is quite certain that he “received the information of it within a week after it took place,” and remarked to his mother on the exactitude of the coincidence.

    [Here the words “without knowing he had left the town” somewhat weaken the case. But the mode of appearance and disappearance strongly suggests that the figure seen was not a stranger mistaken for E. P. but a hallucination; and if so, there is the strongest probability that it was telepathic]

    The next case is taken from a book called John Leifchild, D.D., his Public Ministry; founded upon an Autobiography, by J. R. Leifchild, his son (published by Jackson, Walford and Hodder, 1863). The account is in the words of Dr. Leifchild himself, not of his son.

    (247) “I give an account of an occurrence which soon after befell my aunt, for the truth of which, as an event, I can vouch, but of which I can offer no solution. She was standing in a little shop fronting the street while a customer was being served. On a sudden, her absent son passed in the street before her, and, as he passed, gave her a look of recognition, which so surprised and overjoyed her that, forgetting everything else, she rushed into the street after him. When there, she could not see him, and concluded that he was gone to the alley, which led to the abbey, and meant to hide himself away. We went, as soon as we could assemble, in search of him, but could not discover any trace of the son. My aunt then concluded that she had seen his spirit, and fell seriously ill. I noticed the circumstances in writing at the time, and pondered over them.

    “A few weeks afterwards my father came to see us, and my aunt truly divined his errand. He had received a letter from the captain of the ship in which her son was sailing, stating that the unfortunate lad had fallen from the mast, and fractured his skull. While lying on his {ii-70} death-bed he directed the captain to write to my father, whose address he named. The dates of this misfortune and the hallucination corresponded precisely.”

    [This certainly cannot be proved not to have been a case of mistaken identity; for the “look of recognition” cannot be pressed, that being just the sort of detail that might creep in afterwards, and the evidence for it being second-hand. At the same time, the sense of reality seems to have been of a kind which excluded this hypothesis in the percipient’s mind: people do not as a rule “fall seriously ill” as a consequence of mistaking one person for another in the street.]

    The next case was thus narrated by Mr. Andrew Lang, in an article on “Apparitions,” Encyclopædia Britannica, Vol. II., p. 207.

    (248) “The writer once met, as he believed, a well-known and learned member of an English University [Professor Conington], who was really dying at a place more than 100 miles distant from that in which he was seen. Supposing, for the sake of argument, that the writer did not mistake some other individual for the extremely noticeable person whom he seemed to see, the coincidence between the subjective impression and the death of the learned professor is, to say the least, curious.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Lang wrote, on January 30th, 1886:—

    “Savile Club.

    “It was when I was living in St. Giles that I saw the real or sham J. C. I was under the lamp in Oriel Lane, about 9 at night, in winter, and I certainly had a very good view of him. I believe this to have been on a Thursday, but it may have been a Friday. I think it was on the Saturday that Scott Holland did not come to a breakfast party, and sent a note that Conington was dangerously ill. I said, ‘He can’t have been very ill on Thursday (or yesterday, I can’t be sure which), for I met him near Corpus.’

    “I am constantly failing to recognise people. Conington, however, was not easily mistaken, and I know no one in Oxford who was at all like him. Whoever he was, he was in cap and gown.

    “A. LANG.”

    Mr. Lang tells us that he has never had a hallucination on any other occasion.

    The notice of the death in the Times shows that it took place on Saturday, October 23, 1869; but information received from Canon Scott Holland, who heard from Professor Conington four times in the course of the week, leaves no doubt that he knew himself to be dying on the Thursday night. The experience narrated therefore coincided with a time of critical illness, though not with the death.

    [This is, no doubt, an experience which might have been without difficulty accounted for as a mistake of identity, had the person who seemed to be seen been in a normal state at the time. But in any such case the coincidence is an inexpugnable fact or factor, the probability of which, as the result of accident, cannot reasonably be estimated save in relation to numbers of similar and more striking examples; and its force, as I pointed out above (pp. 62–3), is by no means entirely dependent on the supposition that the experience was a hallucination and not an illusion.]

    {ii-71}

    The next case is from Mr. T. H. Carr, of 1, The Terrace, Carlton Hill, Woodhouse Lane, Leeds.

    “February 18th, 1886.

    (249)[☼] “I cannot make you fully understand the case unless you are acquainted with the Friends’ Meeting House premises. In passing through the front gate, the Meeting House is on the left, and my house, the first of 5 terrace houses, up a few steps on the right hand; but they stand back a few feet at the end of a high wall. And on account of the height of this wall we could only just see the top part of the head and hat of any gentleman coming.

    “It was when I was standing at my front window on Christmas Day, 1884, that I saw the head of a gentleman walking up the yard which I thought was Daniel Pickard coming up, but on getting nearer I saw that the hair was whiter than Daniel’s; and on looking again, I thought it was the head and hat of Mr. X. But to see him right, I thought he would think me rude to be standing close to the window and watching him turn the corner, so I walked backwards a couple of paces, expecting to see him pass close to the terrace. But, to my surprise, he vanished in a moment, and I saw no more. I was struck with the affair, and took out my watch, and it was just 4 o’clock.

    “A couple of hours after, B. Geddard, the caretaker, came down the yard, and said, ‘Hast thou heard that Mr. X. is dead?’ I said, ‘No; when has he died?’ He replied, ‘To-day at 4 o’clock.’

    “THOMAS H. CARR.”

    We find from a newspaper obituary that Mr. X. died on December 25th, 1884, after an illness of less than a week.

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Carr adds that for distant objects his eyesight is excellent; that he has never on any other occasion experienced any sort of hallucination of the senses; and that, though he knew Mr. X. to be ill, he had no idea that the illness was serious.

    It was impossible to judge of this case without an actual observation on the spot. Mr. Carr’s house stands in an enclosure which is divided from the street by open railings; and nobody would be walking along the line which the figure appeared to be taking, unless he were coming to the small row of houses of which Mr. Carr’s is the first—in which case his whole figure would be visible in a very few seconds after the upper part of it came into view. To disappear as it did, the figure would have had to retire by the way that it came, but closer to the wall. Mr. Carr was perfectly familiar with the aspect of Mr. X., who used frequently to come to see him, and whose head and tall hat were quite sufficient to distinguish him from other people known to enter this private enclosure. The broad brim of the hat was peculiar; and Mr. X. also walked with a peculiar droop of the head  Moreover, the fact that at the first moment Mr. Carr took the person he saw for some one else, and then corrected his judgment, shows at any rate that his recognition of Mr. X. was not that of a mere hasty glance. He was extremely startled by the sudden disappearance of his friend, and at once hurried out to see what could have become of him, but no one the least resembling him was in view. The incident perplexed and disturbed him at the moment far more than the words “I was struck with the affair” might seem to imply.

    {ii-72}

    The final case of this group (procured for us by the Rev. J. A. Macdonald, of Rhyl,) is from Mr. Schofield, of 350, Belgrade Terrace, Manchester, a manufacturing chemist, and an office-bearer in the Collyhurst Wesleyan Church.

    (250) “About the year 1857, while I was apprenticed at Bacup, I came home to Newchurch, in Rossendale, one Wednesday evening. On arriving at the gate of the garden fronting my father’s house, I saw Martha Mills, a young woman with whom we were well acquainted, at the gate as if coming from the house. I spoke to her, but she made no answer, and I passed on into the house. When I got into the house I remarked to my mother that I had met Martha Mills at the gate, and that she did not answer me when I spoke to her. My mother [since dead] said, ‘You could not have seen her, for she is either dead or dying.’ I had not heard of her illness; but she died about the same time that I had seen her.[☼]

    “RICHARD SCHOFIELD.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Schofield tells us that he has never had any other visual hallucination. He adds:—

    “It was in the winter, and the light would not be sufficient to enable me to distinguish a living person at the distance at which Martha Mills appeared to me; yet I saw her very distinctly, and at the time had no doubt that it was she. I was not astonished at the time at the vividness with which I had seen her features; for I did not until afterwards reflect upon the distance of the street lamp, and general darkness of the night.”

    The Register of Deaths confirms Mr. Schofield’s recollection that the occurrence fell on a Wednesday, and in the winter, but shows that it is rather more remote than he supposed—the date of Martha Mills’s death being December 15, 1852. The coincidence of time between the vision and the death was, as far as he can remember, exact. Martha Mills was just a neighbour, who would be in and out at the Schofields’ without ceremony.

    Here Mr. Schofield asserts that he saw the face distinctly; but afterwards adds that the light was insufficient to admit of such distinct perception, had the figure been a real person. Now, taken together, these statements might seem to tell in favour of the abnormal—the hallucinatory—nature of the vision:1 1 See Vol. i., p. 462, note, and Chap. xii., § 7. A case of subjective hallucination experienced by the Rev. P. H. Newnham further illustrates the point. He distinctly saw in church the figure of a parishioner of marked appearance, who, it turned out, had not been there, and whose place had not been occupied by anyone else. “When I became convinced it was a hallucination, it then occurred to me that the clearness with which I had noted the eyes and the careworn look proved it; for my eyesight is now unable to distinguish such details of features at the distance of the pew in question.” It is interesting in this connection to remark that Mr. Newnham, for the larger part of his life, enjoyed particularly good sight; while another correspondent, who occasionally sees subjective phantoms, and who has been short-sighted from birth, says, “I experience the same difficulty in discerning the unreal that I do when viewing real objects; unless the persons come near, I cannot clearly distinguish their features.” at the same time it would be an equally reasonable inference that perhaps he did not really see the face as distinctly as he afterwards supposed. When persons whom {ii-73} one knows are seen in places where it is very natural that they should be, one often accepts a very slight and general glance as a sufficient ground of recognition; and it is easy afterwards to mistake the inference that one drew from this glance for actual ocular observation. But, on the other hand, Mr. Schofield spoke to the figure, and it did not answer him; which would at any rate be unlikely conduct on the part of a real person.

    § 4. The next type that presents itself is different from any that has yet been mentioned. We have encountered several cases, which there seemed strong grounds for considering telepathic, where the phantasmal form was not recognised; and we have seen that on the theory that the telepathic impulse may take place on various levels, or even below any level, of consciousness, and maybe projected into sensory form by the percipient with various degrees of distinctness, this lack of recognition is not surprising. But all the visual cases so far examined have presented a human appearance: the hallucination has been developed at any rate up to that point. It will be remembered, however, that there have been instances where the human appearances developed out of something of a formless kind, which gradually assumed outline and detail (Chap. XII., § 3); and this might naturally lead us to expect that other cases might occur of a more rudimentary type—hallucinations, as we might say, of arrested development, and not suggestive or but faintly suggestive of any human likeness. Instances of the undeveloped type are met with among the purely subjective hallucinations of the sane; but they are very rare in comparison with the hallucinations which represent a definite figure;1 1 In my collection of purely subjective hallucinations of the sane, the only visual examples that I find of a quite rudimentary type are a star, and two or three appearances of shapeless cloudy masses; to which I might add a few of the “collective” cases in Chap. xviii., § 5. But since this chapter was written, M. Marillier’s paper, above cited, has supplied me with a case eminently in point. After describing some most distinct and complete hallucinations from which he suffered at one period of his life, he continues:—“Depuis lors, je n’ai plus eu d’hallucinations très nettes; parfois encore je vois des lueurs, j’entends des craquements, des bruissements, je sens en moi ce sentiment d’attente anxieuse qui précède d’ordmaire l’apparition d’une hallucination; mais rien ne paraît: l’hallucination est réduite avant même qu’elle ait eu le temps de se produire.” [Translation]Since then, I have not had very clear hallucinations; sometimes I still see gleams, I hear crackings, rustles, I have this feeling of anxious waiting that usually precedes the appearance of a hallucination; but nothing appears: the hallucination is reduced even before it has had time to occur. This seems exactly to illustrate “arrested development.” See also case 311 below, where a hallucination of light develops into a human form; a converse case, No. 553, where a developed hallucination passes into a mere impression of light; case 332 where it seems probable that what appeared to one percipient as a complete and recognised figure appeared to another as a formless luminous cloud; and case 346 where what appeared to one percipient as a complete figure, which touched him, appeared to another as a misty shadow. it need not, therefore, surprise us to find that the analogous group, which there are grounds for regarding as very possibly telepathic, is a small one. Physiologically, we might compare these undeveloped flashes of hallucination to a motor effect {ii-74} which, instead of taking the complex form of automatic writing, is limited to a single start or twitch. The experiments in Chap. II., § 13, seemed to indicate that the sequel of a telepathic impulse might be a single tremor or vibration, sent down to the motor centre from the higher tracts of the brain; just so may we suppose the speech-centre to have been stimulated in the case of Mrs. K.’s cry (Vol. I., p. 398); and in the rudimentary hallucinations the stimulation of the sensory centre may be conceived as of the same simple and explosive sort.

    The following case stands in an intermediate position, as there was a suggestion, but not exactly a representation, of human form. The account is from a witness whom we believe to have stated the facts correctly. She is the wife of an Inspector on the G.N. Railway, and resides at 4, Taylor’s Cottages, London Road, Nottingham.

    “April 23rd, 1883.

    (251) “We received a letter a few days since, asking me to give you the account of our dear little girl’s death, which took place on the 17th of May, 1879. I beg to state it is as fresh on my mind as if it only occurred a few days ago. The morning was very bright, and I think the sun shone more bright than I had ever seen it before. The child was four years and five months old, and a very fine girl. A few minutes after 11 she came running into the kitchen and said to me, ‘Mother, may I go and play?’ I said, ‘Yes.’ She then went out. Soon after I spoke to her, I went and fetched a pail of water from the bedroom. As I was walking across the yard, the child came in front of me like a bright shadow,1

    1 Cf. Case 491, Where a “shadowy light” seems to have developed into more definite form. and I stopped quite still and looked at her, and turned my head to the right, and saw her pass away. I emptied my water, and was coming in. My husband’s brother, who was staying with us, called to me, and said, ‘Fanny have got runned over.’ I then came through the house and went just across the road, and found her. She was knocked down by the horse’s feet, and the wheel of a baker’s cart had broken the brain at the back of her neck. She only breathed a few minutes in my arms.

    “This is just as the sad accident occurred. I have been looking for the piece of paper with it in, but I cannot find it.

    “ANNE E. WRIGHT.

    The accident occurred at Derby. The Derby and Chesterfield Reporter gives a full account of it, which completely corresponds with the above.

    [In a conversation with Mr. and Mrs. H. Sidgwick on December 16th, 1883, Mrs. Wright explained that the apparition was “like a flash of lightning in the form of a child’s shadow.” It could not have been a real child; it was “not the least like one,” nor did she recognise in it the image of any particular child; but it gave her a kind of shock and made her think, “I wonder where those children are.” It lasted long enough for her to gaze steadily at it—“about half a minute”—and “moved away to the right, with her eyes upon it,” and so disappeared. {ii-75} Not more than a quarter or three-quarters of a minute passed before her brother-in-law called to her. It must have been 5 or 7 minutes since the child had gone to play, when the accident happened. Mrs. Wright afterwards learnt from an eye-witness what the child had been doing out in the road for some minutes previously to the accident. While holding the dying child in her arms, she said to the people standing by, “This is her death-blow. I saw her shadow in the yard.” She has had no hallucination of vision on any other occasion.]

    It is open to doubt, of course, whether the experience here was of a sufficiently marked kind to have remained in the percipient’s mind, had no accident occurred. But the description of the phantasm appears at any rate to point to something more than a mere illusion caused by the sunlight; nor is it of a sort that seems specially likely to have been unconsciously invented or exaggerated after the event.

    The next two cases are of a much more rudimentary type. The narrator of the first is the Rev. James Went, M.A., of Southlea, Knighton, Leicester, Headmaster of the Leicester Grammar School.

    “December 21st, 1885.

    (252) “In the year 1870, I held an assistant-mastership in a large grammar school in the Midland counties. At the beginning of one of the school terms a boy had come to the town to reside with his uncle, for the sake of attending the school. He was a quiet, thoughtful-looking boy, and he and I were, I think, attracted to each other. A short time after he had come to the school, he was taken ill during school hours. Seeing that he was in pain I suggested that he should go home, and he did so. He was absent for perhaps three or four days, and, I think, meantime I made inquiries of his cousin, who also attended the school, and got the impression that he was not seriously ill. At all events, I had no idea that he was in any danger, nor, indeed, as I ascertained afterwards, had his friends. One evening I was sitting in my drawing-room reading, my wife being in the dining room behind, when I became aware of a vague presence within a few feet of me. It assumed no shape, and was nothing more than an indefinable dark appearance as of massed and disordered drapery, though there was no rustling. Slight as it was, however, I was quite conscious of it, and I can recall it at this distance of time. It made me feel a little uncomfortable, and I put down my book and joined my wife in the next room. The discomfort passed away at once, and I thought no more of it. In the course of an hour, however, I received a note which informed me that my pupil had died at about the same time, so far as I could make out, that I had been conscious of this appearance. I was, of course, at once reminded of it, and took some little trouble to ascertain the time. When I received the note informing me of his death I mentioned the incident to my wife, and she at the present time remembers my doing so.

    “I give the narrative for what it is worth. It is very vague, but I have endeavoured not to overstate the incident.

    “JAMES WENT.”

    In answer to an inquiry, Mr. Went says:—“I have never on any other occasion had any hallucination of the senses.”

    {ii-76}

    Mrs. Went writes as follows on Dec. 29, 1885:—

    “I remember well my husband mentioning to me, directly after he heard of the boy’s death, a queer sensation that he had experienced an hour previously that evening, and his belief that he had seen something which he could not describe.

    “FRANCES J. WENT.”

    The stage of development here seems just on a par with that out of which the appearances in cases 193, 194, and 315 took definite shape.

    The next case is from the late Rev. Stephen H. Saxby, of Mount Elton, Clevedon, who was present when the incident occurred.

    “1883.

    (253) “About the year 1841, I was in a room with my father in our house in the Isle of Wight, when he exclaimed, ‘Good God, what is that?’ starting up as he spoke, and apparently looking at something. He then turned to me and said that he had seen a ball of light pass through the room, and added, ‘Depend upon it, Nurse Simonds is dead.’ This was an old servant in London, to whom he had been sending money, in illness. In course of post came information that she passed away at the very time in question.

    “S. H. S.”

    [The exact date of death cannot be traced, the name being a common one.]

    It is superfluous to remark that such an incident as this would deserve no attention if it stood alone; for therein it only resembles almost any example of coincidence that can be adduced. But in the case of the rudimentary visual phantasms, the evidential weakness extends to the whole class, which is far too small to carry any conviction, or to be even worth presenting on its own account; and to many, I am aware, the very mention of it will seem rather to weaken than to strengthen my argument. But it is only, I think, the vague habit of conceiving death-apparitions as objective presences instead of as hallucinations, that makes a “ball of light” appear so much more bizarre and improbable a manifestation than the semblance of the distant person’s form. If the percipient has never on any other occasion had an experience of the kind, it seems unreasonable to leave the fact of the coincidence out of account, merely because the hallucination is of a rare type; and seeing that this small rudimentary class is backed by the far larger and more convincing class of recognised phantasms, we may admit the presumption thus raised that the smaller group, like the larger, is telepathic, while still admitting that the smaller group adds no appreciable weight of its own to the cumulative proof of telepathy. The same remarks apply to the rudimentary auditory cases, some of which will be given in the next chapter—though to these the conception of arrested development is less applicable.

    {ii-77}

    § 5. The types that next claim notice are peculiar in that they involve no coincidence with any ostensibly abnormal condition of the agent. Evidence that certain hallucinations are telepathic, and not purely subjective, in origin may be afforded by coincidences of a different sort. Thus, a person may have a hallucination representing a friend in some costume in which he has never seen him or imagined him, but which proves to have been actually worn by him at the time. Or again, several persons, at different times, may have had a hallucination representing the same person, though that person was apparently experiencing nothing unusual on any of the occasions when his form was thus seen. Clearly it would be difficult to regard a repetition of this sort as accidental. It being comparatively a rare event for a sane and healthy person to see the form of an absent person at all, that two or more sane and healthy persons at different times should see the form of the same absent person, is, on the theory of chances, so unlikely as to suggest a specific faculty on the absent person’s part for promulgating telepathic impulses.

    This latter type is important from its bearing on the question whether the peculiarity of organisation which conduces to telepathic transferences belongs rather to the percipient or to the agent, or (as experiment would lead us to suppose) in some measure to both. To decide this question we should naturally ask which happens the more frequently—that the same percipient, or that the same agent, is concerned in several telepathic incidents. Now of repetitions to the same percipient we have several examples;1 1 The evidence for one instance may of course be better than for another or others which may have fallen to the experience of the same percipient; but the following cases seem at any rate worth considering in respect of this feature of repetition:—Nos. 21, 38, 56 and 184; 41 and 477; 44 and 116; 53, with the preceding incidents; 69; 73 and 103; 74 and 423; 77 and 263; 80 and 204; 86, 479 and 480; 111, 161 and 464; 126 and 201; 129, 164 and 551; 136 and 137; 140 and 642; 167 and 315; 191 and 280; 198 and 274; 279; 311, 367 and 693; 370 and 665; 408, 553, 554 and 650; 411 and 463; 502; 513; 514 and 515; 559 and 560; the case on p. 355; and perhaps Nos. 99, 392, 619, 625, 692. See also the account which Thomas Wright, of Birkenshaw (the champion of the Wesleyans in the North of England), gives of his aunt’s experiences (Autobiography pp. 5–7). Mrs. Newnham affords another instance, but with her the agent has always been her husband (Vol. i., pp. 63–70, and cases 18 and 35). Compare in this respect cases 90 and 700; and also case 55. but that the same agent should figure repeatedly is made unlikely by the very nature of the ordinary type of case, which implies (over and above any natural peculiarity of organisation) an exceptional crisis—indeed, more often than not the crisis of death, through which no one can pass more than once. The only chance for a dying agent to show a special faculty for originating telepathic impressions is by impressing several persons; and cases of simultaneous or collective percipience, which may possibly be so {ii-78} explicable, will be considered later (in Chap. XVIII.). Meanwhile the cases where telepathic impressions seem now and again to be thrown off at haphazard, and independently of death or any other crisis, are theoretically of at least equal interest. For they tend to confirm what experiment would lead us to suppose, that agency as well as percipience depends on specific conditions as yet unknown; and this dependence on peculiarity of constitution in two people would go far to account for an otherwise puzzling fact—the rarity, in comparison with the number of deaths and crises that take place, of spontaneous telepathic incidents connected with them.

    Of the class of repeated hallucinations representing the same person, we have about five presentable records.1 1 I am excluding from the list a case received from Miss E. D. Jackson, of Strangeways, Manchester, where she and her hostess, on separate occasions, saw the figure of a maidservant who was not really present; partly because the experiences both took place when the percipient was in bed in the morning, which we have seen to be a condition favourable to purely subjective hallucinations; partly because the sight of a person who is daily before the eyes is a common form for such hallucinations to take. (See Vol. i., p. 505.) None of the hitherto published cases of the repeated appearance of the same person’s “double” rest on good traceable authority. The case of Mdlle. Sagée, published in Mr. Dale Owen’s Footfalls (p. 348), in 1863, was withdrawn in a later edition, as second-hand and not well substantiated. Some instances are recorded in connection with witchcraft—e.g., in Mather’s Wonders of the Invisible World (Boston, 1693), pp. 106–112; but here the idea of the person whose form appeared was present as a permanent source of apprehension in the minds of all the percipients. Most of the incidents therein described seem to illustrate what may be called purely casual agency; but in a few of them the agent’s state was more or less abnormal—which is so far of course in favour of a telepathic explanation of the phenomena. The first account is from Mrs. Hawkins, of Beyton Rectory, Bury St. Edmunds.

    “March 25th, 1885.

    (254) “I send you my cousins’ accounts of my apparition.

    “I have also sent you the account of my next appearance, which unfortunately cannot now be related by the eye-witness.

    “Again, a third time one of my little sisters reported that she had seen me on the stairs, when I was seven miles off—but she might so easily have been mistaken that I have never put any faith in that appearance. Then I was about 20.

    “For many years after that these appearances seem to have entirely ceased, but in the autumn of 1877 I was seen in this house by my eldest son, then aged 27, who may, I hope, give you his own account of it.

    “LUCY HAWKINS.”

    Mrs. Hawkins prefaces her cousins’ accounts thus:—

    “The event described in the enclosed accounts took place at Cherington, near Shipston-on-Stour, in Warwickshire, the residence of my uncle, Mr. William Dickins, who was for many years chairman of Quarter Sessions in {ii-79} the county. The ladies who saw the appearance are two of his daughters, one of them a little older than myself, the other 3 or 4 years younger. I was then just 17.

    “The only mistake that I can discover in either of the accounts is that Mrs. Malcolm says I had been hiding with her ‘brother,’ whereas I had really been all the time with her sister, Miss Lucy Dickins—a fact of no importance except that she (Miss D.) might (if necessary) bear witness that I had really been with her all the time in the washhouse, and so could not have been near where I was seen.

    “I remember we were all somewhat awed by what had happened, and that it broke up our game. I myself quite thought it was a warning of speedy death; but as I was not a nervous or excitable girl, it did not make me anxious or unhappy, and in course of time the impression passed off.

    Writing to Mrs. Hawkins in September, 1884, Miss Dickins said:—

    “Georgie [Mrs. Malcolm] is coming here on Friday, and I propose then to show her your letters, and Mr. Gurney’s, and that we should each write our impressions of what we saw independently, and see how far they agree, and we will send the result to you. It is all very fresh in my memory, and I can at this moment conjure you up in my mind’s eye, as you appeared under that tree and disappeared in the yard. I even recollect distinctly the dress you wore, a sort of brown and white, rather large check, such as was in fashion then, and is now, but was in abeyance in the intermediate years.”

    Shortly afterwards Miss Dickins wrote:—

    “Cherington, Shipston-on-Stour.

    “September 29th, 1884.

    “I send the two accounts which Georgie and I wrote about your apparition. We wrote them independently, and so I think they are wonderfully good evidence, as they tally to almost every particular, except the little fact that I thought she joined me in searching the yard for you, and she thinks not—but that has nothing to do with the main fact of the story, our entire belief that we saw you in the body.”

    “In the autumn of 1845, we were a large party of young ones staying in the house, and on one occasion were playing at a species of hide-and-seek, in which we were allowed to move from one hiding-place to another, until caught by the opposite side. At the back of the house there was a small fold-yard opening on one side into the orchard, on the other into the stableyard, and there were other buildings to the left. I came round the corner of these buildings, and saw my cousin standing under some trees about 20 yards from me, and I distinctly saw her face; my sister, who at the moment appeared on the other side, also saw her and shouted to me to give chase. My cousin ran between us in the direction of the fold-yard, and when she reached the door we were both close behind her and followed instantly, but she had entirely disappeared, though scarcely a second had elapsed. We looked at one another in amazement, and searched every corner of the yard in vain; and when found some little time afterwards, she assured us that she had never been on that side of the house at all, or anywhere near the spot, but had remained hidden in the same place until discovered by one of the enemy.

    “S. F. D.”

    {ii-80}

    “I well remember the incident of your ‘fetch’ appearing to us. I believe I wrote down the details at the time, but do not know what has become of that record, so must trust to my memory to recall the circumstances, and do not fear its [not] being faithful though nearly 40 years have passed.

    “We were playing our favourite game of Golowain, which consisted in dividing into sides at hide-and-seek, the party hiding having the privilege of moving on from place to place until they reached the ‘Home,’ unless meanwhile caught by the pursuing party.

    “As I stood towards the end of the game, as a seeker, in the orchard, I saw you, who belonged to the opposite party, stealing toward me. As your dress was the same as your sister’s, and there was the possibility of my mistaking you for her, who was on my side, I shouted her name, and she answered me from the opposite side of the wood. I then gave chase, and you turned, and looked at me laughing, and I saw your face distinctly. But at the same instant, Nina, also my friend, but your enemy, appeared round some corner, and being still nearer to you than I was, I left the glory of your capture to her. She was close upon you as you fled into a cow-yard. I was so sure your fate was sealed that I followed more slowly, and hearing the bell ring, that, according to the rules of our game, recalled us to the ‘Home,’ I went on there, to find Nina upbraiding you for having so mysteriously escaped her in this cow-yard.

    “In astonishment you said you never had been near the place. Of course I supported my little sister in her assertion; whilst our brother supported you, saying he had been hiding with you, and that, being tired, you had both remained hidden in one place until the bell warned you that the game was over—that place being a washhouse in a distinct part of the premises from the cow or fold-yard, into which we believed we had chased you.

    “G. M. (née Dickins).”

    In answer to inquiries, both Miss Dickins and Mrs. Malcolm say that they have never had any other experience of visual hallucination.

    Mrs. Hawkins continues:—

    “The second appearance of my ‘double’ was in the spring (February or March) of 1847, at Leigh Rectory, in Essex, my father, the Rev. Robert Eden (now Primus of Scotland), being rector of the parish.

    “The person who saw it was the nurserymaid. I am not quite sure of her name; but if, as I think, she was a certain ‘Caroline,’ she has been dead many years, therefore I can only give you my own very vivid recollections of her story, told with tears of agitation.

    “But first I should mention that I had the mumps at that time, and was going about with my head tied up, and the only other person in the house who had it was my little brother, nearly 10 years younger than myself, who could not possibly be mistaken for me.

    “On the first floor of Leigh Rectory there is a passage which runs the length of the house, terminated at one end by the door of a room that was then the nursery. One morning, about 10.30, ‘Caroline’ came out of the nursery, and, walking along the passage, had to pass a doorway opening on to the stairs which led down into the front hall. As she passed, she glanced down, and saw me (conspicuous by the white handkerchief round my head, {ii-81} and facing her) come out of the drawing-room door and walk across the corner of the hall to the library. She proceeded along the passage, and, coming to the foot of the attic stairs, met our maid, who said to her, ‘Do you know where Miss Eden is? I want to go to her room.’ ‘Oh yes,’ answered Caroline, ‘I just saw her go into the library. So they came together up to my room, which was one of the attics, and found me sitting there, where I had been for at least half an hour, writing a letter. After a moment’s pause of astonishment, they fled, though I called to them to come in. When I went downstairs a few minutes afterwards, and reached the passage, I saw in the nursery a group of maids, all looking so perturbed that, instead of proceeding down the front stairs, I went on to the nursery and asked what was the matter. But as no one answered, and I saw the nurserymaid was crying, I thought they had been quarrelling, and went away, quite unconscious that it was on my account they were so disturbed.

    “LUCY HAWKINS.”

    The following account is from Mrs. Hawkins’ son:—

    “June 20th, 1885.

    “In the autumn of 1877, I was living at my father’s house, Beyton Rectory, Bury St. Edmunds. The household consisted of my father, mother, three sisters, and three maid servants. One moonlight night I was sleeping in my room, and had been asleep some hours, when I was awakened by hearing a noise close to my head, like the chinking of money. My waking idea, therefore, was that a man was trying to take my money out of my trousers pocket, which lay on a chair close to the head of my bed. On opening my eyes, I was astonished to see a woman, and I well remember thinking with sorrow that it must be one of our servants who was trying to take my money. I mention these two thoughts to show that I was not thinking in the slightest degree of my mother. When my eyes had become more accustomed to the light, I was more than ever surprised to see that it was my mother,1 1 This is an excellent instance of delayed recognition; cf. case 249 above, and Chap. xii., §§ 2 and 3. dressed in a peculiar silver-grey dress, which she had originally got for a fancy ball. She was standing with both hands stretched out in front of her as if feeling her way; and in that manner moved slowly away from me, passing in front of the dressing-table, which stood in front of the curtained window, through which the moon threw a certain amount of light. Of course, my idea all this time was that she was walking in her sleep. On getting beyond the table she was lost to my sight in the darkness. I then sat up in bed, listening; but hearing nothing, and, on peering through the darkness, saw that the door, which was at the foot of my bed, and to get to which she would have had to pass in front of the light, was still shut. I then jumped out of bed, struck a light, and instead of finding my mother at the far end of the room, as I expected, found the room empty. I then for the first time supposed that it was an ‘appearance,’ and greatly dreaded that it signified her death.

    “I might add that I had, at that time, quite forgotten that my mother had ever appeared to any one before, her last appearance having been about the year 1847, three years before I was born.

    “EDWARD HAWKINS.”

    {ii-82}

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. E. Hawkins says:—“I can assure you that neither before nor since that time have I ever had any experience of the sort.”

    The second account is from the Rev. T. L. Williams, Vicar of Porthleven, near Helston.

    “August 1st, 1884.

    (255) “Some years ago (I cannot give you any date, but you may rely on the facts), on one occasion when I was absent from home, my wife awoke one morning, and to her surprise and alarm saw my εἴδωλονeidolon (spectral double) standing by the bedside looking at her. In her fright she covered her face with the bedclothes, and when she ventured to look again the appearance was gone, On another occasion, when I was not absent from home, my wife went one evening to week-day evensong, and on getting to the churchyard gate, which is about 40 yards or so from the church door, she saw me, as she supposed, coming from the church in surplice and stole. I came a little way, she says, and turned round the corner of the building, when she lost sight of me. The idea suggested to her mind was that I was coming out of the church to meet a funeral at the gate. I was at the time in church in my place in the choir, where she was much surprised to see me when she entered the building. I have often endeavoured to shake my wife’s belief in the reality of her having seen what she thinks she saw. In the former case I have told her, ‘You were only half awake and perhaps dreaming.’ But she always confidently asserts that she was broad awake, and is quite certain that she saw me. In the latter case she is equally confident.

    “My daughter also has often told me, and now repeats the story, that one day, when living at home before her marriage, she was passing my study door which was ajar, and looked in to see if I was there. She saw me sitting in my chair, and as she caught sight of me I stretched out my arms, and drew my hands across my eyes, a familiar gesture of mine, it appears. I was not in the house at the time, but out in the village. This happened many years ago, but my wife remembers that my daughter mentioned the circumstance to her at the time.

    “Now nothing whatever occurred at or about the times of these appearances to give any meaning to them. I was not ill, nor had anything unusual happened to me. I cannot pretend to offer any explanation, but simply state the facts as told me by persons on whose words I can depend.

    “There is one other thing which I may as well mention. A good many years ago there was a very devout young woman living in my parish, who used to spend much of her spare time in church in meditation and prayer. She used to assert that she frequently saw me standing at the altar, when I was certainly not there in the body. At first she was alarmed, but after seeing the appearance again and again she ceased to feel anything of terror. She is now a Sister of Mercy at Honolulu.

    “THOMAS LOCKYER WILLIAMS.”

    [The circumstances, and the frequency, of this third percipient’s experiences decidedly favour the view that they were merely subjective.]

    Mrs. Williams writes:—

    “June 20th, 1885.

    “As requested, I write to tell you what I saw on two occasions. I {ii-83} am sorry that I am unable to give you the dates, even approximately, as many years have passed since I had the experiences referred to. On one occasion my husband was absent in Somersetshire, and on waking one morning I distinctly saw him standing by my bedside. I was much alarmed, and instinctively covered my face with the bedclothes. My friends have often tried to persuade me that I was not broad awake, but I am quite certain that I was, and that I really saw my husband’s appearance.

    “The other occasion was on a certain evening I was going to church, and on getting to the churchyard gate, which is about 20 yards from the door of the church, I saw my husband come out of the church in his surplice, walk a little way towards me, and then turn off round the church. I thought nothing of it until on entering the church I was startled at seeing him in his place in the choir, about to conduct the service. It was then broad daylight, and I am quite sure that I saw the appearance. Nothing whatever occurred after either of these appearances, and, of course, I can in no way account for them.

    “EMMA WILLIAMS.”

    In reply to the question whether his wife or daughter had ever experienced any other hallucination of the senses, Mr. Williams replies confidently in the negative.

    The following account is from Miss Hopkinson, of 37, Woburn Place, W.C. It will be seen that in this case and the next, the evidence is not first-hand from any of the percipients; nor are the cases strictly covered by the rule (Vol. I., p. 148) which admits to the body of this work the evidence of persons to whom the percipient’s experience has been described before the arrival of news of the agent’s exceptional condition.1 1 Miss Hopkinson’s case, however, as regards one incident in it—the third—is not even an apparent exception to the rule. But that there was here no such exceptional condition does not in any way increase the probability that the narrator has imagined that she was informed of experiences of which in fact she was not informed. And the news that some one has had a waking vision of oneself being calculated to make rather a special impression on the mind and memory, the agent in these instances is at any rate in a different position from an ordinary second-hand witness.

    “February 20th, 1886.

    (256) “In the course of my life I have been accused four times of appearing to people; neither can I account for those supposed visits.”

    Asked to give details, and to obtain corroboration, Miss Hopkinson replied:—

    “It would be really quite excusable if you did not believe one word of my statements. I can get you no further information to support them. In the first instance of my supposed appearance, which happened {ii-84} some years ago, the young lady died very shortly afterwards. Her parents, too, are also dead. In the second, I gave the gentleman on whom I called to understand that he had made a mistake—I could not ask him about it now. In the third, though the lady only a day or two ago repeated to me her original account of my visit to her, she totally declined writing it out for me, or letting me use her name, on the idea, which I find very common, that these sort of things are irreligious. The fourth time rather differed from the others; but the young lady in that case died soon after. I am conscious that in all these cases I was thinking intensely of the individuals.”

    The following are the fuller details:—

    “Case 1 occurred many years ago. A young lady, sleeping in a house next door to the one I was in, declared that I visited her during the night when she was lying awake, and that I performed some slight service for her. She was so positive in her statements that my denial was not believed by those around her. I was perfectly certain I had never left my room, nor could I have done so without its being known. I will not draw on my memory for further particulars; I might be wrong after so long a time.

    “Case 2. Seven years ago. I had gone into the City (a place I always avoid) on a small matter of business connected with a relative of mine, and I was very anxious he should know nothing about it; my thoughts therefore were occupied by him. I was almost startled from my reverie by the clock of Bow Church striking 3. In the evening I saw my relative, and the first thing he said was, ‘L., where did you go to-day? I saw you come in to my place, but you passed my office and I don’t know what became of you.’ I said, ‘At what time were you ridiculous enough to think I should call upon you?’ ‘As the clock struck 3,’ he replied. I turned the subject—nor have I ever reverted to it since. This gentleman knew my dress and general appearance most intimately. Of course, I was not likely to visit him except on business, and by appointment.

    “Case 3. About 6 years ago. I was staying in a country town 100 miles from London, at a busy, matter-of-fact home, with bright young people. One morning I came down to breakfast oppressed with a sensation I could not understand nor shake off. It resolved itself towards the afternoon in an absorbing thought of a relative in London, and I then wrote to ask her what she was doing. But a letter from her crossed mine, to ask me the same question. When I next saw her she told me what only last week she exactly repeated again: she was sitting quietly working, when the door opened, and I walked in, looking as usual; and though she believed I was miles away, she concluded I had come back, and did not realise to the contrary till I turned and walked out of the room.

    “Case 4. Four years ago. A young lady asserted I stood at the bottom of her bed (she was not well at the time) and told her distinctly to get up and dress herself, and that I thought her well enough to do so. She obeyed. I told her she was quite mistaken; I had done nothing of the sort. She evidently thought I was denying the fact for some reason. I was about 20 minutes’ walk from this young lady’s room at the time. {ii-85} She was perfectly clear in her statement; and I would not argue the point with her. Her illness was not in the least mental.

    “LOUISA HOPKINSON.”

    The next account is from Mrs. Stone, of Shute Haye, Walditch, Bridport.

    “1883.

    (257)[☼] “On three occasions, each time by different persons, I have been seen when not present in the body. The first instance that I was thus seen was by my sister-in-law, who was sitting up with me, the night after the birth of my first child. She looked towards the bed where I was sleeping, and distinctly saw me and my double; the first my natural body, the second spiritualised and fainter; several times she shut her eyes, but on opening them there was still the same appearance, and the vision only faded away after some little time. She thought it a sign of my death. I did not hear of it for many months.

    “The second instance was by my niece; she was staying with us at Dorchester. It was rather early on a spring morning; she opened her bedroom door, and saw me ascending the flight of steps opposite her room, fully dressed in the mourning black gown, white collar, and cap, which I was then wearing for my mother-in-law. She did not speak, but saw me, as she thought, go into the nursery. At breakfast she said to her uncle, ‘My aunt was up early this morning, I saw her go into the nursery.’ ‘Oh! no, Jane,’ my husband answered, ‘she was not very well, and is going to have her breakfast before coming down.’

    “The third instance was the most remarkable. We had a small house at Weymouth, where we occasionally went for the sea. A Mrs. Samways waited on us when there, and took care of the house in our absence; she was a nice quiet woman, thoroughly trustworthy, the aunt of my dear old servant Kitty Balston, then living with us at Dorchester. She had written to her aunt the day before the vision occurred, telling her of the birth of my youngest child, and that I was going on well. The next night Mrs. Samways went to a meeting-house, near Clarence Buildings; she was a Baptist. Before leaving, she locked an inner door leading into a small courtyard behind the house, and the street-door after her, carrying both keys in her pocket. On her return, unlocking the street-door, she perceived a light at the end of the passage, and on going nearer saw, as she thought, the yard-door open. The light showed the yard and everything in it, but in the midst she clearly recognised me, in white garments, looking very pale and worn. She was terribly frightened, rushed into a neighbour’s house (Captain Court’s), and dropped in the passage. After recovering, Captain Court went with her into the house, which was exactly as she had left it, and the yard-door securely locked. I was taken very faint about the same time, and lingered for many weeks, hovering between life and death.”1 1 Taken in connection with these instances, the following experience of Mrs. Stone’s own is of considerable interest. (See Vol. i., p. 555, note.) “When about 9 or 10 years old I was sent to a school in Dorchester as a day boarder; it was here my first curious experience occurred that I can clearly remember. I was in an upper room in the school, standing with some others, in a class opposite our teacher, Miss Mary Lock; suddenly I found myself by her side, and looking towards the class saw myself distinctly—a slim, pale girl, in a white frock and pinafore. I felt a strong anxiety to get back, as it were, but it seemed a violent and painful effort, almost struggle, when accomplished. I was much frightened, but did not mention it till many years after.” I may mention that Mrs. Stone’s daughter has had a similar experience; so that here is perhaps another example of hereditary tendency.

    {ii-86}

    Professor Sidgwick has visited Mrs. Stone, and after thoroughly questioning her on her narrative, he writes (September 23rd, 1884):—“She certainly understands thoroughly the importance of accuracy. She said she had heard of her apparition direct from the seers, in the two first cases mentioned. She had never heard of her sister-in-law having had any other hallucination before this time (1833) or afterwards, until very lately, when she has had an apparition of a dead person. She is old, and Mrs. Stone is unwilling to trouble her on the matter. Nor does she think that her niece, Jane Studley (who is dead), ever had any other hallucination. As regards the third instance, Mrs. Stone only heard it after her recovery, from Kitty Balston, whose account—as repeated by Mrs. Stone—was that Mrs. Stone was taken ill in the evening, or rather just before the evening, and was quite unconscious at the time when she was seen by Mrs. Samways.”

    [In the last of Mrs. Stone’s cases, we should naturally conclude that the appearance, if telepathic, was connected with her illness; but the other two appearances seem to have been purely casual. Possibly, however, the first may have been due to her sister-in-law’s failing to focus the two eyes together, which is a common infirmity in some cases of debility; but we should expect a person who suffered in this way to be aware that she was in the habit of seeing objects double.]

    The remaining account is from Mr. Gorham Blake,1 1 In the case of foreign informants whose personal acquaintance we have been unable to make, we have taken pains to assure ourselves as to their character and position. I mention this because the absence of testimonials has led some persons to imagine that we accept accounts without criticism or inquiry. mining engineer, now residing at Loudsville, White Co., Georgia, U.S.A., and was sent to Professor Barrett in the summer of 1884. Mr. Blake begins with an account of long-continued success in alleviating pain by hypnotic processes—a success which he attributes in great measure to abstinence from stimulants, and to the fact that his profession has necessitated much active exercise in the open air. He then narrates the following cases, in all of which (except the first, where the percipient’s experience was not sensory in character) the agency, if such it was, seems to have been purely casual.

    (258) “In 1869, I crossed the great Humboldt (40 mile) desert, in the State of Nevada, for the sixth time, alone, in the saddle; by an accident my horse, a wild mustang, escaped, leaving me at 10 a.m. on foot in that ankle-deep alkali sand, under the blazing July sun, and twenty miles from a drop of water, except that in my saddle-bags on my horse. Hours were spent in the chase for my horse. Then I tried to shoot him, but he escaped, leaving me exhausted, sunstruck, dizzy, and finally helplessly dying on the hot shadeless alkali, about noon. I passed the agony of death by thirst, heat, and exhaustion, and became insensible. It was rarely {ii-87} a traveller passed that way in that season, the track marked only by the bones of dead animals. A chance traveller came, saw my horse, and found me insensible, laid me in the shade of his waggon, and bathed me with water and vinegar until I came back to life. He lassoed my horse, and at sundown I mounted and rode to the settlements. Between 2.30 and 3 o’clock that afternoon one of my sensitive lady friends in Boston, Massachusetts (2,600 miles distant), while talking with her husband, suddenly threw up her hands and said, ‘Mr. Blake is dead,’ and could not be reconciled to the contrary. She persuaded her husband to visit my father in the same city, and learn where I was, &c. Two years after (in 1871) I visited the friends, and was immediately asked, ‘Where were you two years ago, the last week in July?’ On comparing notes, and allowing for the difference in time, we concluded that at the time I became insensible in the desert my lady friend received the intelligence. I know I thought of the lady and her husband while lying on the sand, as we were long dear friends.”

    The percipient in this case, Mrs. Copp, and her husband, are dead. But I have copied the following extract from a letter (dated Boston, Dec. 19, 1885) written to Mr. Gorham Blake by Mrs. Dresser, who was one of their most intimate friends. She says: “It is written just as I remember Mrs. Copp and the Captain telling us on their side.” Mrs. Dresser’s account begins by describing how the friendship between the Copps and Mr. Blake began, through the latter’s care of Captain Copp in a dangerous illness on board ship.

    “In the year 186—[she is not sure of the date] Mr. B. had not been in Massachusetts for years. One day Mrs. C.

    was talking cheerfully with her sister about trifling matters, and, while walking across the room, holding a dish with both hands, suddenly the dish and contents were dropped on the floor, and at the same instant she exclaimed, ‘Oh, dear! B. is dead!’ Her sister, surprised, said, ‘What do you mean?’ The answer was, ‘I don’t know.’ But again, in the same impulsive way, she cried out, ‘Oh, he is dead!’ She could give no reason why she said this, only that she was made to do it. This fact impressed her so sadly, and also her husband when he was told of it, although it was inexplicable, that they agreed to write down the date, so that they could refer to it should occasion require. A month afterwards, Captain C. inquired by letter of Mr. B.’s brother what news had been received from California, but gave no reasons for this inquiry. ‘Yes,’ was the reply, ‘we have just heard from there; and he was in good health.’ After this report Captain C. and wife did not trouble themselves about the above incident.

    “It so happened that in that same autumn Mr. B. visited Massachusetts; and these friends were among the first seen. After a mutual interchange of the news which had occurred, Captain C. happened to remember that curious incident, and inquired at once, ‘B., what were you doing one day last ——? Were you sick at the time?’ B. replied, ‘No, I was well—nothing was the matter with me.’ But after further inquiry about the time, Mrs. C. consulted the record she had made of the exact date when the event happened, and then told him of her peculiar experience,”—whereupon Mr. B. narrated his adventure, of which Mrs. Dresser’s version agrees with his own description above.

    {ii-88}

    [It will be seen that the discrepancies between the two accounts are very trifling.]

    Mr. Blake continues:—

    “In the year 1870 I was in Cambridge, Massachusetts, near Boston, and had an occasional correspondence with Miss S., an American, then residing in Europe. I received a letter from her, dated Mürzzuschlag, August 6th, 1870, in which she says: ‘Yesterday I sat alone in my room, arranging my herbarium, till I was very tired, but there was such a fascination in the work that I did not seem able to break the spell and leave it; but of a sudden someone touched my shoulder with such force that I immediately turned. You were as plainly to be seen as if in the body, and I said, “Why, Mr. Blake, are you really here?” and directed by you I laid aside my work, and went to the woods. I do not know that my mind was upon you at the time. I tried to trace the influence to a concentration of thought upon you, but failed to do it. Whether it was your letter, your spirit, or my imagination, certainly it was a reality to me.’ I wrote for more particulars. She answered: ‘Vienna, Austria, 23rd October, 1870. In explanation of your coming to me, I heard your voice, or a voice, speak my name. I turned, and you stood near me. I arose as if it were a reality, and as I turned again you were gone; and yet before I did that it seemed many minutes, for I said, “Is it you?” and you replied, “Do you not know me?” and then you said, “I have come because you are tired, for you to go to the woods and rest yourself,” and, as I told you, I obeyed the summons, and wished that I could have a tangible evidence of your companionship.’ My diary does not record any dream or thought of Miss S. on August 5th, 1870. I was at home, and quiet, and under good conditions for such a visit as that described by Miss S.

    “In November, 1883, being in New York, I was in correspondence with Mrs. G., who was residing in San Francisco. A letter written by her in November, says: ‘Last evening, I saw you distinctly standing by my side; you seemed trying to speak, but did not; you made passes over me, and I felt your influence plainly; you were here several minutes, then disappeared.’

    “In another letter she wrote: ‘You came to me yesterday afternoon, in Market Street, at the corner of Stockton Street, you crossed the street with me. I turned to speak with you, and you were gone. I have seen you many times in this way.’

    “While Mrs. G. has been sitting in a room, sewing and conversing, I, being in a room 40 feet distant, have willed, or asked, that she come to me, and she instantly broke off the conversation, came to my room, knocked, and on my asking her to come in she opened the door, entered, and seemed a little confused, and said, ‘Well, I don’t know what I came in here for.’ I have had many instances of this kind.”

    Mr. Blake has forwarded to us the following letter, written to him by the Mrs. G. of these last incidents. It will be seen that she is to some extent predisposed to hallucination, which of course weakens these items of the evidence.

    “San Francisco, Cal.

    “March 22nd, 1885.

    “DEAR SIR,—You ask me to narrate the circumstances under which {ii-89} I saw you, as I wrote you in November, 1883. At that time I was in my room in San Francisco, Cal., and I saw you distinctly standing by my side. It was about 11 o’clock p.m. You seemed trying to speak, but did not. You made passes over me, the influence of which I plainly felt. You remained several minutes, then disappeared.

    “Another time you came to me at 12 o’clock, while I was walking on Market Street, near the corner of Stockton. You crossed the street with me. I turned to speak with you, but you had disappeared. I have seen you several times that way, as I have three other persons whom I know to be alive and in good health.—Yours truly,

    “MARY A. GORDON.”

    Mr. Blake continues:—

    “On September 28th, 1870, I arrived in New York from Boston about 7 o’clock a.m., having with me a valise and umbrella. I went to Dr. P.’s house on Fourth Avenue, rang the bell, and Dr. P. came to the door, when the following conversation took place:—Blake: ‘Good morning. Can you accommodate me with a room?’ Dr. P.: ‘Yes, but why didn’t you come in last evening?’ B.: ‘Because I was in Boston last evening.’ P.: ‘Why you called here last evening!’ B.: ‘That’s impossible, for I have just arrived on the boat this morning.’ P.; ‘I certainly saw you here last evening. You asked for a room. I asked you to walk in; you turned and went away. I thought it strange, and that you must have misunderstood me. I think my wife saw you too.’ Turning to his wife: ‘Did you see Mr. B. last evening?’ Mrs. P.: ‘Yes, he was standing at the door with a valise in one hand and umbrella in the other; then turned and went away. I saw him as I passed through the hall.’1 1 It will be observed that this hallucination (if such it was, and not a mere case of mistaken identity) was collective, as also was the first experience described in case 254. The discussion of this feature is reserved for Chap. xviii. B.: ‘It’s a mistake, or my double, for you can see by my diary that I was in Boston yesterday, and the business I attended to.’

    “I left my baggage in the room and went down town, returning in the evening. Dr. P. called me into the parlour, where I met an acquaintance, Dr. C. Dr. P. immediately said, ‘Another witness on our side. Dr. C. saw you down town last evening.’ ‘Yes,’ said Dr. C, ‘I saw you walking along Broadway. You seemed to be in a hurry, and I was in a hurry to catch the ferry-boat; I bowed to you, and you returned it, and hurried on. You had a valise in your right hand and umbrella in your left hand, and had on a high silk hat, while I have seen you before in a felt hat, low crowned.’ We all concluded it was my double, as at about the hour they saw me, 6 p.m., I was resting quietly aboard the boat before she left, and remembered thinking where I should take a room after getting to New York in the morning; but I did not remember the particulars related by Dr. and Mrs. P., or Dr. C. I think I fell into a doze, or short sleep, while resting, as has been the case several other times when my double has been seen at a distance from where my body was.

    “GORHAM BLAKE.”

    The first-hand testimony of the percipients is of course much needed, and I explained to Mr. Gorham Blake the importance of obtaining it. He has made efforts to do so, but cannot ascertain the present addresses of the persons concerned. He writes:—

    {ii-90}

    “I enclose the only two papers on the subject that I can now find; one from Mrs. Gordon [quoted above], and one from Mrs. Gould, that I did not before write of. In connection with the latter I will say that I called at the Light for Thinkers office, Atlanta, Georgia, and saw Mrs. Gould for the first time. She said she had seen my face before, and told me as related in enclosed paper. She was not feeling well, and I held her hands, and placed mine on

    her head to impart magnetism, and relieved her. I saw her two or three times while in the city, and received the enclosed from her after my return home.”

    The enclosure is as follows:—

    “April, 1885.

    “One day, while resting, I happened to glance towards a window, in the fifth story, and, just outside, beheld the spirit1 1 See p. 48, note. of my friend, Mr. Blake, who seemed unable to get into the room; but, on rising and throwing up the sash, he appeared to come in and stand by my chair, make passes over me, magnetising me, and seeming to envelope me with something, just as a spider does a fly in its web. Before this, in fact some three or four weeks before I had ever met or seen him, while in a passive mood, I saw his head clairvoyantly, so distinctly that when he came to my office for the first time I recognised him as the person. And although he was at these times alive and well, I saw and recognised his presence as distinctly as though he had been there in form.

    “C. E. GOULD.”

    [The last incident cannot, of course, carry much weight, as the recognition was a completely retrospective act; and as regards Mrs. Gould’s other experience, the fact that Mr. Blake had been hypnotising her must perhaps be regarded as favouring the hypothesis of a purely subjective hallucination. At the same time, I am not aware of any sufficient evidence that hypnotic treatment induces a liability to hallucinations representing the hypnotiser, unless that hallucination has been specially imposed on the “subject’s [sic] mind—as any other might be—while in the state of trance.]

    Another foreign example is omitted, as we have been unable to obtain the testimony of the percipients. It is clear that the fact of the telepathic transference in these casual cases cannot be considered to be proved;2 2 The class, it may be remembered, is the second of the four types of “ambiguous cases” defined in Vol. i., p. 505. but the mention of the type here may serve to elicit further instances.

    § 6. Of the other class mentioned, where peculiarities of dress or aspect afford the only presumption that a hallucination was more than purely subjective—i.e., was due to an absent agent who, nevertheless, was in a perfectly normal state at the time—the following examples may serve.3 3 As regards the connection of these appearances with the agent’s sub-conscious sense of his own aspect, I need not repeat the remarks already made (Chap. xii., § 8) in respect of the far stronger group where there were similar peculiarities plus some exceptional condition of the agent. The first is from Captain A. S. Beaumont, of 1, Crescent Road, South Norwood Park.

    {ii-91}

    “February 24th, 1885.

    (259) “About September, 1873, when my father was living at 57, Inverness Terrace, I was sitting one evening, about 8.30 p.m., in the large dining-room. At the table, facing me, with their backs to the door, were seated my mother, sister, and a friend, Mrs. W. Suddenly I seemed to see my wife bustling in through the door of the back dining-room, which was in view from my position. She was in a mauve dress. I got up to meet her, though much astonished, as I believed her to be at Tenby. As I rose, my mother said, ‘Who is that?’ not (I think) seeing anyone herself, but seeing that I did. I exclaimed, ‘Why, it’s Carry,’ and advanced to meet her. As I advanced, the figure disappeared.1 1 The disappearance of the figure on sudden speech or movement is a feature which occurs both in subjective and telepathic phantasms, and there could not well be a clearer indication of the hallucinatory character of the latter. In my large collection of subjective cases I have only three or four distinct instances, e.g., the first narrative in Chap. xii., § 2; but then it is only in a few cases that the percipient, by speaking or distinctly moving, has afforded the condition. The point was one of those observed in Dr. Jessopp’s well-known case (Athenæum for Jan. 10, 1880). For telepathic examples, see cases 26, 159, 163, 178, 192, 196, 201, 214, 241, 540. On inquiry, I found that my wife was spending that evening at a friend’s house, in a mauve dress, which I had most certainly never seen. I had never seen her dressed in that colour. My wife recollected that at that time she was talking with some friends about me, much regretting my absence, as there was going to be dancing, and I had promised to play for them. I had been unexpectedly detained in London.

    “ALEX. S. BEAUMONT.”

    The following corroboration is from the friend who was present:—

    “11, Grosvenor Street, W.

    “March 5th, 1885.

    “As far as I can recollect, Captain Beaumont was sitting talking, when he looked up, and gave a start. His mother asked him what was the matter. He replied, ‘I saw my wife walk across the end of the room, but that is nothing; she often appears to people; her servants have seen her several times.’ The room we were in was a double dining-room, one end was lit with gas, and the other, where Mrs. Beaumont appeared, was comparatively dark. No one else saw her except her husband. Mrs. Beaumont was at the time in Wales, and this happened in Inverness Terrace, Bayswater.

    “FLORENCE WHIPHAM.”

    Mrs. Beaumont says:—

    “I distinctly remember hearing from my husband, either the next day or the second day after his experience; and in his letter he asked, ‘What were you doing at such an hour on such a night?’ I was able to recall that I was standing in a group of friends, and that we were regretting his absence. I was in a mauve dress, which I am confident that he could never have seen.2 2 A similar case is described by Miss E. M. Churchill, of 9, Eversley Park, Chester, who, in October, 1883, when at lunch, had a visual hallucination representing an absent sister. “I remember remarking at the time that I thought I saw my sister all in brown, and that she had nothing of that colour as far as I knew. A few days afterwards I received a letter from another sister, in which she mentioned that my younger sister and she had been getting new winter things, and were dressed in brown from head to foot. I think I was quite well at the time, but my sister was ill, which I was not aware of for some weeks afterwards.” Miss Churchill has often had slight momentary hallucinations, as of some one at her side; but says that this one was far the most distinct that she has ever experienced. But brown is, of course, a common colour, and the case is only worth quoting in connection with the one in the text. The following is a dream-case of the same type, which has been narrated to Mr. Myers by both the persons concerned. The narrator is Mrs. W. “Mrs. P., a friend of Mrs. W., was staying in Devonshire, and one night had a curious dream about Mrs. W. She dreamt that she (Mrs. P.) came into the drawing-room in Mrs. W.’s house at T., and had not been many minutes in the room, before Mrs. W. came in in a loose, red dress, looking very ill. Mrs. P. said to her, ‘How very ill you look!’ Mrs. W. then answered she had been very unwell, but was then rather better. Mrs. P. thought this dream odd, and mentioned it to her friends. About a week after, she came on a visit to Mrs. W., and while she was sitting in the drawing-room, mentioned the dream, and pointing to a rose-coloured flower, remarked that was the exact shade of the dress worn in the dream. After comparing notes as to the date, they found that on the day of Mrs. P.’s dream Mrs. W. had been very unwell, and had worn a dressing-gown of the exact shade almost all day. The chief peculiarity in this is, that Mrs. P. had never seen her friend in any colour, Mrs. W. always wearing black, so if she had thought of Mrs. W. naturally it would be in black.”

    “C. BEAUMONT.”

    {ii-92}

    Captain Beaumont adds that he has never had any other hallucination of the senses except on the occasion next described. This other case, in which the same agent and percipient were concerned, and a third case appended to it (in which the sameness of agent and difference of percipient recall the repetitions of the preceding section), would be quite without evidential value if they stood alone; but they are of interest in connection with the foregoing stronger example.

    “February 24th, 1885.

    (260) “In 1871 I was staying at Norton House, Tenby, for the first time, and had just gone to bed, and was wide awake. I had the candle on my right side, and was reading. At the foot of the bed and to the right was a door, which was locked, and, as I learnt afterwards, pasted up on the other side.

    “Through this I saw the figure of my future wife (the lady of the house) enter, draped in white from head to foot. Oddly enough, I was not specially startled. My idea was that some one was ill, and that she had come to get something out of the room. I averted my head, and when I looked up again the apparition was gone. I suppose that I saw it for two or three seconds.

    “ALEX. S. BEAUMONT.”

    Mrs. Beaumont says:—

    “February 24th, 1885.

    “In 1872, two or three months after my marriage, Captain Beaumont and I returned from London to Tenby. I went up into my dressing-room and gave the keys of my luggage to my servant, Ellen Bassett. I was standing before the looking-glass with my back turned to her, and I heard her utter a little sharp cry. I turned round, saying, ‘What’s the matter?’ and saw her with my nightcap in her hand. She said, ‘O, nothing, nothing,’ and I went downstairs. The day after, my husband saw her taking off the paper which pasted up the door between my bedroom and {ii-93} the dressing-room. He said, ‘What are you doing?’ She said she was opening that door. He said, ‘Why, the first night that I slept in this house, I saw your mistress walk through that door.’ (I must explain that Captain Beaumont had been a guest in this house on a good many occasions before our marriage. On the occasion mentioned, he had imagined that perhaps someone was ill in the house, and that I had entered his room to get something, thinking him sure to be asleep.) Then the maid told him that she had seen me the night before we came home—she did not know exactly what day we were coming, and had been sleeping in the same bed as he had been in when he saw me. She was just going to step into bed, when she saw me enter ‘through the door,’1 1 See Vol. i., p. 432, note. with a nightcap on, and a candle in my hand. She was so terrified that she rushed out of the room by the other door, and told the other servants she was sure I was dead. They comforted her as well as they could, but she would not return to the room. The cause of her crying out, when I heard her do so, was that, in unpacking, she recognised the identical nightcap that the apparition had worn. The curious point is that the nightcap was one that I had bought in London, and had not mentioned to her, and was perfectly unlike any that I had ever worn before. It had three frills. I had been accustomed to wear nightcaps of coloured muslin without frills.

    “The same servant, some months after the nightcap incident, went into the kitchen and said to the other servants, ‘We shall have news of missus to-day; I’ve just seen her standing in the dining-room door; she had on a black velvet bonnet and black cloak.’ (We had been in London some weeks.) This occurred about 9 o’clock a.m. About 10.30 she received a telegram from us to say we should be home that evening; the telegram was sent from Paddington Station as we waited for our train. The bonnet and cloak had been bought in town without her knowledge.

    “The maid was with me for years, and was certainly not nervous or hysterical. I have now parted with her for some years.

    “C. BEAUMONT.”

    The next case is from Mrs. Murray Gladstone, of Shedfield Cottage, Botley, Hants.

    “January 18th, 1886.

    (261) “I went on Saturday afternoon [last] to see an old man and woman named Bedford, who live in a cottage about half a mile from our house. Mrs. Bedford was ill in bed, and I went upstairs to see her. I sat down by the bedstead, and talked to her for a few minutes. Whilst I was there, the thought struck me that the light from the window, which was opposite the foot of the bed, was too strong for the invalid; and I determined, without saying a word about it to either Mr. or Mrs. Bedford, to give her a curtain. This (Monday) afternoon I again went to see the old couple; but this time I only saw Mr. Bedford in the room downstairs. And after a few remarks he said, ‘My wife has seen you yesterday (Sunday) morning; she turned her head towards the side of the bed and said, “Is that her?” (I did not speak, as I thought she was dreaming.) “Yes,” she went on, “it is Mrs. Gladstone, and she is holding up a curtain with both her hands” (imitating the posture), “but she says it is not long enough. Then {ii-94} she smiled and disappeared.”’ When Mr. Bedford had told me the above, I exclaimed, ‘That is just what I did yesterday morning whilst I was dressing. I went to a cupboard in my room, and took out a piece of serge, which I thought would answer the purpose, and held it up with both hands to see the length, and said to myself, “It is not long enough.”’ I may mention that I had only once before been to visit Mrs. Bedford, about a year ago, before I went on Saturday; and, of course, both times wore my walking dress. But when seen by Mrs. Bedford in this vision, she particularly noticed that I wore no bonnet, which must have been the case, as this occurred before 9 o’clock.

    “AUGUSTA GLADSTONE.”

    Mrs. Gladstone adds:—

    “Mrs. B. described me as being in white, and I asked her what I had on my head. She said, ‘A thing like this’—taking hold of a woollen cap which I had given her. It was the fac-simile of one which I must have had on at the time; and they were not common, for I had knitted them of wool and of a particular shape.”

    Mrs. Bedford has had one other hallucination, when she saw the figure of a young grandchild standing by her bedside. This, however, happened at night, and may have been half a dream.

    When Mrs. Bedford described her experience to the present writer, she did not use the word curtain, and she did not recall the remark about the stuff not being long enough; which suggested that these items might have crept into the narrative after Mrs. Gladstone’s side of the affair had been related. Mr. Bedford is, however, positive that they formed part of what his wife told him at the time, and before he saw Mrs. Gladstone; and Mrs. Gladstone is equally positive that they were included in his account to her, and also that she has herself heard of them from Mrs. Bedford.

    The next example is from Colonel Bigge, of 2, Morpeth Terrace, S.W., who took the account out of a sealed envelope, in my presence, for the first time since it was written on the day of the occurrence.

    (262) “An account of a circumstance which occurred to me when quartered at Templemore, Co. Tipperary, on 20 February, 1847.

    “This afternoon, about 3 o’clock p.m., I was walking from my quarters towards the mess-room to put some letters into the letter-box, when I distinctly saw Lieut.-Colonel Reed, 70th Regiment, walking from the corner of the range of buildings occupied by the officers towards the mess-room door; and I saw him go into the passage. He was dressed in a brown shooting jacket, with grey summer regulation tweed trousers, and had a fishing-rod and a landing-net in his hand. Although at the time I saw him he was about 15 or 20 yards from me, and although anxious to speak to him at the moment, I did not do so, but followed him into the passage and turned into the ante-room on the left-hand side, where I expected to find him. On opening the door, to my great surprise, he was not there; the only person in the room was Quartermaster Nolan, 70th Regiment, and I immediately asked him if he had seen the colonel, and he replied he had not; upon which I said, ‘I suppose he has gone upstairs,’ and I immediately left the room. Thinking he might have gone {ii-95} upstairs to one of the officer’s rooms, I listened at the bottom of the stairs and then went up to the first landing place; but not hearing anything I went downstairs again and tried to open the bedroom door, which is opposite to the ante-room, thinking he might have gone there; but I found the door locked, as it usually is in the middle of the day. I was very much surprised at not finding the colonel, and I walked into the barrack-yard and joined Lieutenant Caulfield, 66th Regiment, who was walking there; and I told the story to him, and

    particularly described the dress in which I had seen the colonel. We walked up and down the barrack-yard talking about it for about 10 minutes, when, to my great surprise, never having kept my eye from the door leading to the mess-room (there is only one outlet from it), I saw the colonel walk into the barracks through the gate—which is in the opposite direction—accompanied by Ensign Willington, 70th Regiment, in precisely the same dress in which I had seen him, and with a fishing-rod and a landing-net in his hand. Lieutenant Caulfield and I immediately walked to them, and we were joined by Lieut.-Colonel Goldie, 66th Regiment, and Captain Hartford, and I asked Colonel Reed if he had not gone into the mess-room about 10 minutes before. He replied that he certainly had not, for that he had been out fishing for more than two hours at some ponds about a mile from the barracks, and that he had not been near the mess-room at all since the morning.

    “At the time I saw Colonel Reed going into the mess-room, I was not aware that he had gone out fishing—a very unusual thing to do at this time of the year; neither had I seen him before in the dress I have described during that day. I had seen him in uniform in the morning at parade, but not afterwards at all until 3 o’clock—having been engaged in my room writing letters, and upon other business. My eyesight being very good, and the colonel’s figure and general appearance somewhat remarkable, it is morally impossible that I could have mistaken any other person in the world for him. That I did see him I shall continue to believe until the last day of my existence.

    “WILLIAM MATTHEW BIGGE,

    “Major, 70th Regiment.”

    On July 17th, 1885, after Colonel Bigge had described the occurrence, but before the account was taken from the envelope and read, he was good enough to dictate the following remarks to me:—

    “When Colonel R. got off the car about a couple of hours afterwards, Colonel Goldie and other officers said to me, ‘Why that’s the very dress you described.’ They had not known where he was or how he was engaged. The month, February, was a most unlikely one to be fishing in. Colonel Reed was much alarmed when told what I had seen.

    “The quartermaster, sitting at the window, would have been bound to see a real figure; he denied having seen anything.

    “I have never had the slightest hallucination of the senses on any other occasion.”

    [It will be seen that these recent remarks exhibit two slips of memory. It is quite unimportant whether Colonel Reed was seen walking in at the gate or getting off a car. But in making the interval between the vision and the return two hours instead of ten minutes, the later account unduly diminishes the force of the case. If there is any justification at all for the {ii-96} provisional hypothesis that the sense of impending arrival is a condition favourable for the emission of a telepathic influence, it is of importance that, at the time when the phantasmal form was seen, Colonel Reed was not busy with his fishing, but was rapidly approaching his destination; for thus the incident, at any rate, gets the benefit of analogy with other cases. This illustrates what was said above (Vol. I., p. 131), that where memory errs, it is not always in the direction of exaggeration.]

    § 7. The last case quoted might equally well serve as an example of the next and concluding group, the peculiarity of which is that the real person whom the phantasm represents is—unknown to the percipient—actually approaching. When these “arrival cases” were referred to above (Vol. I., p. 817), it was noted that the mere sense of returning home cannot be held to constitute an abnormality in the least degree parallel to death, or the other recognised conditions of spontaneous telepathy; and our first-hand specimens are in themselves too few for complete assurance that we have in them a genuine type of transfer. At the same time they find a parallel in the impression-cases quoted in Vol. I., pp. 252–4; and taken in connection with the two preceding groups, they at any rate increase the probability that impressions from a normal agent may be occasionally capable of acting as the germ of a telepathic phantasm.

    The first example is from Mr. James Carroll, who gave the account quoted in Vol. I., p. 281. The agent was the same twin-brother who was concerned in that former case.

    “September, 1884.

    (263) “In the autumn of 1877, while at Sholebrook Lodge, Towcester, Northamptonshire, one night, at a little after 10 o’clock, I remember I was about to move a lamp in my room to a position where I usually sat a little while before retiring to bed, when I suddenly saw a vision of my brother. It seemed to affect me like a mild shock of electricity. It surprised me so that I hesitated to carry out what I had intended, my eyes remaining fixed on the apparition of my brother. It gradually disappeared, leaving me wondering what it meant. I am positive no light or reflection deceived me. I had not been sleeping or rubbing my eyes. I was again in the act of moving my lamp when I heard taps along the window. I looked towards it—the window was on the ground-floor—and heard a voice, my brother’s, say, ‘It’s I; don’t be frightened.’ I let him in; he remarked, ‘How cool you are; I thought I should have frightened you.’

    “The fact was, that the distinct vision of my brother had quite prepared me for his call. He found the window by accident, as he had never been to the house before; to use his own words, ‘I thought it was your window, and that I should find you.’ He had unexpectedly left London to pay me a visit, and when near the house lost his way, and had found his way in the dark to the back of the place.”

    {ii-97}

    In reply to inquiries, Mr. Carroll says:—

    “You are quite right in supposing the hallucination of my brother to be the only instance in my experience.”

    In another letter, Mr. Carroll says:—

    “As to the apparition of my brother in Northamptonshire, at a place and window where he had never before been,—I think I said the room was very light indeed, the night very dark. Even had I looked out of the window I could not have seen him. With my head turned from the window, I distinctly saw his face. I was affected and surprised. It seemed like a slight shock of electricity. I had not recovered from the effects when the second surprise came, the reality—my brother. I did not mention the subject to him then, being rather flattered at his astonishment at my cool demeanour. The coolness was caused by the apparition first of him. The window my brother came to was at the back of the house. He found my window out only by accident, or, as he said, he thought it was my window.”

    [Mr. Carroll is a clear-headed and careful witness. He is quite positive as to this being his only experience of a hallucination. In conversation, he stated that there were no mirrors in the room, and that the figure was seen not in the direction of the window. He thinks that the interval between the hallucination and his brother’s appearance was about a minute.]

    Here the gradual disappearance, if correctly remembered, is interesting as a feature which is occasionally met with in purely subjective hallucinations (Chap. XII., §§ 2 and 10).1 1 Compare cases 185, 194, 207, 263, 311, 315, 331, 350, 488, 503, 514, 544, 553, 567, 672, 673; also cases 189 and 328, and the account in Vol. i., p. 454, note, where the expression “melted away” is used.

    The next example is a “collective” case,2 2 Compare the carriage cases described in Chap. xviii., § 5. but had better be quoted in the present connection. The narrator is the late Rev. W. Mountford, of Boston, U.S.A., a minister and author of repute.

    (264) “One day, some 15 years ago, I went from the place of my abode to see some friends who resided in the fen districts of Norfolk. They were persons whom I knew, not merely well, but intimately. They were two brothers who had married two sisters. Their houses were a mile and a quarter apart, but standing on the same road, and with only two or three other habitations intervening. The road was a straight, bare, open road, like what is so often to be seen in the fens, and used chiefly and almost exclusively by the occupants of the few farms alongside of it. The house at which I was visiting stood about 10 yards from the edge of the road. The day was fine and clear—a day in March. About 4 o’clock in the afternoon I stood at the window, and looking up the road I said, ‘Here is your brother coming.’ My host advanced to the window and said, ‘Oh yes, here he is; and see, Robert has got Dobbin out at last.’ Dobbin was a horse which, on account of some accident, had not been used for some weeks. The lady also looked out at the window, and said to me, ‘And I {ii-98} am so glad, too, that my sister is with him. They will be delighted to find you here.’

    “I recognised distinctly the vehicle in which they rode as being an open one, also the lady and the gentleman, and both their dress, and their attitudes.

    “Our friends passed at a gentle pace along the front of the window, and then turning with the road round the corner of the house, they could not longer be seen. After a minute my host went to the door and exclaimed, ‘Why, what can be the matter? They have gone on without calling, a thing they never did in their lives before. What can be the matter?’

    “Five minutes afterwards, while we were seated by the fireside, the parlour door opened, and there entered a lady of about 25 years of age; she was in robust health and in full possession of all her senses, and she was possessed, besides, of a strong common-sense. She was pale and much excited, and the moment she opened the door she exclaimed, ‘Oh, aunt, I have had such a fright. Father and mother have passed me on the road without speaking. I looked up at them as they passed by, but they looked straight on and never stopped nor said a word. A quarter of an hour before, when I started to walk here, they were sitting by the fire; and now, what can be the matter? They never turned nor spoke, and yet I am certain that they must have seen me.’

    “Ten minutes after the arrival of this lady, I, looking through the window up the road, said, ‘But see, here they are, coming down the road again.’

    “My host said, ‘No, that is impossible, because there is no path by which they could get on to this road, so as to be coming down it again. But sure enough, here they are, and with the same horse! How in the world have they got here?’

    “We all stood at the window, and saw pass before us precisely the same appearance which we had seen before—lady and gentleman, and horse and carriage. My host ran to the door and exclaimed, ‘How did you get here? How did you get on to the road to be coming down here again now?’

    “‘I get on the road? What do you mean? I have just come straight from home.’

    “‘And did you not come down the road and pass the house, less than a quarter of an hour ago?’

    “‘No,’ said the lady and gentleman both. ‘This is the first time that we have come down the road to-day.’

    “‘Certainly’ we all said, ‘you passed these windows less than a quarter of an hour ago. And, besides, here is Mary, who was on the road and saw you.’

    “‘Nonsense,’ was the answer. ‘We are straight from home, as you may be very sure. For how could you have seen us pass by before, when you did see us coming down now?’

    “‘Then you mean to say that really you did not pass by here 10 or 15 minutes ago?’

    “‘Certainly; for at that time, probably, we were just coming out of the yard and starting to come here.’

    “We all of us remained much amazed at this incident. There were four of us who had seen this appearance, and seen it under such circumstances {ii-99} as apparently precluded any possibility of our having mistaken some casual passengers for our intimate friends. We were quite satisfied that we had really not seen our bodily friends pass down the road, that first time when we thought that we saw them. As for myself, I was sure that it was not they; and yet hardly could I help feeling that it could have been no persons else.

    “There is an old saying about keeping a thing 10 years, and then finding a use for it. This curious experience of mine is as vivid in my mind as though it were of yesterday. Is it of use as illustrating mistakes as to identity, or is it rather a singular instance of what is called second-sight?

    “M.”

    This account was first published in the Spiritual Magazine for August, 1860. On our writing to Mr. Mountford on the subject he replied:—

    “Beacon Street, Boston, U.S.A.

    “8th August, 1884.

    “The narrative of which you have sent me a copy was written by myself, as you had rightly supposed. It was carefully prepared, and I believe it to be as exactly true as any report ever made by phonograph or photograph.

    “At the time when the occurrence happened, I was simply amazed at it, and I felt but just simply as some untaught ploughman might have felt in the open field, if an aerolite had fallen at his feet, hot from the skies.

    “The persons besides myself, of whom I wrote in that account, were all of the family name of Coe, and were all of Islington, near King’s Lynn; and they were all living at the time when I wrote about them, but they have all been carried away.

    “I have only to add that Mrs. Robert Coe said that she and her husband knew of their daughter’s having started to see her aunt, but that they had had no intention of following her till Mr. Robert Coe, suddenly starting from his chair by the fireside, exclaimed ‘Let us go to Clement’s.’”

    [It is much to be regretted that this experience was not recorded in writing at the moment, and signed by all the persons concerned. At the same time the hypothesis that it was a mere mistake or illusion is strongly discountenanced by the persistence of the contrary impression in a sound and rationally sceptical mind. For the natural tendency of such a mind is undeniably to be less certain of the reality of abnormal facts after a long interval than at the time of their occurrence.1]1 It is interesting, for instance, to find an able observer, M. Marillier, candidly admitting, that, but for written notes and other indisputable evidence, he could easily come to believe that his own very vivid subjective hallucinations of some years ago were a disease of memory, and were never really experienced (Revue Philosophique for February, 1886, p. 206).

    It will be convenient to complete the account of this “arrival” type by citing at once a couple of auditory cases, which belong by rights to the next chapter. The following account is from Mr. J. Stevenson, of 28, Prospect Street, Gateshead.

    {ii-100}

    “April 20th, 1885.

    (265) “During the months of May and June, 1881, my brother was staying with us. He went out one Sunday night between 5 and 6 o’clock. He did not say what time he would return, but his time was generally about 10 p.m. About 7 o’clock, while I was reading by the window, and Mrs. Stevenson by the fire, all being quiet, I heard a voice say ‘David is coming.’ I instantly turned to Mrs. S., asking what she said. She said, ‘I have not spoken a word.’ I told her that I heard someone say that ‘David is coming.’ I then thought I had imagined it, but, lo and behold! in less than 3 minutes, in he comes, quite unexpected. I was surprised, but did not mention anything to him about it. The position of the house prevented us from seeing him until just about to enter the house. He was in good health, as we all were at the time. This is a candid statement of the facts.

    “JOS. STEVENSON.”

    In answer to an inquiry, Mr. Stevenson adds:—

    “This was the sole experience I have had of the kind. I have never experienced any hallucination.”

    Mrs. Stevenson corroborates as follows:—

    “In reference to my husband’s letter of April 20th, I have pleasure in testifying to the accuracy of his account, and of his drawing my attention to the fact at the time mentioned.

    “SERENA STEVENSON.”

    The remaining auditory specimen (266) is from Mrs. Robinson, residing at The Warren, Caversham, Reading, who has never experienced a hallucination on any other occasion. Some 14 years ago, she tells us, she

    was sitting at needlework in the evening, when she heard the voice of her son, Stansford Robinson—who was supposed to be abroad, but had not been heard of for some time—calling, “Nar, Nar, Nar,” the pet name of an old family nurse. The triple call was twice repeated. Mrs. Robinson opened the door, fully expecting to find her son in the hall, but no one was there. The son “returned unexpectedly next day, very ill, and died soon after.”1 1 It is perhaps worth while to point out the wide difference between such hallucinations of voices and one of the alleged phenomena sometimes included under the general name of “second-sight”—to wit, notice given of the approach of travellers, some time before their actual arrival, by a sound of horses’ feet outside the house. (See, e.g., Description of the Isle of Man, by George Waldron, 1744, p. 75.) It is obvious (1) how easily an auditory impression of that sort may be a mere illusion—just as the swirling of leaves is probably accountable for many of the tales of phantom carriages driving up to the door; and (2) how certain it is that, among a population holding such a belief, the occasional coincidence, when the suggestive sound was heard and the guest arrived, would be noted as a marvel, and the sounds which no arrival followed would find no place in the reckoning. It would not occur to a Manx peasant to make capital out of even the failures—as I have actually seen done—by calling them “inverted coincidences”!

    {ii-101}

    CHAPTER XV.

    FURTHER AUDITORY CASES OCCURRING TO A SINGLE PERCIPIENT.

    § 1. IN examining cases of auditory phantasms which have strikingly corresponded with real events, we have two main points to look to. First, there is the phantasm regarded merely as a sensory phenomenon, on a par with the visual phantasms. This, of course, is the sound in itself; which is occasionally of an inarticulate sort, a simple noise; but which in the large majority of instances represents the tone of a human voice—the voice, like the visual phantasm, being either recognised or unrecognised. But, secondly, when the phantasm is a voice, there is a further element, which has as a rule no analogue in the visual class—namely, what the voice says; and this is likely to afford us some clue as to whether a complete and definite idea has been telepathically conveyed from the agent or merely an impulse or germ which the percipient has developed in his own way. We find that the auditory cases, like the visual, present various stages of apparent externalisation;1 1 See the account of some of these stages as exemplified in purely subjective hallucinations, Vol. i., pp. 480–2. but the discriminations here are less marked—it being more difficult in the case of sounds than of sights to decide, in recalling them, how far the impression seemed inward, and how far outward; while even if the special stage be clear in the percipient’s mind, it is not easy to find words to describe it.

    I will begin with recognised voices; and will first quote a few cases where the analogy to experimental thought-transference is strongest, inasmuch as what the percipient heard seems to have represented the actual sensation of the agent,2 2 See Vol. i., p. 536, note. the very words which he was hearing while he uttered them—in one instance, however, so dulled as to be indistinguishable as words. The following account {ii-102} is from Mrs. Stone, of Walditch, Bridport, the narrator of case 257, above.

    “January 29th, 1883.

    (266) “On the 13th of January, 1882, my eldest son, who had been paying us a visit, left by a morning train for his home; but I did not know the exact time at which he would reach his destination. In the afternoon of that day, my daughter having gone to the neighbouring town (Bridport), I was sitting at work by a window of which the upper ventilator was open. Suddenly I heard my son’s voice distinctly; I could not mistake it; he was speaking eagerly, and as if bothered; the voice seemed wafted to me by an air current, but I could not distinguish words. I was startled, but not very much frightened; the voice did not seem to indicate accident or calamity. I looked at my watch, which pointed to three minutes past 3. In perhaps a few seconds, his voice began again, but soon became faint, and died away in the distance. When my daughter came in, I told her, and mentioned the hour; she said that was just the time my son expected to arrive, if the train was punctual. I also mentioned it to my son who is living with me. The next morning I was very thankful to get a post-card from my eldest son: ‘Arrived all right, train very punctual, just three minutes past 3; but to my annoyance, I found no carriage waiting for me, or my luggage, only Frank on his bicycle. He explained that they had made a mistake by looking at the station clock (which was an hour too slow), and had driven away again.’ I wrote the whole account to my son, but he is rather sceptical on these subjects; he could not but own it was a strange coincidence, but asked, ‘Why, mother, didn’t you hear Frank’s voice too?’

    “LUCIA C. STONE

    Miss Edith Stone has confirmed verbally what is recorded of her in the above account. Another son, Mr. Walter Stone, also recollects having been told of the incident.

    On February 16th, 1885, Mrs. Stone wrote as follows:—

    “A few days since, I came upon my son’s letter, written rather more than a week after the occurrence. The post-card mentioned was lost, and it was by chance this letter turned up. I enclose the first page for what it is worth, very trivial save for the impression it made on me. I am more than ever convinced of the value of verifying matters of this kind.”

    The first page of the son’s letter ran as follows:—

    “Eton, January 22nd, 1882.

    “DEAREST MOTHER,—If you heard my voice it must have been when I was waiting for the arrival of the carriage, and expressing loudly my surprise at its not having arrived at the station to meet me. I think I told you that Frank was there, on his bicycle, and we both jabbered considerably. You ought to have heard him too.”

    [Mrs. Stone has had no other hallucination of a recognised voice, except on one occasion, 20 years ago, soon after a bereavement (see Vol. I., pp. 510–2). More than five years ago, she had on several evenings the impression of hearing voices in the room below her own. This slight predisposition to auditory hallucination would hardly affect the case; but the coincidence is of course rendered less striking by the reflection that {ii-103} Mr. Stone may have spoken “eagerly and as if bothered” on a good many other occasions.]

    The next case is more complete, inasmuch as the actual word used by the agent was distinguished by the percipient. The account is from Mr. R. Fryer, of Bath, brother of our valued friend and helper, the Rev. A. T. Fryer, of Clerkenwell, who tells us that he “distinctly remembers being told of the occurrence within a few weeks of its happening.” He explains that “Rod” was the name by which his brother, the percipient, was called in the family.

    “January, 1883.

    (268) “A strange experience occurred in the autumn of the year 1879. A brother of mine had been from home for 3 or 4 days, when, one afternoon, at half-past 5 (as nearly as possible), I was astonished to hear my name called out very distinctly. I so clearly recognised my brother’s voice that I looked all over the house for him; but not finding him, and indeed knowing that he must be distant some 40 miles, I ended by attributing the incident to a fancied delusion, and thought no more about the matter. On my brother’s arrival home, however, on the sixth day, he remarked amongst other things that he had narrowly escaped an ugly accident. It appeared that, whilst getting out from a railway carriage, he missed his footing, and fell along the platform; by putting out his hands quickly he broke the fall, and only suffered a severe shaking. ‘Curiously enough,’ he said, ‘when I found myself falling I called out your name.’ This did not strike me for a moment, but on my asking him during what part of the day this happened, he gave me the time, which I found corresponded exactly with the moment I heard myself called.”

    In answer to an inquiry, Mr. R. Fryer adds:—

    “I do not remember ever having a similar experience to the one narrated to you; nor should I care to, as the sensation, together with the suspense as to the why and wherefore of the event, is the reverse of pleasant.”

    In conversation, he has explained that he had frequently expostulated with his brother on the latter’s habit of alighting from trains in motion; and the automatic utterance of his name, on this occasion, might thus be accounted for by association.

    The agent’s account of the matter is as follows:—

    “Newbridge Road, Bath.

    “November 16th, 1885.

    “In the year 1879, I was travelling, and in the course of my journey I had to stop at Gloucester. In getting out of the train, I fell, and was assisted to rise by one of the railway officials. He asked if I was hurt, and asked if I had anyone travelling with me. I replied ‘No’ to both questions, and inquired why he asked. He replied, ‘Because you called out “Rod.”’ I distinctly recollect making use of the word Rod.

    “On arriving home, a day or two afterwards, I related the circumstance, and my brother inquired the time and date. He then told me he had heard me call at that particular time. He was so sure of its being my voice that he made inquiries as to whether I was about or not.

    “JOHN T. FRYER.”

    {ii-104}

    Curiously similar is the next case, sent to us by Miss Frome, of Ewell, Surrey, in the handwriting of the friend, a doctor by profession whose experience is narrated. She thoroughly relies on his word, and has communicated his name. He himself dislikes the subject, and has no belief that such coincidences can be anything but accidental.

    “April 14th, 1884.

    (269) “In February, 1862, an undergraduate of one of our northern universities was, and had been for some time, reading hard for the approaching examination for the degree which he was desirous of acquiring. His brother, an officer in the merchant service, was at sea, and at this time in a ship not far from the coast of the East Indies.

    “One evening, about 7 p.m., the former was at work in his own rooms, in company with a friend, also studying with the same object, when he suddenly heard his Christian name, shortened as was the custom in his own family circle, of which there were none (or even of intimate friends) in the city he was then inhabiting. He heard himself called sharply and clearly, and, astonished rather, looked up from his books and asked his friend if he spoke, who answered in the negative, evidently surprised. Again, in an instant, he heard the sound again, and turned to his friend, saying, ‘Don’t be foolish; what is it?’ The reply was, ‘I said nothing.’ He then asked, ‘Did you not hear anything? My name called?’ ‘No, I heard nothing,’ was the answer.

    “Almost as these brief words were passing between the two men, he of whom this story is related heard again, once, twice, quickly repeated, his name, clearly and distinctly, and then he seemed to recognise it as like his brother’s voice. He could not understand it, and, feeling rather mystified and put out, thought he would stop work and rest, so telling his friend he would do no more that night, went off to the theatre. On his return, sitting over the fire, he thought the matter over, and came to the conclusion that, being out of health to some extent, the mental fatigue he was going through had upset his brain functions a little; so he put the subject from him, simply making a note of the occurrence, and thought no more of it.

    “Some months later, about the end of June, he was in London to meet his brother, who was returning from sea. On the evening of the arrival of the latter, the two brothers were talking together, the younger describing his voyage and the various incidents that had happened, and suddenly said, ‘By the way, I was very nearly not coming home any more; I had a very narrow squeak of being drowned. I fell overboard one night somewhere about midnight, and I thought I was done for, but after a while I was luckily picked up. However, it was a close shave, and I did not expect to see you again, old chap, but I thought of you, and sung out and called at you.’

    “The elder brother, recollecting the occurrence to himself in the northern city, asked the other when this occurred, and heard in reply that it was on the same day on which that which has been stated happened to him. He then told his brother his story, and, comparing the two, all points agreed except the hours, about 7 o’clock and about midnight—when the sailor brother quietly pointed out that, allowing for the difference of time in the two places, the actual time was probably the same.

    {ii-105}

    “They talked the matter over, but could make no more of it. Neither of them had any belief in supernatural manifestations. Nothing of the kind ever happened to them again in after life in any degree. The younger brother died at sea a few years ago.”

    Here we have once more the feature of repetition after a short interval, which seems, by the way, to be decidedly commoner in auditory hallucinations of the telepathic than of the purely subjective class.1 1 Compare cases 154, 266, 278, 285, 287, 341, 342, 508, 674, 676, 679; and see Chap. xii., § 10. Another fact to be noticed is that the voice was not heard by the percipient’s companion—this being a point in which the hallucinatory character of telepathic affections of the senses often appears (Chap. XII., § 10).2 2 See, e.g., cases 28, 34, 189, 206, 212, 242, 265, 271, 274, 307, 329, 337, 347, 355, 491, 517, 522, 534, 561, 567, 607, 609, 610, 618, 620, 633, 634, 638. Cases 552 (see “Additions and Corrections,” under heading p. 511), and 685 should perhaps be added. In cases 666 and 684, the experience was unshared by one of the persons present.

    In the following case, it is alleged that the actual words heard were used by the agent. The narrative is from an English physician residing in a foreign town, who wishes his name suppressed, fearing professional prejudice.

    “October 22nd, 1883.

    (270) “Years ago there were two girls, half Italian half English, here, one with a very fine voice. The poor girl from over-straining got spitting of blood. I attended her. One morning she begged me to see her sister, who was crying her heart out, as she expressed it, hysterics, &c., &c., owing to an absurd dream, she said. I went into her sister’s room, and found her as described; she then told me it was not a dream, but that she was broad awake, and heard her sister’s voice from the garden—‘Georgie, Georgie, I must see you before I die.’ By dint of coaxing, bullying, reasoning, and exhortation, I got her quieted down, and nothing more was thought of it; but at the time required to hear from England, a letter came announcing her sister’s death; and further inquiries elicited that it occurred exactly at the time she heard the voice (allowing for distance), and that the last words she uttered were those heard from the garden.”

    [In answer to an inquiry, the narrator says that he did not actually see the letter which conveyed the intelligence of the sister’s death; the exactitude of the coincidence rests therefore on second-hand evidence. He was, however, in daily communication with the family.]

    In the next case, the words heard were vividly imagined by the agent, and may very probably have been uttered, or half-uttered. The account is from Mr. J. Pike, of 122, Stockwell Park Road, S.W.

    “October, 1883.

    (271) “Travelling some years since from Carlisle to Highbury, by the night mail train, and, finding myself alone in my compartment, I lay at full length on the seat with a view to sleep, having previously requested the {ii-106} guard to wake me at the Camden Town Station. I soon fell into a deep sleep, one of those profound slumbers the awakening from which is almost painful. Roused suddenly by the guard waking me (somewhat roughly and impatiently, because the train was behind its time), I found that I had been dreaming (what proved indeed to be the case) that it was morning; that I was at home, in my bedroom, in the act of dressing, and at the moment of awakening had been on the landing and twice called the servant by her name, ‘Sarah,’ and asked her to bring me some hot water.

    “On actually arriving at home, I learnt that at the time when I had been thus dreaming that I was calling to the servant, she had heard her name called by me twice, distinctly; that—forgetting for the moment that I was not in the house—she, hastily discontinuing the breakfast preparations, ran upstairs, and afterwards came down again ‘as white as a ghost’—according to the description given to me by the children who, with astonishment, witnessed her proceedings, and not having themselves heard the call, naturally wondered what it all meant. Sarah subsequently informed me that the ‘fright’ she experienced on realising the fact that I was not there had made her ‘quite ill’”

    Mr. Pike’s daughter gave the following corroboration on Oct. 30, 1883:—

    “I distinctly remember the incident of our servant being frightened by hearing my father’s voice calling from upstairs, at a time when we knew he could not be anywhere near our home. The servant took a poker in her hand and went upstairs, thinking there must be some man there who had imitated my father’s voice. Nothing, however, was discovered to explain the mystery until my father’s arrival at home, when he told us that at the time the call was heard he had been dreaming that he was at home and calling for hot water.

    “ALMA M. PIKE.”

    [The genuineness of this case does not, of course, depend on the servant’s evidence, but on the testimony of Miss Pike that the servant mentioned her experience before Mr. Pike’s arrival. I have stated above (Vol. I., p. 514) that my collection of purely subjective hallucinations includes several instances where a servant has seemed to hear her mistress calling her—a fact which of course goes to weaken the force of the described coincidence. But the superior vividness of the impression in the present instance seems proved by the emotion and alarm which followed it, and which had no sort of parallel in the purely subjective cases referred to.]

    Here, it will be seen, the condition of the agent was not one of distress or crisis, but simply that of vivid dream; and the case is in this way exceptional. Affections of a waking percipient by a dreaming agent—or at any rate cases which could be used as evidence for such affections—seem a rarer type than that of simultaneous and correspondent dreaming, illustrated in Vol. I., pp. 314–8, and in Chap. III. of the Supplement; but cases 94 and 96 were very probably examples of it. In the present instance, it should be noted that the part of the dream which apparently affected the percipient took place in the very shock of waking; and such a shock, {ii-107} though not critical or exactly painful, clearly involves a far wider and more sudden change of psychical condition than often occurs to us during waking life.

    In the next case it is very possible that the agent actually used the words heard, but proof of this fact is unattainable. If he did not, we must suppose some idea of his distress to have been objectified by the percipient in the “agonised tone.” The account is from Mr. Lister Ives, master at the Grammar School, Stockport.

    “1883.

    (272) “About midday of the 24th July, 1875, I was in the baths at Llandudno, when I suddenly and distinctly heard my boy’s voice calling loudly and in an agonised tone. So assured was I of it being his voice, that I hastily got out of the bath and looked out of the nearest window, thinking he must be on the rocks beneath—the bath-house stands on a rock, though since then much has been cut away—though I believed him at the time to be, as indeed he was, at the other side of the Orme’s Head, three or four miles away. The boy was killed at that very time by a fall from the rocks.”

    We find from a report of the accident in the Stockport Advertiser that the date was the 26th (not the 24th) of July. The boy had joined his parents on the 24th, which may perhaps account for the mistake.

    Mrs. Ives says:—

    “Until late at night, when the boy did not return, my husband had thought no more of the circumstance. When the boy could not be found he exclaimed, ‘We shall never see him alive again,’ for he remembered the sound of the voice; but it was not until some time afterwards that he told me that he felt assured he had heard the last cry, not a supernatural warning, but a cry for help when none could reach him. I made memoranda of all the circumstances connected with the unhappy affair, and of that [i.e., the voice] among the rest. With regard to the distance which the sound came, I can scarcely give absolute information. The headland is of peculiar form; but according to local maps, if they are to be relied upon, if it were possible to take a direct line through the mountain from the Crab Rocks, where my boy was found, to the baths where Mr. Ives was, it would measure something over 3,000 yards; round by the path, as it then was, about 3 miles; over the summit, I cannot tell how far.”

    Mr. C. Kroll Laporte, of Birkdale, Southport, says:—

    “Mr. Ives told me all this [i.e., the incident of the voice] the day after the funeral, and I noted it down.”

    [Our colleague, Mr. Richard Hodgson, has had an interview with Mr. and Mrs. Ives. Mr. Ives has had no other hallucinations. The time of the boy’s death was estimated only. He was expected back to dinner at 1 p.m., and it was between 12 and 1 p.m. that Mr. Ives was bathing and heard the cry. The words he heard were, ‘Papa! mamma!’ in an agonised tone. The boy was 18 years of age. He appeared to have fallen on the rocks face downwards, from a height of about 80 feet. The {ii-108} cliff at the spot begins at the summit with a sloping bank of grass, which suddenly, however, is followed by an almost sheer precipice, not seen from the top of the bank.]

    § 2. We come now to cases where the name heard was probably not actually spoken. The fact that the impression so often takes the form of a call of the percipient’s name might be connected with the fact that this is also the commonest form of purely subjective auditory hallucination; and might be taken as a fresh indication—parallel to the indications which have been noted in the visual class—that the telepathic phantasm, as a sensory phenomenon, truly belongs to the class of hallucinations. But it is in the very nature of this form of communication that it should strongly suggest—what in the following instance is positively affirmed—a certain occupation of the agent’s thoughts with the percipient. We have often independent reason to suppose a similar condition in the visual cases; but there is seldom anything in the visual phantasm of the agent to make it apparent.

    The first case is from Mr. G. A. Witt, of Fontenay House, Grove Park, Denmark Hill, S.E.

    “September 26th, 1885.

    (273) “When I left Bombay, on March 1st, 1876, by ss. ‘Persia,’ for Naples, an elder brother of mine was living in Germany, and in very bad health, though I did not, at the time, anticipate his early death. When in the Red Sea one day, sitting on deck and reading the Saturday Review, with other passengers—and I think Mrs. Fagan also—sitting near me and reading, I fancied I heard my brother’s voice calling me by my Christian name. It seemed so distinctly his voice, and I thought I heard my name so clearly called, that it quite startled me, and made such an impression on me that I mentioned it to some of my fellow passengers, and at their suggestion took note of the hour and day it occurred.

    “On arriving at Naples, some 12 or 14 days later, I found a letter there from my mother, bearing the same date as the one I had put down in the Red Sea, in which she told me that she was sitting writing by my brother’s deathbed, &c., adding in a postscript the same day that he had just passed away.

    “I never ascertained whether the hour I had put down was the same in which my poor brother had died, and now really all I remember is what I have just stated.

    “G. A. WITT.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr Witt says:—

    “I was, at the time, not at all anxious about my

    brother; and the ‘voice’ at the time impressed me as very strange, as I really had not thought of him for some time. My brother died in Kiel, Holstein. The date was the 13th of March, 1876. This was the date of my brother’s death; and I remember that that was what caused me to mention the matter again to those whom I had told on board the steamer that I {ii-109} thought I had heard my brother’s voice. I must repeat, however, that what I am stating now is from memory only, and the ‘note’ I had made of the occurrence at the time no longer exists.

    “It is also the only time that, as far as I remember, anything of the kind has happened to me.” [This is in answer to the question whether he had experienced a hallucination of the senses on any other occasion.]

    Mrs. Fagan, of 26, Manchester Square, W., writes to us as follows:—

    “August 28th, 1885.

    “On board ship, coming from India, one morning I passed Mr. Witt, who was reading on deck. He stopped me and said that a strange thing had happened to him, and on my asking what it was, said that he had heard his brother’s voice calling him, ‘Gustave,’ more than once (three times, I think, but am not sure). He added that he had heard, before leaving Bombay, that his brother was very seriously ill,1 1 This of course was true, in a sense; but, in view of the possible suggestion that the hallucination was due to mere anxiety, it is important to notice that Mr. Witt had regarded his brother as a chronic invalid, and expressly affirms that, so far from being anxious about him, he had not even thought of him for some time. and thinking that perhaps he was then dying, or just dead, he made a note of the date. I asked him to let me know afterwards if the brother really died about that time, and he said he would do so.

    “On meeting him in London afterwards, I inquired if his conjecture had proved correct, and he said it had. I do not know whether the time when Mr. Witt heard the voice coincided exactly with the brother’s death, as the difference in the local time made it difficult to decide that point without calculation; and I did not hear that any calculation was made. But the two events occurred at about the same time. Mr. Witt offers no explanation or opinion on the matter, only saying that it was very strange.”

    We have procured, through the Bürgermeister of Kiel, an official certificate of the death of Mr. John T. Witt, which shows that it occurred on March 13, 1876, at 9.30 p.m. Supposing therefore that Mr. G. A. Witt’s experience was immediately mentioned by him, and that Mrs. Fagan is right in her recollection that this was in the morning, it must have preceded the death by a good many hours. If either of these suppositions is incorrect, the coincidence may have been closer.

    The next account is from Mrs. Stella, of Chieri, Italy, who was the percipient in the visual case, No. 198.

    “December 29th, 1883.

    (274) “On the 22nd of May, 1882, I was sitting in my room working with other members of my family, and we were talking of household matters, when suddenly I heard the voice of my eldest son calling repeatedly ‘Mamma.’ I threw down my work exclaiming, ‘There is Nino,’ and went downstairs, to the astonishment of every one. Now my son was at that time in London, and had only left home about a fortnight before, for a two months’ tour, so naturally we were all surprised to think he had arrived so suddenly. On reaching the hall, no one was there, and they all laughed at my imagination. But I certainly heard him call, not only once, but three or four times, impatiently. I learnt, a few days afterwards, that on that day he had been taken ill in London at the house of some friends, and {ii-110} that he had frequently expressed a wish that I should come and nurse him, as not speaking English he could not make himself understood.”

    Mrs. Stella tells us, on inquiry, that this is her only experience of an auditory hallucination.

    The following corroboration is from a lady who was present at the time:—

    “Breslau, February 18th, 1884.

    “Mrs. Stella asked me to give you an account of an episode which occurred in my presence, while on a visit to her two years ago; and the following are the facts as nearly as I can remember them. We were sitting working together, when Mrs. Stella said she heard the voice of her son, who was absent in England at the time, calling her. This caused us some surprise, as he was not expected home, nor had we heard any sounds of an arrival.

    “On going downstairs to meet him, we found no one, which astonished us, as Mrs. Stella had been so positive that she had heard him call. We afterwards heard that on that day he had been taken ill in London. I may here remark that young Mr. Stella is very much attached to his mamma, and especially dependent upon her in sickness.

    “CLARA SCHMIDT.”

    The next case is from Mr. W. T. Bray, of Schekoldin’s Paper Mill, Vimishma, Government of Kostroma, Russia.

    “June 14th (O.S.), 1885.

    (275) “I was employed as assistant engineer on the Moscow-Kursk Railway, and one day was standing in the erecting shop. There were 14 engines under repair, and 4 tenders, and amidst all the attendant noise of such work of fitters and boilermakers, I heard a voice quite close to me call twice, ‘Will, Will!’ The voice resembled my father’s (he was the only person who called me ‘Will’), and in a tone he used when he wished to particularly draw my attention to anything. When I went home I remarked to my wife I was afraid, if ever I heard from poor father again, or from any one about him, [there had been a certain breach of intercourse,] it would be bad news, for I distinctly heard him call me twice. About three weeks afterwards, I had a letter from a sister, stating he had died, and when; and his last words were, ‘Good-bye, Will! good-bye, Will!’ Upon comparing the date and time, he died about the time I heard the voice.”

    Mr. Bray adds, in a letter dated August 21st (O.S.), 1885:—

    “I am sorry I cannot get a few lines likely to confirm my statement to you; the circumstance occurred so long ago. I remember mentioning it to my wife at the time, but she cannot distinctly remember it, and I mentioned it to no one but her, and then only at the time. I remembered the work I was looking after at the time, and upon hearing of my father’s death I traced the time by the factory books; and as no one either here or in England ever called me ‘Will’ but he, I always feel quite satisfied in my own mind that I heard his voice, especially as I was told in the letter announcing his death his last words were, ‘Good-bye, Will! good-bye, Will!’

    “W. THOS. BRAY.”

    In answer to a question whether he had ever had any other auditory {ii-111} hallucination, Mr. Bray replies, “Such a thing never occurred to me before, neither has anything occurred since.” He adds that his father died on March 22, 1873; and we have confirmed this date by the Register of Deaths.

    We first heard of this case from Mr. Bray’s son, who said that he was himself told of his father’s experience at the time, and that at his suggestion a note of the day and hour was made. But his account presents so many differences from the first-hand one that his memory on this point cannot be relied on.

    The next case is from Mr. D. J. Hutchins, of 173, Severn Road, Cardiff.

    “December 17th, 1883.

    (276) “My father died suddenly, about 48 miles away from where my mother resided. I had to acquaint her of the melancholy fact. A railway journey, and then a drive of 12 miles would take me to her abode. I should arrive about 6 a.m. on a dark November morning. Secretly perplexed how I should break the news, I was relieved and surprised to see, as I neared the house, smoke issuing from parlour and kitchen chimneys. On arriving at the gate, and before time was given me to jump out of the trap, mother was at the door and said, ‘Daniel, your father is dead.’ I asked, ‘How do you know?’ She replied, ‘He came and called for me last night about 9 o’clock, and then vanished. I have not been to bed since.’ Sorrow, combined with a strange feeling that somehow or other she might have been the means of hastening his death, caused her to die suddenly a short time afterwards. She was an intensely religious woman, without superstition. I well remember the anger she always displayed when she heard that her children had been listeners to the usual fireside talk about ghosts and presentiments.

    “D. J. HUTCHINS.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Hutchins adds:—

    “February 15th, 1886.

    “With reference to the time of the death of my father, it was on the 21st November, 1855. He was found dead in the fields between Llantrissant Station and Lanclay House, Llantrissant, where he had for many years resided as house-steward to Lady Mary Cole. [In conversation Mr. Hutchins has explained that his father was last seen alive, walking from the station, and apparently in perfect health, about 6 p.m., and that his body was found soon after 9 o’clock the same evening.] My mother was in our cottage—Rose Cottage—near Penrice Castle, where we usually resided during summer. She was preparing to leave just preparatory to closing the place for the winter. My father left her on the morning of the day of his death, [having been requested to superintend some work at a distance].

    “At the time when I wrote to you, the circumstances were more vivid in my memory than at present; consequently I cannot actually say whether my mother said, ‘Your father appeared to me,’ in connection with his voice. But this I distinctly remember: my mother said, ‘I heard your father call me by my name, “Mary, Mary,” and then I went to the door; and I have not been in bed since.’” In conversation, however, it appeared that Mr. Hutchins is morally certain that the experience was visual as well as auditory.

    {ii-112}

    In a later letter, Mr. Hutchins expressed some doubt as to the year of the occurrence; and we find from the Register of Deaths that the death took place on November 21st, 1853, not 1855.

    The next case is from Miss Burrows, residing at Hollard Hall, Stretford Road, Manchester.

    “December, 1884.

    (277) “I can furnish you with an instance of my name being called by my mother, who was 18 miles off, and dying at the time. I was not aware she was ill, nor was I thinking about her at the time, [sic] No one here knew my name, and it was her voice calling, as I was always addressed at home, ‘Lizzie.’ I can give you more exact information if you require it.[☼]

    “E. BURROWS.”

    Later, Miss Burrows writes:—

    “March 18th, 1885.

    “In regard to the voice which I heard call my name on the 19th February, 1882, I recognised it instantly as being that of my mother. It was very loud, sharp, and impetuous, as if frightened at something  Our house is detached, very quiet, and the only inmates of the house beside myself were two gentlemen, aged respectively 58 and 37, and a widowed daughter-in-law [of the elder gentleman] who had lived with them five years; and not one of them knew my Christian name. I was thunderstruck, and ran out of my room to see if I could account for the voice. I told the lady the same morning.

    “I never saw anything I thought supernatural, and only once before had anything like a similar hallucination. [This other experience took place 12 years previously, when Miss Burrows and her mother heard some sounds which seemed to them unaccountable.] My father and mother were not superstitious people, and a healthier family could not possibly be than ours.’

    In answer to inquiries, Miss Burrows adds:—

    “I heard the voice call my name on the Sunday morning at 8. My mother was dying, and quite unconscious, from the Saturday night (the night before) until the Monday at 8 a.m., when she died.”

    We find from an obituary notice in the Bury Guardian that Mrs. Burrows died on Monday, February 20, 1882.

    Mrs. Griffiths, of 31, Rosaville Road, Fulham Road, S.W., confirms as follows:—

    “March 25th.

    “I am very glad to be able to corroborate the statement made by Miss Burrows, about hearing herself called by name at the time of her mother’s death. I cannot remember the exact date, but it was a Sunday morning in February, 1882, and when I came down to breakfast she told me about it, and said that a voice called ‘Lizzy’ distinctly, and it sounded just like her mother’s. The next morning she had the news of her mother’s death; and she had not any idea that she was ill before, so that it could not have been fancy.

    “H. GRIFFITHS.”

    It will be seen that Miss Burrows gives February 19th as the date of her experience, and Mrs. Grifiiths mentions independently that the day {ii-113} was a Sunday in February. The 19th of February, 1882, fell on a Sunday. There having been an interval of 24 hours between the percipient’s experience and the death, the case could not be included in the group which I used in the statistical argument above, Chap. XIII, § 6.]

    We owe the next case to Mrs. Passingham, of Milton, Cambridge. The narrator is Mrs. Walsh, a sick-nurse whom Mrs. Passingham knew well, and of whom she says:—

    (278) “The fact of her having quarrelled with her favourite sister, and her dying without a reconciliation, affects her deeply, and she had tears in her eyes as she told me the story. She declares she was not asleep, and it was not a dream; she had only just put out the light and had not got into bed.”

    Mrs. Walsh writes to us on May 6th, 1884:—

    “107, Queen’s Crescent, Haverstock Hill.

    “On October 24th, 1877, I was in London, and after preparing to go to bed, I had just extinguished the light, when I heard the voice of my sister, who was then in Wolverhampton, call me by my name, ‘Joanna.’ I instantly answered, ‘Yes, Polly.’ The voice was low, almost a whisper, but perfectly clear, and I was so sure that she spoke that I turned to the part of the room from which the voice came. Again I heard the voice, and after that, once more, making three times in all.

    “When I realised that it could not possibly be my sister, I felt—not exactly frightened—but awed, and I could not sleep till near morning for thinking of it. The next day, I heard from my family that they had had a telegram to say that she was dangerously ill, and some one was to go to her. Another sister went and found her dead; and the time of her death agreed exactly with the time when I heard the voice. She died very suddenly of mortification, and I had not the least idea she was ill; also, we had become estranged from each other, although we were exceedingly fond of each other, and I think that is the reason she spoke to me.

    “JOANNA WALSH.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that the death took place at Wolverhampton on the 23rd October, 1877, and not the 24th. The 24th was probably impressed on Mrs. Walsh’s memory, as being the day when the alarming news reached her.

    In reply to inquiries, Mrs. Walsh adds:—

    “In answer to your first question I must tell you that at the time of my sister’s death I was with almost entire strangers, and therefore do not think I mentioned what I had heard to anyone until after I had a letter saying she was ill, and almost directly afterwards a telegram saying she was dead. To explain clearly, when I had the letter saying she was ill, I mentioned it to my sister who brought the letter; then when I had the telegram to say she was dead, I found that the time corresponded exactly with the time I heard her voice.

    “This is the only experience of the kind that I ever had. [This is in answer to the question whether she had ever had any other hallucination of the senses.]

    {ii-114}

    “I didn’t for one moment doubt whose voice it was, as I immediately answered by name.”

    § 3. I may make the transition from the recognised to the unrecognised auditory phantasms by an account of several experiences, occurring to the same percipient, in one of which the voice was recognised, but not in the others. The witness is Mrs. Wight, of 12, Sinclair Road, West Kensington.

    (279) “On five occasions in my life I have heard my Christian name uttered in a peremptory manner, as if by some one who was in need of my aid; and after each occasion I have learnt that a relation had died at a time closely corresponding to the call. I have never on any other occasion had any sort of hallucination of the senses whatever.

    “The first two occasions of my hearing the call corresponded with the deaths of two aunts, who had brought me up in my childhood, when my parents were in India. In these cases I cannot say whether the call was on the very day of the death or not; it was certainly within a very few days.

    “The next and most striking occasion was at the time of the death of my mother, which took place in India, on November 8th, 1864. I was living at the time with a cousin, Mrs. Harnett, and her husband, at St. John’s Wood. I was sitting one morning in a room with Mr. Harnett, when we both distinctly heard a voice utter my name as it seemed from outside the room. I at once went to look, but it proved that no inmate of the house had called me. Indeed, there was no one except my cousin who would have used my Christian name; and all our search and efforts to solve the mystery were unavailing. As Mr. Harnett had heard of the similar occurrence on the death of my aunts, he made a note in writing of the date. In about three weeks, we received the news of my mother’s death in India, after a week’s illness; and I had Mr. Harnett’s assurance, as well as my own memory, that the date of death corresponded with the day of the call.

    “The next occasion was at Brighton; and this was the only time when the voice was recognised. As I awoke in the morning, I heard the voice of Admiral Wight, my father-in-law, who had died before my mother, calling me as he frequently had done in life. In a day or so, his widow wrote and told me of the death of his son, my husband’s half-brother. I had known that he was very ill, but was not in immediate anxiety about him.

    “The fifth occasion was in June, 1876, and was immediately followed by the news of the death of an infant niece, aged 9 months, whom also I had known to be ailing. In these last two cases, again, I cannot be sure whether the days of the call and of the death corresponded; if not, they most certainly very nearly did.

    “SARAH WIGHT.”

    [The above account was written out by me, January 31st, 1884, immediately after a long interview with Mrs. Wight, in which every detail was gone over again and again. I sent the account to Mrs. Wight, who made a few trifling additions, and signed it.]

    {ii-115}

    Mrs. Wight adds:—“Mrs. Harnett is in delicate health, and I should not like to trouble her. When I spoke to her about it, she remembered the incident.”

    The strength of this narrative, of course, lies in the third case, where the correspondence of day was made out to be exact. The hypothesis that the call on this occasion was a real call outside the house, though repudiated by Mrs. Wight, cannot be so confidently rejected by those who realise the difficulty of localising sounds with precision. Still, the fact of her having on other occasions experienced impressions of exactly this form—the commonest of all forms of sensory hallucination—distinctly supports the view that the experience was hallucinatory; and if so, the coincidence of day is a strong point in favour of the telepathic explanation. I will not pause here on the fact that in this instance there was a second percipient, as that topic will be fully discussed in the chapter on “Collective Cases.”

    The next account is from Mr. Goodyear, now of Avoca Villa, Park Road, Bevois Hill, Southampton, who refers in it to a visual case quoted in Chap. XII., §3.

    “February 9th, 1884.

    (280) “I am very fond of shooting, and one evening I had gone out with my bag and gun. I was crossing some open meadows, when suddenly a fearfully shrill cry of ‘Tom’ rang in my ears. I instantly answered loudly, ‘Yes, yes,’ turning sharply round to see who was in pain, but there was no one near, and again the scream rang out terribly loud. I answered again, ‘Yes, yes,’ and then I heard no more. I retraced my steps, for I was quite unstrung; but later on, when it was dark, I went over to see the keeper in whose woods I was going to shoot, and told him what had happened. He said, ‘Bad news,’ and he was right; for next morning summoned me to join my bereaved sweetheart, who at that very time, certainly to within a very few minutes, lost her father. I knew her father was ill, had been for some 18 months, but was not thinking about them at the time. I do not know whether these cases are particularly striking, or whether there are heaps of similar ones, but they are just what happened, and will for ever live fresh in my memory.

    “T. W. GOODYEAR.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that the death took place on March 7, 1876, after a 2 years’ illness.

    Asked if this is the only auditory hallucination that he can recall, Mr. Goodyear replies in the affirmative.

    Asked whether the lady really uttered his name at the time, he replies, “My wife does not think she uttered my name aloud, though for several reasons she was thinking intensely of me.” He has told me in confidence special circumstances which caused the mind of the dying man {ii-116} to be much occupied with him, and which caused the mind of his fiancée to be directed towards him with a special longing for his presence.

    The following account was received in October, 1884, from Mrs. Wilkie, who prefers that her address should not be published.

    (281) “In September, 1875, I was in Callander, in lodgings with my sister and other friends. On the night of the 8th I had gone to bed, but had only lately put out the light, and was quite wide awake; when I heard from apparently just behind the curtain, at the side of the bed, the words ‘Oh! Eliza,’ (my name) in a mournful tone. I was so much impressed by the occurrence that I noted down the date next morning, and told my sister of what I had heard. As time passed on, and I heard from all my own people and heard of nothing having happened to any of them, I quite forgot the circumstance.

    “Several months after, I heard of the death by drowning, in the Fiji Islands, of a gentleman, a distant cousin of mine, whom I had known very well. His relations did not know on which day his death took place, but it was between the 7th and 9th of September, as they got a letter from him begun on the 7th, and his partner, who was away from the place, came home on the 9th, and found him drowned. He had gone out bathing, it was supposed, and taken cramp.[☼]

    “E. K. WILKIE.”

    We find a notice in the Edinburgh Courant which states that the death occurred “early in September, 1875.”

    In answer to the question whether this was the only hallucination of the senses that she has ever had, Mrs. Wilkie replies, “Yes, the only one.” She believes that the diary in which her experience was at once noted may still be in existence, but has searched for it in vain. Should she ever find it, she has promised to show me the entry.

    Mrs. Wilkie’s sister, Mrs. Rowe, writes to us on December 1, 1884:—

    “South [sic] Ste. Marie, Mich., U.S.A.

    “In the year 1875, the month of September, I was staying at Callander with my sister, Mrs. Wilkie. I remember her telling me one morning of having heard her name spoken the night before, from behind the curtain at the head of her bed, these words: ‘Oh! Eliza’ and this occurred before she heard of the death of her friend.

    “DORA H. ROWE.”

    The narrator of the next case is Mrs. Wyld, of 59, Devonshire Road, Birkenhead.

    “May 10th, 1885.

    (282) “I would very gladly write the short statement you ask for, but though to my own mind it is pretty conclusive, still I feel that to outsiders it is wanting in two important details: (1) I mentioned the fact of hearing the voice to no one at the time [but see below], and (2) I could not tell whose voice it was.

    “It was on Thursday evening, January 10th, 1884, that I was sitting alone in the house reading, and it seemed strange, and still not strange, to hear my name called with a sort of eager entreaty.

    {ii-117}

    “Shortly after, the others came in. I was leaving for Ellesmere next day, and in the bustle of departure I thought no more of the circumstance. It was only when coming down to breakfast on the Saturday morning and finding the letter telling of E.’s death, that I instantly recalled the circumstances, and saw that the time and day corresponded with when they knew she must have slipped out, and down to the river.

    “I wonder I did not associate it with her, for she had written me some very pitiable letters beforehand. I had not the least idea her mind was affected. We were school-fellows together for nearly three years and great friends.

    “MARY WYLD.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Wyld adds:—

    “I never have had a hallucination of the senses at any other time. It was about 8 o’clock in the evening, I fancy, when I heard the voice. She was not found till 2 o'clock the next morning when the tide turned on the river; she then had been dead several hours, having slipped out, I fancy, between 7 and 9 the previous evening.”

    We have verified the date given, and the circumstances of the death, in two local newspapers. It appears that though the body was not recovered till early next morning, it was seen, and the shawl that was round it was even seized and drawn into a boat, at 10 p.m.

    Mrs. Wyld afterwards found that she had mentioned her experience at the time to her mother, who writes to us on March 19, 1886:—

    “Mrs. Wyld was staying with me in Scarborough, when she heard the voice in which you are interested. She was alone in the house (excepting servants), and when I returned, an hour after, she related what had seemed to her peculiar. The date I do not now remember; but Mrs. Wyld left Scarborough the next day; and in two or three days after, she wrote to tell me of the sad event having taken place that evening.

    “M. BALGARNIE.”

    [The non-recognition here rather tends to strengthen the case, by increasing the improbability that the hallucination was due to anxiety about the absent friend.]

    The following case is from Miss Harriss, of 25, Shepherd’s Bush Road, W.

    “January 25th, 1884.

    (283) “Exactly the hour in the afternoon that my mother died, being out for a long walk in the country with a companion, and having parted from her to pick wild flowers, I heard myself distinctly called several times. With a feeling as if some ill were approaching, I looked at my watch instinctively, and found it half-past 4. I cannot tell why I did so, for I was then only a school-girl, and calling to my companion I found she had not addressed me. I dreamed of my mother’s death the same night.

    “A. HARRISS.”

    In answer to inquiries, Miss Harriss adds:—

    “My mother died on 25th September, 1875. She was in better health than I had seen her for years when I left her about six weeks before, which was the reason of my doing so. She died suddenly of heart disease. I had heard from her only two days before, in good health and spirits. The {ii-118} hour of death was stated in the letter and telegram; I think I have both still.

    “I never had another auditory hallucination. I never had another dream of death besides that about my mother; it was very vivid and distressing. I saw her dying.”

    The following is an extract, copied by the present writer, from a letter written to Miss Harriss by her father, and dated September 25, 1875:—

    “Ashfield.

    “MY DEAR ANNIE,—You will be much surprised that your dear mamma passed away this afternoon about 3.45, so gently that we could not believe that she was really gone… I think she was not quite conscious at the time.—Your affectionate father,

    “J. H. HARRISS.”

    The friend who was with Miss Harriss at the time writes to us on July 12, 1884, from 58, Cornwall Gardens, S.W.:—

    “The following is an answer to your inquiries regarding my recollection of a certain incident relating to the death of Miss Harriss’ mother. I remember her coming down one morning much disturbed at a very vivid dream she had during the night, in which she saw her mother lying dead. About an hour after she told us, the post came in, bringing Miss Harriss the news of her mother’s death. The previous day Miss Harriss had been in the woods with me, and came and asked me why I called her, and what was the matter. On finding I had not, she told me she had been quite sure some one was calling her, and wanted her. I believe afterwards we were struck at the curious coincidence of her mother being taken ill that afternoon, and being actually dead about the time of her dream.

    “EDITH DARWIN.”

    [In conversation, Miss Harriss assured me again that she is positive that the hour at which she heard the voice was the hour of her mother’s death. If her recollection of the time which she noted by her watch is correct, this is an instance of exaggeration of correctness, as there was an interval of three-quarters of an hour.]

    Here we can hardly attribute the dream to any excitement caused by the previous hallucination, since that does not appear to have suggested her mother to Miss Harriss. If we regard both incidents as telepathic, and as due to a common cause, the case would be an interesting instance of “deferred impression”—the dim impulse which immediately after the death emerged as an unrecognised phantasm, developing into more definitely “veridical” shape in sleep.

    § 4. And now we come to cases where the auditory impression was of a complete sentence, conveying either a piece of information or a direction. The following account is from the Rev. R. H. Killick, of Great Smeaton Rectory, Northallerton, and is quoted from an undated letter to the Rev. R. H. Davies, of Chelsea, who tells me, on November 25th, 1885, that it must have been received “ten or {ii-119} twelve years ago.” Mr. Killick sent us on April 23rd, 1884, an almost precisely similar account. We have not been able to obtain direct confirmation from his wife, who is an invalid; but he tells us that her memory confirms his own. The incident happened, however, rather more than 30 years ago.

    (284) “A very much loved little daughter (now married) was with my family at our vicarage in Wiltshire, and I was in Paris. One Sunday afternoon, I was sitting in the courtyard of our hotel, taking coffee, when a sudden thought shot into my mind, ‘Etta has fallen into the water.’ [In the later account the parallel clause is—“when all at once I seemed to hear a voice say, ‘Etta has fallen into the pond.’”] I should tell you that we had large grounds, and a fine piece of artificial water, with a grass walk all round, and a waterfall and cave, &c.—a favourite part. [In the later account, Mr. Killick adds that this pond “was my horror for the children. They were never allowed to go near it, except with one of the family.”] I tried to banish the thought, but in vain. I went out into the city and walked for hours, trying to obliterate the impression in every possible way, but in vain. I walked till I was too tired to walk any longer, and returned and went to bed, but not to sleep. I went next day to the Post-office, hoping for letters; but there were none. I could not stay in Paris, so I went to the Ambassador’s and got a passport for Brussels.

    “In the course of time I had letters saying all were well; and I finished my journey, and never spoke of my ‘foolish nervousness’—as I admitted it to be.

    “Some months afterwards I was at a dinner party, and the hostess said, ‘What did you say about Etta, when you heard?’

    “‘Heard what?’ I said.

    “‘Oh!’ said the lady, ‘have I let out a secret?’

    “I said, ‘I don’t leave till I learn!’

    “She said, ‘Don’t get me into trouble, but I mean about her falling into the pond.’

    “‘What pond?’

    “‘Your pond.’

    “‘When?’

    “‘While you were abroad.’

    “I was about leaving, so I said very little more, but hastened home. I sought our governess, and inquired what it all meant.

    “She said, ‘Oh, how cruel to tell you, now it’s all over! Well, one Sunday afternoon we were walking by the pond, and Theodore said, “Etta, it’s so funny to walk with your eyes shut”; so she tried, and fell into the water. I heard a scream, and looked round and saw Etta’s head come up, and I ran and seized her and pulled her out. Oh, it was so dreadful! And then I carried her up to her mamma, and she was put to bed, and soon got all right.’

    “I inquired the day; it was the very Sunday that I was in Paris, and had this dreadful conviction.

    “I asked the hour. About 4 o’clock! The very time, also, that the unwelcome thought plunged into my mind.

    {ii-120}

    “I said, ‘Then it was revealed to me in Paris the instant it happened’; and, for the first time, I told her of my sad experience in Paris on that Sunday afternoon.

    “R. HENRY KILLICK.”

    Mr. Killick writes us on May 6th, 1884:—

    “As to your queries: you ask was the impression unique in my experience. I think it was. I cannot remember anything like it. You ask, was the pond a source of danger, &c. The children were never allowed to go near it without grown-up people being with them; it was prohibited; and it was quite away from their part of the grounds. We were so strict and careful that the accident seemed an impossibility. We had never had any alarm on the subject.

    “At that time I had ten children at home; and yet it was the special one that had the accident who was present to my mind at that moment. The voice seemed to say, ‘Etta has fallen into the pond.’”

    The two expressions “A sudden thought shot into my mind,” and “I seemed to hear a voice say,” are perfectly compatible, as expressing a hallucination only slightly externalised (Vol. I., pp. 480–1); but such descriptions might, no doubt, apply equally to something too inward to be called hallucination at all; and in fact a parallel but less distinct case (No. 80) has been classed among emotional and not sensory impressions. In other respects, the present narrative reminds us of Mr. Jukes’s case (Vol. I., p. 407), and of Mr. Everitt’s case (Vol. I., p. 409). The sense of a third personality—a messenger—implied in the form of the message, may be interpreted as the subjective contribution of the percipient; who projects his impression in the fashion in which it would most naturally strike his senses, if it really came to him in a normal way from without.

    A still more remarkable case has been supplied to us by Dr. Nicolas, Count Gonémys, of Corfu, a member of our Society, from whose long paper, which was in French, the following account is abstracted. The first person is retained for the sake of clearness.

    “February, 1885.

    (285) “In the year 1869, I was Officer of Health in the Hellenic army. By command of the War Office, I was attached to the garrison of the Island of Zante. As I was approaching the island in a steamboat, to take up my new position, and at about two hours’ distance from the shore, I heard a sudden inward voice say to me, over and over again, in Italian, ‘Go to Volterra.’ I was made almost dizzy by the frequency with which this phrase was repeated. Although in perfectly good health at the time, I became seriously alarmed at what I considered as an auditory hallucination. I had no association with the name of M. Volterra, a gentleman of Zante with whom I was not even acquainted, although I had once seen him, 10 years before. I tried the effect of stopping my ears, and of trying to distract myself by conversation with {ii-121} the bystanders; but all was useless, and I continued to hear the voice in the same way. At last we reached land; I proceeded to the hotel and busied myself with my trunks; but the voice continued to harass me. After a time a servant came, and announced to me that a gentleman was at the door who wished to speak with me at once. ‘Who is the gentleman?’ I asked. ‘M. Volterra,’ was the reply. And M. Volterra entered, weeping violently in uncontrollable distress, and imploring me to follow him at once, and see his son, who was in a dangerous condition.

    “I found a young man in a state of maniacal frenzy, naked, in an empty room, and despaired of by all the doctors of Zante for the last five years. His aspect was hideous, and rendered the more distressing by constantly-recurring choreic spasms, accompanied by hissings, howlings, barkings, and other animal noises. Sometimes he crawled on his belly like a serpent; sometimes he fell into an ecstatic condition on his knees; sometimes he talked and quarrelled with imaginary interlocutors. The violent crises were often followed by periods of profound syncope. When I opened the door of his room he darted upon me furiously, but I stood my ground and seized him by the arm, looking him fixedly in the face. In a few moments his gaze fell; he trembled all over, and fell on the floor with his eyes shut. I made mesmeric passes over him, and in half an hour he had fallen into the somnambulic state. The cure lasted two months and a half, during which many interesting phenomena were observed. Since its completion, the patient has had no return of his malady.”

    A letter written to Count Gonémys by M. Volterra, dated Zante, 7th (19th) June, 1885, contains the most complete corroboration of the above statement in all that concerns the Volterra family. The letter concludes as follows:—

    “Before your arrival at Zante I had no acquaintance with you whatever, although I have been many years at Corfu as Deputy to the Legislative Assembly; nor had we ever spoken together, nor had I ever said a word to you about my son. As I before said, we had never thought of you, nor desired your assistance, until I called on you on your arrival as officer of health, and begged you to save my son.

    “We owe his life first to you and then to mesmerism.

    “I hold it my duty to declare to you my sincere gratitude, and to subscribe myself affectionately and sincerely yours,

    “DEMETRIO VOLTERRA, Count Crissoplevri.

    (Additional signatures) “LAURA VOLTERRA” [M. Volterra’s wife].

    “DIONISIO D. VOLTERRA, Count Crissoplevri.”

    “Ο θεραπευθὲις Αναζάσιος Βολτέῤῥα” (Anastasio Volterra, the cured patient).

    “C. VASSOPOULOS (come testimonio)”

    “DEMETRIO, COMTE GUERINO (confermo).”

    “LORENZO T. MERCATI.”

    The form of the monition here, as the form of the statement in the former cases, I should attribute to the percipient’s shaping imagination. The narrative, however, will be seen to present one {ii-122} peculiarity which we have encountered in no other instance;1 1A possible exception is case 30, Vol. i., pp. 214–8 at the time that the impression was received, the agent and the percipient were personally unknown to one another. Still, if my surmise be allowable as to the conditions by which a line of telepathic communication may be established between persons unconnected by blood or affection, we might certainly find a likely condition in such an attitude as that of the supposed agent in this case. We cannot reasonably suppose that any casual stranger had as good a chance of being telepathically impressed by M. Volterra as the person who—though his name and personality may have had no place in M. Volterra’s mind—was yet, by virtue of his special knowledge and of his actual approach, more nearly connected than any one else with the engrossing subject of his thoughts.

    The following example, from a clergyman who unfortunately withholds his name from publication, is very similar, the inward nature of the sound being again noticeable. But here the agent and percipient were friends.

    (286) “In March, 187—, I went to the curacy of A., and had been, as well as I remember, about a month there, when the following happened. I am a native of a town in the North of England, and in my childhood had a friend of my own age whom I will call C. Our friendship lasted till manhood, though our circumstances and walks of life were very different; and I had always a great deal of influence over him, insomuch that he would allow himself to be restrained by me when he would not by others. He became, towards his 20th year or so, rather addicted to drink, but I always had the same friendship for him, and would have done anything to serve or help him.

    “In 187— his family were living at X. (near Z.), and as all my other old friends had long left the neighbourhood of Z., my native town, I always used to go to them whenever I visited that part, as I was and am still on sufficiently friendly terms with them to go at any time without notice. On the day in question I had been visiting some of the parishioners, and having made an end of this, came to a cross-road of two of the lanes near the church; and not only was I not thinking of my friend, whom I had not heard of for some years, but I distinctly remember what I was thinking of, which was whether to go home to my lodgings for my tea, turning to the left, or whether to trespass on the hospitality of a lady who lived to the right of the crossing. When thus standing in doubt, a kind of shudder passed through me, accompanied by a most extraordinary feeling, which I can only compare to that of a jug of cold water poured on the nape of the neck, and running down the spine;2 2Cf. case 223, p. 37, and the note thereon. and as this passed off, though I cannot say I heard a voice, I was distinctly conscious of the words, ‘Go to Z. by this evening’s train,’ being said in my ear. There was no one at the {ii-123} time within 100 yards of me. I was not very flush of money just then, and could not well afford the expense, besides not wishing to absent myself from duty so soon after taking it up. But it seemed so distinct that I almost made up my mind to obey it; but on announcing the fact to my landlady, to whom, of course, I could not tell my true reason, she remonstrated so earnestly that, coupling this with the affairs of my duty, &

    c., I did conclude to disregard it. I could not, however, settle to anything, read, write, or sit in comfort, till the time was elapsed when I could have caught the train, when the uneasy, restless feeling gradually went off, and in a few hours I was ready to laugh at myself.

    “Three or four days after, I received the sad news that my friend had on that day gone down home from London, had been taken ill, and two days afterwards had, in a fit of temporary insanity, put an end to his life. I have no doubt in my own mind that had I obeyed the intimation I might have saved his life; for I must have gone to their house, no other in the neighbourhood being available; and had I found him in the condition in which he was, you may be very sure he would never have got out of arm’s length of me until all danger was over. I have ever since reproached myself with it, and have made up my mind that should I ever have such another experience I will do what is directed, seem it never so absurd or difficult.”

    In reply to inquiries, the narrator adds:—

    “I was in health just as usual, no better and no worse. I had good health all the time I was at A., and in particular I never have suffered from indigestion since I was a child. I have never at any other time had such a physical sensation, or such a sensation of a voice; and nothing has ever happened to me which would lead at all satisfactorily to the conclusion that any abnormal phenomena were present.”

    The narrator has privately told us the year of the occurrence, and the place where the suicide took place; and we have verified these details in the Register of Deaths. The event took place later in the year than he imagined—in November. In conversation, he has explained that “Go to Z.” practically meant the same for him as “Go to these friends,” as he would be quite certain to stay with them. Their place of business was still at Z. At the time of his experience, his friend was in a very critical condition.

    The next case is worth quoting as parallel to the two last, though it has less evidential force; for, at this distance of time, we cannot make sure that something had not occurred during the preceding days, that might have half unconsciously suggested to the percipient the need which he was so strangely impelled to relieve. The account is from Dr. Joseph Smith, for many years leading medical practitioner in Warrington, and a class-leader in the Wesleyan Methodist Church.

    “November 24th, 1884.

    (287) “When I lived at Penketh, about 40 years ago, I was sitting one evening reading, and a voice came to me, saying, ‘Send a loaf to James Gandy’s.’ Still I continued reading, and the voice came to me again, ‘Send a loaf to James Gandy’s.’ Still I continued reading, when a third {ii-124} time the voice came to me with greater emphasis, ‘Send a loaf to James Gandy’s’; and this time it was accompanied by an almost irresistible impulse to get up. I obeyed this impulse, and went into the village, bought a large loaf, and seeing a lad at the shop door, I asked him if he knew James Gandy’s. He said he did; so I gave him a trifle and asked him to take the loaf there, and to say a gentleman had sent it. Mrs. Gandy was a member of my class, and I went down the next morning to see what had come of it, when she told me that a strange thing had happened to her last night. She said she wanted to put the children to bed, and they began to cry for food, and she had not any to give them; for her husband had been for four or five days out of work. She then went to prayer, to ask God to send them something; soon after which a lad came to the door with a loaf, which he said a gentleman gave him to bring to her. I calculated, upon inquiry made of her, that her prayer and the voice which I heard exactly coincided in point of time.[☼]

    “JOSEPH SMITH, M.D.”

    § 5. I will now give one case where the sound heard, though vocal, was not articulate.1 1The strongest example in our collection that can be thus described is the scream case, No. 34, to which some “borderland” parallels are given in Vol. i., p. 403–5. As possibly a direct reproduction of the agent’s sensation, the present experience might be compared to cases 151 and 342. The seemingly direct reproduction of the actual sound which the agent was making (and therefore hearing) at the time recalls the first cases of this chapter; but in the present instance there was no recognition, which is of course an evidential defect. The case is one where pros and cons have to be carefully balanced; it has been admitted as the experience of a matter-of-fact man, but would certainly have been rejected had it been that of a nervous or imaginative woman. The narrator is Mrs. B., who contributed also case 192, (to which she refers in the first line,) and whose name may be given to anyone interested in the subject.

    “December, 1884.

    (288) “Some six years after the above occurrence, in the September of 1870, my husband was at D. Hall for his holiday. His parents were then living at Dieppe. He was roused one night by a peculiar moaning, as if some person or animal was in pain. He got up and went through the house and out into the gardens and shrubberies, but could see nothing. He heard the same noise at intervals all that day, but could not find out the cause. He returned to London next day, to find a telegram summoning him to Dieppe, as his mother was dying. When he got into the house at Dieppe, the first sound he heard was a repetition of the same noise that he heard at D. Hall, and he found it was his mother who was making it, and he learned she had been doing so for two days. She died a few hours after he arrived. We had no knowledge of Mrs. B.’s illness at the time my husband heard the noise.

    “My husband’s parents had been obliged to leave D. Hall under painful circumstances, and possibly the thoughts of her loved home may have been paramount with Mrs. B., or it may have been that they flew to {ii-125} my husband, who was her youngest son. At any rate, my husband always held that it was his mother’s moaning he heard at D. Hall though she was in France. She was speechless when he reached her, so no solution could be arrived at.

    “E. A. B.”

    We find from a newspaper obituary that the death took place at Dieppe, on September 12, 1870.

    In reply to inquiries, the narrator says:—

    “My late husband was alone, at his old home in Norfolk, when he heard the moaning I told you of. He was shortly after (the same afternoon, I think) telegraphed for to go to Dieppe to see his mother. He was quite unaware, till he got the telegram, that she was ill. He returned to Selhurst, where we were living, and where I was, on his way to Dieppe, and then told me about this noise. On his return from Dieppe, after his mother’s death, he said, ‘You remember my telling you of the moaning I heard at D. The first sound I heard in the house at Dieppe was the same, and it was my mother making it.’ He further added that he was told she had made it for a day or two. I am perfectly clear about his hearing it first at night in the house, and on the following morning in the shrubberies, which were a little distance from the house. I never heard either my husband or his father speak of ever hearing sounds, or seeing anything before or after the occurrences I have mentioned [i.e., this case and case 192]. They were both matter-of-fact men, and very free from superstitious ideas. I was a young woman at the time these things took place (I am only 41 now), so my memory of them is very clear and good. Six weeks or two months after my husband heard these sounds, we were together at D., and he showed me the spot in the shrubbery where the sound had been loudest.”

    [If the percipient’s experience had been confined to the moaning heard in the night, the incident would not have been worth attending to, for reasons to be immediately adduced. But the continuance of the sound during the day, and out of doors, makes a decided difference.]

    § 6. We now come to a few specimens of the non-vocal sound-phantasms—the mere noises or shocks—which are the parallel among auditory hallucinations to the rudimentary visual hallucinations which were considered in the last chapter. But the auditory cases need a far more jealous scrutiny, before we are justified in regarding them as even probably telepathic in origin. Odd noises, especially at night, are very common phenomena; and though the particular cause of them is often hard to detect, the physical conditions of our indoor life are prolific of possible causes. Most of us are in constant proximity to wind that may blow through crevices, and rattle or flap or dislodge loose parts of our windows and walls and chimneys; and to water in pipes or cisterns that may leak, or burst, or may contain bubbling air; and to slates that may

    fall; and to wooden furniture and floors that may crack and creak. And if any one should say that he has heard a noise which, from its nature or its position, could not be {ii-126} accounted for by any such ascertainable cause, he might be reminded that sounds are the hardest things in the world to localise; and that no one who has not given special attention to the subject can realise how easy it is to mistake the source and character of an auditory impression.1 1I may mention, as a marked instance of this, a personal experience which I have again and again repeated. The dripping of a small fountain, heard from some yards off, produces on my ears the precise effect of a heavy waggon which is being slowly dragged up a gravelly road at a considerable distance. The following is probably a case of mistaken localisation. The account is from the Rev. Edward Bonus, of the Rectory, Hulcot, Aylesbury. “July, 1882. “The house is the Rectory of —— in the county of Wilts. Of the two clergymen concerned, one is now dead; the other has read through and signed this account, certifying its accuracy. This matter happened about 20 years ago. “One day, a friend of the then rector came on a visit for a few days, and rode on horseback. It was winter time. He put his horse into his friend’s stables, and the two clergymen spent the evening together. They went to bed as usual about 11. During the night the friend heard the steps of a horse very distinctly on the stairs; was not frightened, but greatly surprised. He at once got up, lighted his candle, and went downstairs, but could see nothing, and now was frightened. He returned to bed, and shortly again heard the same noise; again he got up, this time too frightened to go downstairs, but went to his friend’s room. He was asleep, so he roused him, and told him what he had heard; they then remained together, leaving the light. Very soon they both heard the noise in the most certain and distinct manner; so they both dressed and searched the house—could see or find nothing; they then went to the stables, and to their sorrow the horse was dead. “They both believed the spirit of the horse had entered the house. The horse died of heart disease; it was afterwards examined. Never again, as far as I have ever heard, was the same man visited by any kind of noise. “I was intimately acquainted with the two clergymen, and have heard them tell the story very many times. “EDWARD BONUS.” “This account is correct.—H. S. L.” What one may surmise to have happened is that the friends heard a sound resembling heavy steps, and inferred that it was on the stairs. We learn, on inquiry, that “a horse kicking in the stables could be distinctly heard in the house”; which suggests the true nature of the particular horse’s “agency” in the matter. In Morrison’s Reminiscences of Sir W. Scott there is an account of the strange sounds—like the drawing of heavy boards along the new part of the house—which woke Scott and his wife on the night of the death of their friend, Mr. Bullock, who had lately been assisting them in the work of building and improving. The coincidence made a great impression on Scott, which, however, we cannot hold to have been justified. For Lockhart’s Life contains a letter of Scott’s, from which it appears that the same sound had been heard on the preceding night, when, though “awaked by a violent noise,” he only “fancied something had fallen, and thought no more about it.” Thus, while it is impossible to contend that the “ball of light” which appeared to Mr. Saxby was a real ball, and impossible therefore to deny that the coincidence of the hallucination with the death of some one to whom he was attached was an odd circumstance, it is quite possible to contend that some unaccountable crash which someone has heard was not a hallucination at all, but a real objective sound; and the coincidence of such a crash with the death of a near relative is the less odd in proportion as unaccountable crashes are common occurrences. Still, unaccountable noises are not of such daily and hourly occurrence but that a sufficiently large and well-established group of the coincidences in question might be taken as possible {ii-127} indications of telepathic action, especially as we have the analogy of rudimentary visual hallucinations to point to.1 1A combination of rudimentary visual with rudimentary auditory hallucinations is recorded by Madame Guyon (La Viede Madame Guyon, écrite par elle-même, Paris, 1791, Vol. iii., p. 170)—in a case, however, which cannot be presented as telepathic, inasmuch as Madame Guyon was expecting the death of the friend which coincided with the hallucination. The sight was a glimmer in the room, which caused some little gilt nails near the bed to glow: the sound was a crash as if all the window-panes in the house had fallen. Moreover, there is no doubt that surprising noises and crashes, though often due to undiscovered external causes, are also a form of purely subjective hallucination2 2See the statistics given in Vol. i., p. 503.—which makes it at least probable, if telepathy be a reality, that they will also be a form of telepathic hallucination.

    The kinds of non-vocal impression which are least likely to be due to a real but undiscoverable cause in the vicinity are those which are distinctly musical—the sound being produced not in the gliding random fashion of an Æolian harp, but in a series of well-defined tones. Some examples of literal music will be given in Chap. XVIII. But I will give here an example where the sound heard was of the ringing of bells, which is a known form of hallucination.3 3For instance, no one is likely to explain as a misinterpretation of real sounds the case given by Mr. Kinglake in Eothen, p. 239. In the midst of the desert he heard pealing for ten minutes, as it appeared to him, the familiar bells of his native village. I have received a very similar example from a lady who heard bells when leading a very solitary life in a remote part of India—which is one of the 7 cases mentioned in Vol. i., p. 503. A second apparently telepathic case is No. 344. The narrator is a gentleman who does not wish his name and address to be published, though he has no objection to their being communicated privately.

    “May 28th, 1885.

    (289) “In 1862, I sailed to Bombay in one of Dunbar’s old frigate-built ships. I was depressed the whole voyage with an undefined presentiment of ‘bad news from home.’ At Bombay I used to get my messmates to go ashore for letters (a great privilege), even when it was my turn to do so; my nervousness was so great. However, we sailed for home, and reached and left St. Helena, and no black letter was delivered to me.

    “Two days after leaving St. Helena I was up aloft doing some trifling sailor’s work with the fourth officer, on the mizen topsail or top gallant yard, when I heard a bell begin to toll. I said to him, ‘Do you hear that bell tolling?’ ‘No,’ he said, ‘I hear nothing.’ However, my agitation was so great that I went down and examined both our bells; and placed my arm near them, to see if they were vibrating or if any chance rope was swinging loose and striking them. However, while doing this, I still heard the boom of the tolling bell, and it seemed far away. I then, when I had satisfied myself that the sound was not attributable to either of our ship’s bells, went up aloft and scanned the horizon in search of a sail, but saw none. I then said to my messmates, ‘That’s my “black letter.” I knew I should have bad news this voyage.’

    {ii-128}

    “At Falmouth we called for orders; and there I found that a lady who filled the place of elder sister to me (my aunt by marriage), and to whose younger sister I am married now, had been suddenly carried off by illness—at that time, as near as we could calculate, allowing for the different longitude. She was young (29), lovely, and most winning in her manners. I, boy-like, adored her, and she used to say that I was her young sailor lover; as my uncle, a captain in the Navy, was her old sailor lover.

    “I am 40 years old now, and have been through dangers of all sorts, in imminent danger of death many times, but I have never had a presentiment since. After nearly 25 years I can still

    remember the boom, boom, of that old bell in the Manx churchyard, which I heard in latitude 14 S., or thereabouts.”

    Asked whether he had ever experienced a hallucination on any other occasion, the narrator replied:—

    “I have never suffered from any hallucinations. I have led an active life, including much loneliness, being for weeks together in the jungles shooting and surveying alone, save for native servants, and far from white men, and during all that time my brain never played me any tricks.” Later, he wrote:—“I have not been a dreamer, fool, or a mystic, but a hard-working, clear-headed man of business. I tell you all this, not in a boasting spirit, but simply to prove, so far as possible, that I am not a likely subject for ‘illusions’ or ‘hallucinations.’ You must remember that this occurred when I was a careless youngster of 17, on my first voyage to sea. I could not account for it then; nor can I now. The impression is as vivid as ever.”

    Asked whether any bells would have been ringing at the time of the lady’s death, he says:—

    “Yes. Malen Church bell would have been tolling in Castletown at that time, for the passing bell or for the funeral. I never asked whether the passing bell was rung, but it is a common habit in the Isle of Man to toll the church bell immediately after the decease of any one of some social importance. I feel sure it was done in this case; we were so well known there. I mean it is done for the gentry, and such of the farmers and shopkeeping class who care to pay for it.

    “I may add that the lady who died was inexpressibly dear to me, being more like a sister than an aunt.”

    The name of the lady was given to us in confidence, and also the date of her death; and we have verified this date by reference to an Isle of Man newspaper. The day proved to be a Sunday. This was pointed out to our informant, in case he might be able to recall anything which would point to a Sunday as the day of his experience. He replied:—

    “I cannot well remember the day, but I think that, from what I do remember, it was a Sunday. I was probably stowing the mizen topgallant sail, or doing some necessary work up aloft; but I remember that when I went down to look at the bells the ship was still, and I don’t remember any work going on. I am, however, not certain on this matter.”

    {ii-129}

    If this case was telepathic, it must remain doubtful whether the form of the impression represented the last sensations or ideas of the dying person, or was a piece of death-imagery supplied by the percipient, as illustrated in several of the visual cases of Chap. XII. The preceding distress and nervousness were probably subjective, but can scarcely be regarded as the cause of the hallucination.

    When we pass from musical impressions to noise proper, the degree of oddness and unaccountableness in a sound is a point which it is very hard to judge of from description. The reader may form his own opinion of the following account, received from Mrs. Samuda, of Shipton Court, Chipping Norton. I do not number it as an evidential case.

    “If the details of what occurred to me (and which I believe to have been purely accidental) can be of any service to your Society, I will with pleasure describe them; but in doing so I must beg that you will thoroughly understand that I do not in the least believe in any of these coincidences, and at the time was much amused when I was told that the sounds I heard were death-warnings. On the 5th of October, 1878, about 3 o’clock in the morning, I was suddenly aroused by three distinct loud knocks exactly over the head of my bed. At the time I was ill, and the nurse was sleeping in my room. She also distinctly heard the sounds. The first thing the next morning, I received a telegram to say my grandfather, Sir Francis Grant, P.R.A., had died suddenly the night before at 8 o’clock. When I told the nurse of the telegram, she instantly said the three knocks I had heard were a death warning.

    “On the 20th March, 1879, I received a letter from my mother, saying that my brother, Rupert Markham, had been ill, but was now going on quite well again, and that I need not be the least anxious. On the morning of the 21st, about 3 o’clock in the morning, I distinctly heard the same three knocks; my husband also heard them. At 10 o’clock that morning I received a telegram desiring me to come immediately, as my brother was dying. When I arrived at Melton Mowbray, 9.30 p.m., my brother was just dead.

    “About the 2nd of May, 1879, at 6 o’clock in the morning, my husband and I both heard the same three knocks, and were so much impressed at this occurring for a third time that he instantly made a note of it. At that time my eldest brother had just started for Zululand, so we much feared something might have happened to him. For three weeks after this we heard nothing, then a letter came saying my brother was dangerously ill, but shortly afterwards we heard by telegram that he was perfectly well again. I tell you this third instance to show you that there cannot possibly be anything but a mere chance in these accidents being repeated.”

    [The coincidence in the first case was probably closer than is represented; for all the newspaper accounts give the date of Sir F. Grant’s death as Saturday, October 5th; the Times and the Leicester Chronicle say “Saturday morning”; and the Daily Telegraph says, “early on Saturday morning.”

    The Leicester Chronicle confirms the date of death in the second case.]

    {ii-130}

    Mrs. Samuda does not say whether she herself regards the knocks as hallucinations, or as objectively caused. If they were the former, then the question of “belief in these coincidences”—i.e., the question whether they are due to accident, or to telepathy—must (as we have seen) be judged by the application of the doctrine of chances on a basis of very wide statistics; and certainly will not be decided in favour of accident by the fact that the percipient has observed a coincidence in two cases and not in a third. But the coincidence with the death was not very close in the second case, and possibly not in the first; and real sounds due to some defect in the house or furniture may have happened to be a little louder than usual on these occasions, and perhaps afterwards became exaggerated in memory. The fact that the experience was in each case shared by a second person is strongly (though, as we shall see later, not decisively) in favour of this view.

    The following case has more weight. The account was written down on June 2nd, 1876, by Mr. Hensleigh Wedgwood, from the dictation of the percipient, the late Miss Vaughan, of 6, Chester Place, Regent’s Park, N.W.

    (290) “In the autumn of 1856, Mrs. D. was lying dangerously ill, near Windsor; when I received a letter on Friday from her daughter, who had been invited to the marriage of Mr. Cox with Miss Alderson, telling me that as their mother was rather better, they thought they might come up to the marriage on Tuesday if I could give them a bed. On the Saturday night I went to bed at my usual hour, 12 o’clock, but did not go to sleep for some time; when I was suddenly startled by three sets of three extraordinary loud knocks, like strokes of a hammer on an empty box, at my bed head, followed immediately by a long loud cry of a woman’s voice, which seemed to die away in the distance. I called my maid instantly, and begged her to look out of the window, and see if there was anyone in the street. She opened the shutters, threw up the window, and said there was no one; that I must have been dreaming; it was quite late. I said ‘No, it had not yet struck 1,’ and sent her to look at the clock; she returned, and said it wanted 10 minutes to 1. I said the noise must have come from the room adjoining mine, in the next house. She said the house was empty; but this I could not believe, so I sent her early on Sunday morning to see. She came back, saying the windows were all shut, and she had knocked for some time in vain. On the following morning I sent her to the person in Albany Street who had charge of the house, thinking somebody must have slept in it on Saturday night. The person in charge said this could not be the case, as she had the key; but she went to look, and came to tell me that no one could possibly have got in.

    “In a very few hours afterwards I received a letter from one of the Miss D.’s, to tell me that their mother became suddenly worse on {ii-131} Saturday morning, and had died in the course of the night. Some time subsequently, I had an opportunity of seeing the nurse, and she told me that Mrs. D. had exactly died at a quarter before 1 on Sunday morning, uttering a loud cry at the moment of her death. She had just been giving her a cup of beef tea, and had replaced it on the mantelpiece, where there was a clock, on which she observed the hour. I had thought that the whole must have proceeded from the next house.

    “Mrs. D. had been a very intimate friend of mine; I know I was much in her thoughts, and a few days before her death she had said she hoped, now she was a little better, to be well enough to see me.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that Mrs. D.’s death took place on a Sunday—October 26th, 1856.

    In November, 1876, Mr. H. Wedgwood read the account of Miss Vaughan’s vision to Miss E. T., a common friend of Miss Vaughan’s and Mrs. D.’s, whom Mr. Wedgwood has known all his life. She was staying with her sister at Hastings at the time of the incident, and received a letter from Miss Vaughan telling them of Mrs. D.’s death, and of her having come to her. Miss T. was greatly interested in this intelligence, and hurried up to London, where she heard from Miss Vaughan the story exactly as narrated by Mr. Wedgwood, down to the news of Mrs. D.’s death; but Miss Vaughan had not then seen the nurse, and was consequently ignorant of the precise agreement in time between the fact of her outcry at the moment of death and Miss Vaughan’s hearing the scream. Two or three months after, Miss Vaughan told her what she had heard from the nurse.

    Miss T. has seen this statement, and appends the words: “Quite correct.—E. H. T. November 5th, 1883.”

    Mrs. Vaughan, of the Deanery, Llandaff, writing on June 10, 1886, sends us an account of the occurrence which differs from Miss Vaughan’s only in one or two trifling details, and adds: “Miss Vaughan often spoke of it to us.”

    The fact of the scream, though it seems to have corresponded with an actual cry of the supposed agent, could not be pressed; as such sounds are not uncommon in London streets at night, and the loudness and apparent closeness of the cry may have been exaggerated. But the knocks in this case, if correctly described, seem less easy to explain, except as hallucination; and the hallucination (if the present class be admitted at all) would have a primâ facie claim to be considered telepathic—the tie of affection between the two parties being a strong one, and the coincidence extremely close. Technically, the incident ought perhaps to be classed among “borderland” cases; but this particular form of hallucination does not seem to be specially connected with the moments that immediately precede or follow sleep; and the percipient must apparently have been wide awake before the sounds ceased. A few more examples of the non-vocal sort will be found among the “collective” cases in Chap. XVIII.; others, {ii-132} in view of the evidential weakness of the class, are relegated to the Supplement.

    I will conclude this chapter with a case of a phantasm which, though located in the ear, perhaps rather concerned the sense of touch than that of hearing. If it was telepathic, it is a remarkably clear instance of the direct reproduction of the agent’s sensation in the percipient’s consciousness.1 1Other drowning cases, on the other hand, if correctly described, afford an equally clear illustration of the percipient’s independent investiture of the idea transferred, the impression being of the dripping of water—a sound which would be neither in the agent’s ears nor in his thoughts. See, e.g., cases 513 (1) and 528; and compare the account of the Breton tradition in the Dictionnaire Historique et Géographique de la Province de Bretagne, by J. B. Ogée (Edition of 1845), Vol. i., p. 374 The account is from Mrs. Arthur Severn, of Brantwood, Coniston.

    “1883.

    (291) “Years ago, in Scotland, at my own home, I was in the drawing-room with my mother and aunt; the latter was busy writing at a table in the middle of the room, facing my mother, who was on a sofa sewing, while I was quietly amusing myself in my own way. It was all very quiet, when suddenly I was much startled by my mother, who gave a scream and threw herself back on the sofa, putting both her hands up to cover her ears, saying, ‘Oh, there’s water rushing fast into my ears, and I’m sure either my brother, or son James, must be drowning, or both of them!’ My aunt Margaret jumped up, and was rather angry and said, ‘Catherine, I never heard such nonsense, how can you be so foolish!’ My aunt seemed vexed and ashamed it should happen before me, for I was very frightened, and remember it all so vividly. My poor mother cried, saying, ‘Oh, I know it’s true, or why would this water keep rushing into my ears?’

    “Alas! it proved too true, for very soon I could see people running very hard towards the bathing-place, and I remember the shudder that then ran through me, and the hope that my mother would not look out of any of the windows. Soon my uncle came hurrying to the house very white and distressed; all he could say was, ‘hot blankets!’ but it was too late—poor James was drowned. He was 21 years old, and my mother’s eldest child. Both the other witnesses of this scene are dead.

    “JOAN R. SEVEN.”

    [The narrator’s brother, James Agnew, was drowned while bathing in the river Bladnoch. The date, as we find from a copy of an inscription in Wigtown churchyard, was June 8, 1853.]

    It is to be noted that the narrator here was herself the percipient in the still more remarkable case of apparently direct transference, quoted in Vol. I., p. 188. 2 2Other possible instances of hereditary or family susceptibility to telepathic influence are cases 14 and 15; the cases mentioned in Vol. i., p. 424, note; cases 310, 497, and 617; cases 413, 111, 161, 464; cases 232 and 561; cases 450 and 462; cases 421 and 503; cases 422 and 586; cases 496 and 532; case 562; and several of the collective cases in Chap. xviii., §§ 2 and 6, and in the Supplement, Chap. ix. I may add that my collection of casual subjective hallucinations of the sane includes 4 cases where a parent and child have been affected at different times. In one of these cases (received from Mrs. Freese, of Granite Lodge, Chislehurst) the son’s vision nearly reproduced the one which his mother had experienced years before. Another instance of hereditary susceptibility to hallucinations is mentioned by Abercrombie; see Vol. i., p. lxxxii. [sic]

    {ii-133}

    CHAPTER XVI.

    TACTILE CASES AND CASES AFFECTING MORE THAN ONE OF THE PERCIPIENT’S SENSES.

    § 1. IN the chapter on “borderland” cases, and again in Chap. XII., when illustrating the development of hallucinations by the percipient’s own imagination under the stimulus of a telepathic impulse, I quoted several instances in which two of his senses played a part—as where an impression of sound preceded and led up to the visible phantasm. And I have mentioned (pp. 23–4) that the proportion of the telepathic cases in which the experience assumes such a complex or multiple form seems decidedly larger than obtains among the purely subjective hallucinations of the sane. The present chapter will contain those remaining telepathic instances which belong to seasons of complete waking consciousness. In some of these, as it happens, the sense of touch is involved; and I may take the opportunity of saying a necessary word or two on affections of that sense.

    Among purely subjective hallucinations of the sane, those of touch seem to be rarer even than those of sight, and much rarer than those of hearing. My large collection includes only 68 examples (a few being cases of repeated experiences), of which 43 were of touch only, 8 were associated with a visual hallucination, 13 with an auditory hallucination, while 4 concerned all three senses. The canvassed group of 5705 persons (pp. 7, 8) yielded only 23 distinct experiences of the sort; and of these 23, one occurred to a person who was out of health, one in association with a visual, and two in association with an auditory hallucination. Moreover, in many of the cases where touch alone has been concerned, it is easy to suppose that the sensation was caused by an involuntary muscular twitch—an instance is even on record where a hallucination of sight and sound took its origin in an objective sensation, caused by the momentary cramp of a muscle11Paterson’s paper in the Edinburgh Medical and Surgical Journal for Jan., 1843. {ii-134} so that the number of genuine tactile hallucinations would be even smaller than appears. It will not surprise us, then, to find that telepathic affections

    of this sense—or what might reasonably be adduced as such—are also rare. A couple of cases have been already quoted; in neither of which did the touch suggest any human contact, while each included a peculiarity beyond the mere touch—the first that of pain (Vol. I., p. 188), and the second probably that of sound (p. 132, above). We have, however, a few cases where the mere touch is alleged to have been more or less distinctive,1 1In 11 out of the 43 cases just mentioned, the touch is alleged to have been recognised, and in 7 of these the person whose presence was suggested was dead. There is no difficulty in regarding such cases as “after-images”; but see Vol. i., p. 512, note. of which I will quote here one specimen. Mr. J. C. Harris, of Wellington, New Zealand, proprietor of the New Zealand Times and New Zealand Mail, writes:—

    “July 6th, 1885.

    (292) “My wife had an uncle, a sea captain, who was very fond of her as a child, and often, when at home at London, used to take her on his knee and stroke down her long thick hair. She, with her parents, went from London to Sydney, and her uncle pursued his avocation in other parts of the world. Some 3 or 4 years afterwards, she was upstairs, dressing for dinner, and had her hair loose upon her shoulders; suddenly she felt a hand placed on the top of her head, and brought down smartly along her hair on to her shoulders. Startled, she turned round and exclaimed, ‘Why, mother, how could you frighten me so?’ for she assumed her mother had played a little joke on her. There was no one there however. When she related the circumstance at the dinner-table, a superstitious2 2We are bound to accept Mr. Harris’s description; and can only wish that superstition oftener took the form, as here, of prompting the only scientific course. friend present advised them to make a note of the day and date. This was done. In due course came the news of the death of her uncle, William, on that day—allowing for difference of longitude at about the time she felt the hand on her head.

    “J. CHANTREY HARRIS.”

    The following is Mrs. Harris’s own account of her experience:—

    “Hill Street, Wellington, New Zealand.

    “December 5th, 1885.

    “I regret extremely that, anxious as we are to assist, in however small a degree, the cause of science, it is not in my power to give confirmatory evidence of my own little experience. Of the friends who were associated with me at the time, but one is living, and she lives away in Queensland. The notes were not considered of sufficient consequence to be kept; and neither mourning card nor obituary notice are available. Consequently my account cannot, as I quite understand, have much value, uncorroborated as it is. However, as a matter of courtesy, I will make my statement, feeling well assured that you will accept it as authentic.

    {ii-135}

    “The occurrence happened so long ago that, while the incident is fresh enough to my memory, the precise date (never carefully noted) has escaped it. The year was 1860, the month April. I was a young girl, standing before the dressing-table in my bedroom, arranging some detail of my toilet. It was about 6 p.m., at that time of year, twilight, when suddenly a hand was placed upon my head, passed down my hair, and fell heavily on my left shoulder. Startled at the unexpected touch, I turned quickly to remonstrate with my mother for entering so quietly, when, to my surprise, I found no one there. On the instant my mind flew to England, whither my father had gone the preceding January, and I thought ‘something has happened,’ though what I could not define.

    “I went downstairs, and related my fright to the family. In the course of the evening, Mrs. and Miss W. came in, and, on commenting upon my paleness, were told about the matter. Mrs. W. immediately said, ‘Put down the date, and see what comes of it.’ This was done; and the incident soon ceased to trouble us, though the family awaited with some anxiety my father’s first letter from home. It came in due time, and told how, when he reached England, he found his brother Henry seriously ill—dying, in fact. As a child I had been his little favourite, and in death my name was the last word he uttered.

    “Upon comparing dates, and allowing for difference in longitude, we found that the time of my uncle’s death coincided exactly with that of my strange experience. I recollected, too, that it was a familiar habit of my uncle to stroke my hair with a caressing touch. My mother, who resides with me, is the only person who can confirm the story, and she appends her signature to this, in confirmation thereof.

    “ELIZABETH HARRIS.”

    (Attesting signature) “ELIZABETH BRADFORD.”

    In answer to the question whether she has ever had a hallucination of the senses on any other occasion, Mrs. Harris replies:—

    “This is the only experience of the kind in my life.”

    We find from the Thame Gazette and the Oxford Chronicle that Mrs. Harris’s uncle died on May 12, (not in April,) 1860, aged 51.

    [The coincidence here seems to have been very close, if we can trust Mrs. Harris’s memory that a written note of the date of her impression was compared with the date of the death. But it will be seen that she did not at the time associate her experience with her uncle’s former mode of touching her.]

    But the more conclusive cases of recognition are naturally those where a second sense has been concerned; the element of touch being then a natural enough feature in a highly developed phantasmal impression. In the following case the second sense involved is that of hearing. The account is in the words of Mrs. Stone, of Shute Haye, Walditch, Bridport; it is attested, as will be seen, by the percipient.

    (293) “A well-known inhabitant of Walditch, a little village near Bridport, Dorset, died suddenly last May, 1881. We were all very sorry, and felt much for those she had left. She was an honest, industrious woman, a good, affectionate wife and mother. She had been somewhat ailing for {ii-136} some time past, but there was no special cause for alarm, and my daughter saw her engaged (she was a washerwoman) in her usual occupation the day before her death. From her husband I heard the following narrative of facts, which he received from his son, when the latter came down to his mother’s funeral:—

    “‘My wife latterly was uneasy about one of her sons, Joseph Gundry, who is a pointsman on the Midland Railway, and had risen to an office of much responsibility. Not hearing from him for some time, she feared that he had fallen ill, and did not like to write till there should be no longer any cause for alarm. There was, in fact, such a press of business that he could not find time to write. On the night, or rather morning, of his mother’s death, he had the night-duties, and, there being no train about, he sat down for a short time, leaning his arms on a table. He was not asleep and had hardly settled himself, when a hand was placed on his shoulder, and a voice said distinctly: ‘Joe, your mother wants you.’ As far as we can ascertain this was about the time that his mother passed away. He did not recognise the voice, and saw no one. As there is no post from Bridport that could reach him under two days, his father telegraphed. When the telegram was brought to him, he said, “I know what it is, my mother is dead.”’”

    The percipient writes:—

    “Hay Street, Sawley, Derby.

    “February 16th, 1883.

    “I have perused the attached, [i.e., the above account] and find it to be substantially correct. I attest the accuracy of the report as printed, and I am prepared to bear it out.

    “JOSEPH GUNDRY.”

    Mr. Gundry further informs us that he has never on any other occasion experienced any sort of hallucination of the senses.

    In the next example the sense of sound is again concerned. The case might be added to those quoted in Chap. XII., §3, of the gradual development of telepathic hallucinations, leading finally to recognition. The narrator is the Rev. P. H. Newnham, late Vicar of Maker, Devonport, already so often mentioned.

    (294) “In July, 1867, I was living at Bournemouth, and was temporarily acting as chaplain to the Sanatorium there. A very sad case came in unexpectedly of a young man in the last stage of consumption. He was so ill that we could not take him into the institution, but accommodated him in lodgings. I visited him for some time, as his clergyman. Then the chaplain returned home; and I myself left for my holiday. I did not expect to see the young man again; but, to my surprise, on my

    return home, on September 21st, I found he was still alive; and the doctors said he might yet live some weeks.

    “On Sunday, September 29th, I had been reading prayers at the chapel in the Sanatorium, and the chaplain preached at the evening service. It was near the end of the sermon, and about 8 o’clock, not later, but I cannot tell to five minutes. I suddenly felt a firm, but gentle touch on my right shoulder. So impressed was I with the instinct {ii-137} that this indicated the presence of some unseen being, that I at once asked ‘Is it S.?’ (the Christian name of a pupil of mine, who died in 1860). The answer came back at once, in the clear tones of the inner voice,1 1 See Vol. i., p. 480–1. ‘No, it’s William.’ I have no recollection of anything more.

    “After service was over, I inquired about my young friend, and was told that the matron had been sent for to him, as he was suddenly taken much worse. Next morning I heard that he died about 8.10. It was, therefore, about 10 minutes before his actual death that I experienced the communication. I may add that I had not been thinking specially about him, that I had not visited him, or received any message from him since my return, and that I had no reason whatever to expect his speedy decease.

    “P. H. NEWNHAM.”

    An obituary notice in the Lymington and Isle of Wight Chronicle confirms the fact that William Bryer died on September 29, 1867.

    Mrs. Newnham corroborates as follows:—

    “I perfectly remember my husband telling me, on his return home from the service at the Sanatorium Chapel, of the touch and voice, and saying he felt sure William was dead. He did not hear of his death till the next morning.

    “M NEWNHAM

    [Mr. Newnham seems to have a slight predisposition to subjective auditory phantasms, but has never experienced a similar vivid hallucination of touch.]

    This can hardly be regarded as a subjective experience due to anxiety. Mr. Newnham had, no doubt, a certain emotional interest in the young man who died, and was aware of his critical condition. But if his hallucination had been a purely subjective one, caused by the latent emotional idea, one would certainly have expected that it would have taken a form suggestive of William; whereas Mr. Newnham actually connected it at first with a different person. So that the non-recognition in this case tends to increase the probability of the telepathic explanation (cf. case 282 above).

    In the next case, the second sense involved is that of sight. The narrator is Mrs. Randolph Lichfield, of Cross Deeps, Twickenham. Her husband was precluded from attesting the account in writing, by a painful affection of the hand.

    “1883.

    (295) “I was sitting in my room one night, before I was married, close before a toilet-table, on which the book I was reading rested; the table fitted into the corner of the room, and the wide glass on it reached nearly to the ceiling, so that any one in the room could be seen full length. The book I was reading was not at all calculated to affect my nerves, or excite {ii-138} my imagination in any way. I was perfectly well, in good spirits, and nothing had occurred since receiving my morning’s letters, to remind me of the person concerned in the strange experience you have asked me to relate.

    “My eyes were fixed on my book, when suddenly I felt,1 1If, as is probable, this feeling was due to a faint auditory hallucination (Vol. i., p. 528, second note), the case would be one of the rare instances of hallucination of three senses. Compare Nos. 185, 306, 313, 504, 513 (1), 569 but did not see, some one come into my room. I looked straight before me into the glass to see who it was, but no one was visible. I naturally thought that my visitor, seeing me deep in my book, had gone out again, when, to my astonishment, I felt a kiss on my forehead—a lingering, loving pressure. I looked up, without the least sensation of fear, and saw my lover standing behind my chair, stooping as if to kiss me again. His face was very white and inexpressibly sad. As I rose from my chair in great surprise, before I could speak, he had gone, how I do not know; I only know that, one moment I saw him, saw distinctly every feature of his face, saw the tall figure and broad shoulders as clearly as I ever saw them in my life, and the next moment there was no sign of him. For the first minute I felt nothing but surprise; perplexity expresses better what I mean; fear, or the idea I had seen a spirit, never entered my mind; the next sensation was that there must be something the matter with my brain, and a feeling of thankfulness that it had not conjured up some terrific vision, instead of an agreeable one. I remember praying that I might not fancy anything that would frighten me.

    “The next day, to my great surprise, there was not my usual morning’s letter from him; four posts came in and no letter; all the next day, no letter. I naturally objected to the novel feeling of finding myself neglected, but should not have thought of letting the neglector know it, so would not write to inquire the cause of his silence. On the third night—still no letter all day—as I was going upstairs to bed, thinking of something totally unconnected with R., as I put my foot on the top stair, I felt, suddenly, but most intensely, that he was in my room, and that I could see him just as I had done before. For the first time came the fear that something had happened to him. I knew well how intense his desire to see me would be, and thought—‘Could it have been really that I saw him the other night?’

    “I went straight to my room, convinced I should see him; there was nothing to be seen. I sat down and waited, and the sensation that he was there, and striving to speak to me, and to make me see him, became stronger and stronger. I waited till I became so sleepy I could not sit up any longer, and went to bed and to sleep. By the first morning’s post I wrote and told him I feared he must be ill, as I had not had a letter for three days. I said not one word of what I have told you in this. Two mornings after, I had a few lines, shockingly written, to tell me he had hurt his hand out hunting, and could not hold a pen till that day, but was in ‘no danger.’ It was not till a few days after, when he could write distinctly, that I knew the whole truth.

    “This is it. He had been riding an Irish hunter, a splendid horse across country, but a most vicious creature. This horse was so used to getting rid of any one he found on his back, if he objected to their presence there, and had such a variety of methods of doing so, throwing {ii-139} grooms, huntsmen, any one, when the fit seized him, and when he found no amount of rearing, kicking, no bolting, and stopping suddenly, no ‘buck-jumping’ would unseat my fiancé, and that he had at last found his master, he became desperate. He stood still for an instant, then rushed across the road backwards, reared perfectly straight, and pressed his rider’s back against the wall. The crush and pain were so intense, R. thought it must be death, and remembered saying, as he lost consciousness, ‘May, my little May! don’t let me die without seeing her again.’ It was that night he had bent over and kissed me. He turned out not to be really injured, though, of course, in frightful pain, and his hand could not possibly hold a pen. The night I felt so suddenly and so certainly that I should see him, and, when I did not, felt so thoroughly he was there and trying to let me know it, he was at the time worrying himself about not writing to me, and wishing intensely that I might feel there was some reason for his silence.

    “I told my mother [since deceased] all, just as I have told you, and she advised me to say nothing about his supposed visit to me till he was quite strong and well again, and I could do so personally. When he came to see me afterwards, I made him tell the whole of his account before I mentioned one word of my strange experience of those two nights.

    “I have just read this over to him, and he vouches for my having exactly described his share of this strange experience.”

    § 2. The remaining cases involve the senses of sight and hearing. The following account is from the Rev. J. A. Haydn, LL.D., Rector of Nantenan, Co. Limerick, and was first communicated by him to the Oxford Phasmatological Society.

    “Nantenan Glebe, Askeaton.

    “June 18th, 1883.

    (296) “I beg to submit to your Society the following brief narrative, extracted from my diary.

    “Nine miles from my residence, in the town of Adare, Co. Limerick, lived a gentleman, named Phillips, and his wife. They were on terms of unusually close and affectionate intercourse with myself and my family; they frequently driving over to spend the day here, and we as frequently returning the visit.

    “On Thursday, October 16th, 1879, the accouchement of Mrs. Phillips took place; it had been anticipated with some anxiety by her medical attendant; but we were gratified to learn by a letter from Mr. Phillips that the event had passed without evil consequences, and that his wife was rapidly recovering.

    “Matters were in this condition when, at 10 o’clock on the night of the ensuing Wednesday, October 22nd, I went to bed as usual. I slept in a little bedstead in an angle of my study downstairs; all the members of the household sleeping in the upper story. I had seen the doors fastened, and the children and servants were all in bed. As is my custom, I was reading in bed, when, in the midst of the hitherto unbroken silence, I heard quick, light footsteps, evidently those of a female, proceeding along the hall, as if entering from the front door, and then traversing the passage that leads to my study door.

    {ii-140}

    “Arrived immediately outside, they seemed to me to resemble those of a person in the dark, vaguely trying to find where the door was. Under the full impression that my wife had come downstairs, I called her name loudly, and asked what was the matter. While I spoke, the noise ceased, but it recommenced immediately; and while I stared at the door, I both heard and saw the handle turned halfway round,1 1See p. 612 note, and compare cases 696 and 698. and then let go, as if the person entering had changed her mind. Surprised and alarmed, I sprang up with the lamp in my hand and opened the door. All was perfectly still and silent without. None of the household had stirred, nor was any door opened that had been closed.

    “I returned to bed, and some few minutes after I heard the clock strike 11. No further disturbance occurred. This happened, observe, on Wednesday night, October 22nd, at a little before 11 o’clock.

    “On Friday morning I got a letter from Canon O’Brien, the rector of Adare, to say that Mrs. Phillips had died on Thursday morning. I immediately set out to Adare to see my bereaved friend, and found him almost beside himself with grief. Mrs. Phillips, while in other respects advancing to convalescence, had suddenly been seized with scarlatina, which had proved fatal. Thinking it might ease my poor friend to tell me the sad details, I encouraged him to speak on the subject. He complained, as one of his bitterest griefs, that for the last night of her life his wife was delirious, and did not know him or her mother, who was present. ‘She sank gradually on Wednesday,’ he said, ‘and lost her senses on that night—raving about persons and places that had been familiar to her, and evidently fancying herself actually present in distant spots. You were one of the first-mentioned; she imagined that she was in your house speaking to you. I quietly asked whether he happened to have any idea as to what hour this was at, when he answered, ‘A few minutes before 11, as I distinctly remember looking at my watch.’

    “Thus, at the very time that I, nine miles away, heard the unaccountable noises, my dying friend was speaking and acting as if she were in my presence. It seems impossible not to connect the circumstances.

    “JOHN ARMOUR HAYDN.”

    In answer to our inquiry whether he had ever experienced any other hallucination, Mr. Haydn replies, “My senses have never on any occasion played me false.” He further explains:—

    “The facts of the narrative and its dates are extracted from the diary, but not the actual language. Those facts were written by me in my diary immediately after their occurrence; my custom, as a general rule, being to record the events of any given day on the following morning. The actual extracts I can give, if required, and should be happy to do so. The story, as told in the printed slip [i.e., the above account], is accurate in all particulars, and most utterly reliable. I may add, and deeply regret to do so, that poor Phillips himself has since died.”

    The following are the verbatim extracts from the diary:—

    “Thursday, October 16th, 1879. Birth Phillips. On the 16th inst., the wife of John D. Phillips, S. I. Adare, Royal Irish Constabulary, of a son.”

    “Thursday, October 23rd, 1879. A most singular thing occurred last night. Just after going to bed, while I was reading, I heard steps {ii-141} outside my door and in the passage, as of a female walking aimlessly. Thinking it might be Louey, I called, but there was no answer. Immediately after the sounds ceased, the clock struck 11.”

    “Friday, October 24th, 1879. Letter from Lucius O’Brien, to say—and it was appalling news—that Mrs. Phillips is dead! She died yesterday morning, of fever and scarlatina. I at once determined on going over to Adare, although the roads were knee-deep and the day savagely showery. I can never forget the agony of poor Phillips... He told me that she was getting rapidly worse all day on Wednesday, and that at about half-past 10 on Wednesday night she became delirious, and raved of places where she had been.”

    The Limerick Daily Chronicle confirms Oct. 23, 1879, as the date of death.

    The hallucination here, if telepathic, well illustrates the manner in which the impression received may be developed by the percipient (Vol. I., p. 539–40). The dying woman’s thoughts, in turning to her friend, would naturally be of seeing him and speaking to him, not of an ineffectual attempt to enter his room. But the impression which the brain externalised seems to have got no further than the suggestion of a strange and unexpected visit.

    The next account is from Miss Paget, of 130, Fulham Road, S.W. It will be seen that the words which the percipient heard may not unnaturally be referred to the sudden idea in the agent’s mind that his unforeseen accident would probably get him into a scrape.

    “July 17th, 1885.

    (297) “The following is the exact account of the curious appearance to me of my brother. It was either in 1874 or 1875. My brother was third mate on board one of Wigram’s large ships. I knew he was somewhere on the coast of Australia, but I have no recollection of my having been thinking of him in any special way; though as he was my only brother, and we were great friends, there was a very close bond always between us. My father was living in the country, and one evening I went into the kitchen by myself, soon after 10, to get some hot water from the boiler. There was a large Duplex lamp in the kitchen, so it was quite light; the servants had gone to bed, and I was to turn out the lamp. As I was drawing the water, I looked up, and, to my astonishment, saw my brother coming towards me from the outside door of the kitchen. I did not see the door open, as it was in a deep recess, and he was crossing the kitchen. The table was between us, and he sat down on the corner of the table furthest away from me. I noticed he was in his sailor uniform with a monkey jacket on, and the wet was shining on his jacket and cap.1 1Compare cases 513, 520, 535, 537. I exclaimed, ‘Miles! Where have you come from?’ He answered in his natural voice, though very quickly, ‘For God’s sake, don’t say I’m here.’ This was all over in a few seconds and as I jumped towards him he was gone. I was very much {ii-142} frightened, for I had really thought it was my brother himself; and it was only when he vanished that I realised it was only an appearance. I went up to my room and wrote down the date on a sheet of paper, which I put away in my writing-table, and did not mention the circumstance to any one.

    “About three months afterwards my brother came home, and the night of his arrival I sat with him in the kitchen, while he smoked. I asked him in a casual manner if he had had any adventures, and he said, ‘I was nearly drowned at Melbourne.’ He then told me he was ashore without leave, and on returning to the ship, after midnight, he slipped off the gangway between the side of the ship and the dock. There was very little space, and if he had not been hauled up at once, he must have been drowned. He remembered thinking he was drowning, and then became unconscious.1

    1See p. 26. His absence without leave was not found out, so he escaped the punishment he expected. I then told him of how he had appeared to me, and I asked him the date. He was able to fix it exactly, as the ship sailed from Melbourne the same morning, which was the reason of his fear of being punished, as all hands were due to be on board the evening before. The date was the same as the date of his appearance to me, but the hours did not agree, as I saw him soon after 10 p.m., and his accident was after midnight. He had no recollection of thinking specially of me at the time, but he was much struck by the coincidence, and often referred to it. He did not like it, and often when he went away said, ‘Well, I hope I shan’t go dodging about as I did that time.’

    “I was about 22 at the time, and he was 20. I was always rather afraid I might see him or others after this, but I have never, before or since, had any hallucination of the sense of sight. My brother died abroad three years ago, and I had no warning then, nor do I imagine I shall ever see anything again. I am never on the look out for things of that kind, but if I ever saw anything again I would make a note of it. I destroyed the note I made of the date as soon as I had verified it, not thinking it could interest or concern anyone else.

    “RUTH PAGET

    [I received a third-hand account of this incident two years before the above was written, and this older account completely agreed with the present more recent one; which shows, at any rate, that the incidents stand out with distinctness in Miss Paget’s memory. In conversation, Miss Paget told me that at the moment when she mistook the apparition for her brother himself, she accounted for the wetness, which she so distinctly remarked, by supposing that he had got wet through with rain. She is quite sure that the coincidence of night was clearly made out, when she and her brother talked the matter over—which of course makes her statement as to the coincidence of date technically incorrect, as the accident occurred after midnight. If longitude be allowed for, the impression must have followed the accident by about 10 hours.]

    The next case is from Marian Hughes, confidential maid and secretary to Miss Julia Wedgwood, of 31, Queen Anne Street, W.

    {ii-143}

    “December, 1882.

    (298) “In the winter of 1878, my sister, Mrs. Barnes, was much pressed to marry a man named Benson, who was much attached to her; and not succeeding in his suit, he told her if she would not marry him, he would take employment in India. He obtained a situation to go out to Madras.

    “One Saturday night, about 9 o’clock, I, in the following spring, went to see my sister; she was much agitated, and told me that, just before I came in, she had been on her knees scrubbing the floor of a room on the ground floor (with a window that anyone could stand at and look in), when she heard herself called twice, ‘Annie, Annie,’ and looking up at the window, she saw what looked to her like the face of the friend who had wanted to marry her. She at once got up and rushed out, but finding no one there became convinced she had seen an apparition announcing the death of her friend. On the following Monday, she sent to the firm in the City with which he was connected, and was informed that he had been ill, but was better when last heard of. Shortly afterwards, knowing Mr. H. Wedgwood’s interest in this kind of story, I informed him of the occurrence, before it was known how it fared with my sister’s friend in India.

    “My sister, some weeks afterwards, told me that she had learnt from his employers in the City that he had died on the evening of the day she had seen the apparition in London.

    “MARIAN HUGHES.”

    The Registrar of the Diocese of Madras writes to us that he can find no record of Benson’s burial; and an exhaustive search in the records of the India Office has been equally unsuccessful. We learn, however, from the India Office that the returns do not profess to be absolutely complete.

    Writing on the case on March 4, 1883, Mr. Hensleigh Wedgwood says:—

    “The story was told me by Marian Hughes, my daughter’s confidential maid and attached friend, whose truthfulness may be entirely relied on. I wanted to hear it from her sister herself, but found that she considered it too solemn a subject to speak about. I was told of the apparition of the friend in India shortly after it occurred, and requested Marian to inform me as soon as they had news of the result.” He adds:—

    “My note of the case [i.e., the original note made when he first heard Marian Hughes’ account] was dated May 16th, 1878. I say, ‘One Saturday evening about six weeks ago,’ &c. On July 19th, in an article, I say, ‘By the end of June it was known that Annie’s friend had died suddenly on the evening of Saturday, 30th March, the day noted by Annie as the day of the apparition.’”

    [Mrs. Barnes has had an auditory hallucination on one other occasion, when she heard herself called by the voice of her husband, who, it turned out, had died at a distance two days before.]

    It is rare for nautical stories to reach the level of evidence. The following, however, is a case where the testimony seems hardly to leave room for a doubt that a hallucination of a particular kind was experienced at a particular crisis; and the question of its interpretation is a matter not of nautical but of scientific judgment. The statement (which was first published in the Spiritualist) was drawn up sixteen {ii-144} days after the incident occurred, through the prompt energy of Mr. W. H. Harrison, and on the suggestion of the late Mr. Cromwell F. Varley, F.R.S., who had questioned Captain Blacklock on the subject.

    (299) “The steamship ‘Robert Lowe’ returned to the Thames on Tuesday, October 11th, 1870, from St. Pierre, Newfoundland, where she had been repairing one of the French Atlantic Telegraph Company’s cables. An engineer on board, Mr. W. H. Pearce, of 37, Augusta Street, East India Road, Poplar, was taken ill with the typhus fever, and on the 4th of October last he died. One of his mates, Mr. D. Brown, of 1, Edward Street, Hudson’s Road, Canning Town, Plaistow, a strong, healthy man, a stoker, not likely to be led astray by imagination, attended him till the day before he died. [Brown, it appears, bore the best of characters, and had a strong friendship for Pearce.] On the afternoon before his death, at 3 o’clock, in broad daylight, Brown was attending the sick man, who wanted to get out of bed, but his companion prevented him. And this is what the witness says he saw:—

    “‘I was standing on one side of the bunk, and while trying to prevent Pearce from rising, I saw on the other side of the bunk, the wife, two children, and the mother of the dying man, all of whom I knew very well, and they are all still living. They appeared to be very sorrowful, but in all other respects were the same as ordinary human beings. I could not see through them; they were not at all transparent. They had on their ordinary clothes, and, perhaps, looked rather paler than usual. The mother said to me in a clearly audible voice, “He will be buried on Thursday, at 12 o’clock, in about fourteeen hundred fathoms of water.” They all then vanished instantly, and I saw them no more. Pearce did not see them, as he was delirious, and had been so for two days previously. I ran out of the berth in a state of great excitement, and did not enter it again while he was alive. He died on Tuesday, not Thursday, and was buried at 4 o’clock, not 12.11This markedly illustrates the absence, from first-hand and immediate accounts, of the spurious marvels which have done so much to mask the facts of telepathy. It would be a tolerably safe prophecy that in any third-hand version of this occurrence the great point would be that the death and burial took place on the day and at the hour predicted. It was a sudden surprise to me to see the apparitions. I expected nothing of the kind, and when I saw them I was perfectly cool and collected. I had never before seen anything of the kind in my life, and my health is, and always has been, good. About five minutes afterwards I told Captain Blacklock I would stop with the sick man no longer, but would not tell him why, thinking that if I did, nobody else would take my place. About an hour later, I told Captain Blacklock and Mr. Dunbar, the chief engineer, whose address is Old Mill, near Port William, Wigtownshire, Scotland.’

    “The other sailors on board say that they saw that Mr. Brown was greatly agitated from some cause, and they gradually drew this narrative out of him.” Captain Blacklock says:—

    “Brown came down into the cabin, looking very pale and frightened, and declared in a strong and decided way that he would not attend the sick man any more on any conditions—not for a thousand pounds. I told {ii-145} him that he ought to attend a sick and dying comrade, especially as a storm was raging, and he needed kind and considerate help, such as any of us might need one day. I pressed him all the more, as I wanted a strong steady man to attend the delirious invalid; besides, it being bad weather, the other men were fagged and over-worked. Brown would not go back, and he left the cabin, as I think, crying, so I sent him out a glass of brandy. Shortly after that, I heard he was very ill, and that his mates had some trouble in soothing and calming him.

    “We the undersigned, officials on board the ‘Robert Lowe,’ declare the above statements to be true, so far as each of the circumstances came under our personal notice, but we none of us commit ourselves to any opinion as to the cause of the phenomenon. We give the statement simply because we have been requested to do so, rumours of the occurrence having gone abroad and caused inquiries to be made.

    (Signed) “J. BLACKLOCK, Commander.”

    “ANDREW DUNBAR, First Engineer.

    (Signatures of six other members of the crew.)

    “Witness, W. H. HARRISON.

    “October 20th, 1870.”

    [Captain Blacklock is dead. The “Robert Lowe” was lost in 1872, and only one or two of the crew escaped. The account included a description of some distressing experiences of Mrs. Pearce’s, which had occurred in London during the few days before her husband’s death, and filled her with anxiety on his account; but this anxiety cannot be safely assumed to have been in any way a condition of Brown’s experience.]

    It cannot, of course, be proved that this was not a case of purely subjective hallucination, as Brown knew the Pearce family by sight. But the vision, both in its character and its effects, was unlike any of those which were treated above (Vol. I., Chap. XI.) as due to expectancy or anxiety. And we at any rate have the coincidence that a healthy man experienced the one hallucination of his life—and an extremely vivid and highly-developed specimen—in broad daylight, at a time when the friend in whose beclouded mind the very scene evoked may well have been dominant, was dying in close proximity to him.1 1As regards the supposition that the agent was the sick man himself, cf. case 30, Vol. i., pp. 214–6. As to the appearance of more figures than one, see the remarks on case 202.

    The following is another nautical case, as to which it is not easy to form an opinion. The points against it are that it is from an uneducated witness; and that it contains an account of an experience which in one respect—the length of its duration—has scarcely a parallel, as far as I know, among hallucinations of sane and healthy persons.2 2See however cases 590 and 621. Nevertheless, unless the account is an absolute fabrication, {ii-146} which seems very unlikely, the reasonable conclusion, I think, would be that a telepathic hallucination was produced, though its details may have been exaggerated. Mr. Louis Lyons, of 3, Bouverie Square, Folkestone, wrote, on October 21st, 1882:—

    (300) “Some time ago, my son told me that a friend of his, a rough and simple-minded fellow, had returned from Shields, and told him a curious tale. The man is a sailor, and had served with his father ever since he was a boy, in a collier which trades between this port and the North. The youth, having become very proficient in his calling, went on his voyages, leaving his father, now an elderly man, at home. During a stormy voyage, and not far off the Humber, the young sailor saw his father, whom he had left in excellent health, pacing the deck, and calling out several times, as he was wont to do, ‘Mind your helm, Joe!’ The young man wished to speak to his father, but could not; some occult power prevented him. At the end of the voyage a letter awaited the young sailor, announcing the death of the father at the precise time when he appeared to his son; but please to remark (a matter of some importance, I think,) that the apparition remained on deck some three hours, until the vessel got to Grimsby. [This differs from the first-hand account.]

    “I disbelieved my son’s story, and requested him to ask his friend to come and take tea with me, that I might hear the account from his own mouth. He came. The simplicity of his manner, his plain, open-hearted account, and I may even say his stupidity, manifested in his peculiar diction, imparted an impress to his tale.”

    At our request Mr. Lyons interrogated Edward Sings more formally, the next time that the latter visited Folkestone. The following is Sings’ own account:—

    “Folkestone.

    “December 29th, 1882.

    “I left my father last about six years ago, on a Good Friday. He was in good health when I left him. We were in a gale of wind, and we were running in the Humber; we carried the main gaff away; I was at the wheel steering her in. He came to me 3 or 4 times, tapped me on the shoulder, and told me to mind the helm, and I told the captain my father was drowned, or something happened to him. After we got in, when it was my watch, he was walking to and fro with me, and I went down below and told my mate I could not stop up, and I did not like to. My mate took my watch. I never could speak to my father, for something kept me from doing so. I heard of my father’s death a week afterwards. No one else saw my father’s spirit.1 1See p. 48, note. My father stopped on deck with me an hour, and as I could not stand it any longer I went below, and my mate took my place. We cast both anchors, and were towed into Grimsby. My mother and sister were at my father’s death-bed, and they told me that my father asked several times whether I was in the harbour.

    “I certify this to be a true account.

    “EDWARD SINGS.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that E. Sings’ father died on {ii-147} April 7, 1877, aged 53. Good Friday fell on March 30; and this, it will be seen, corresponds very well with the above statement.

    Mr. Lyons has kindly visited Sings’ mother and sister, at 67, Tontine Street, Folkestone, and received a similar account from them.

    The next case is from a lady whose name may be given privately. She herself would have been perfectly willing that it should be published, because the incident “is as natural and real to me as any other event in my life”; but she thinks that the publication might give annoyance to some of her relatives.

    ““C—— Rectory.

    “May 23rd, 1884.

    (301) “In June, 1878, when nursing a brother who was ill, I woke up suddenly about 2 o’clock on the night of the 24th, calling him, and feeling strongly that he wanted me. I jumped up and went to the table, intending to get his medicine, as I was in the habit of doing by day, but the touch of the table brought me to my senses, and I went back to bed, thinking it was merely fancy. I was 17 then, quite strong and well, and had never been conscious of any such impression before. My sister, who slept in a room opening off mine, heard me call my brother’s name, and came in to see what I was doing, and stayed with me for some time.

    “On asking my brother the next morning what sort of night he had had, he said, ‘Very wakeful at first, but after you came in at 2 o’clock I went to sleep all right.’ I said nothing to him of my experience at that hour, but told him I had never been in his room all night. He answered, ‘Of course you were; you came in and gave me my drops, and settled my pillows, and then I got up and did what you told me,’ which was opening the window. I assured him I had done nothing of the kind, when he said quite impatiently, ‘I couldn’t have imagined it unless you had; but you mustn’t do it again or you will catch cold, running about the house at night.’

    “I said no more about it for fear of alarming him, and I never told anyone of it, lest they should think the nursing was making me ill, but I was quite strong and well at the time. I put it down in my note-book that day, and a year later I have another reference there to this same event.

    “Two months later, in August, 1878, I was in Hampshire, my brother in Sussex. I knew he was dying, but had no reason for thinking him in any more immediate danger on that day. About 9 o’clock, during breakfast,

    a sudden feeling of great depression came over me, which increased and I could not shake it off all the morning, though I did not particularly connect it with my brother. One of my sisters noticed it, and asked if I felt ill. Later on, a telegram came to say that my brother had died quite suddenly, a few minutes past 9 o’clock. I only mention this because it was the only other occasion on which I ever remember being conscious of such a sensation.

    “K. A. O.”

    [This last coincidence may easily, of course, have been accidental.]

    {ii-148}

    Miss O. adds:—

    “My sister is away from home, so I wrote to her without giving any reason for wanting her evidence, and tried to say nothing that would recall this occurrence to her mind. I simp]y asked her, “Do you remember your coming into my room one night during H.’s illness? If you do, I want a written statement of what you remember.’

    “I enclose her reply. She mentions that I called his name, and that she found me crying, which was true, as the impression that he wanted me was so strongly upon me, and yet I believed it to be fancy. She knows that I never left my room, otherwise I might have thought that I had really gone down the passage to my brother’s room, which was at the other end, but I never walked in my sleep in my life.

    “My brother was so positive about it that I felt certain he believed I had actually done what I had tried to do in my own room. It seemed perfectly natural to me, but I said nothing to my people, for fear they should think the strain of nursing would make me ill.

    “These are the references in my note-book: On June 25th, 1878, among other things about my brother, ‘He said that in the night he woke up, firmly persuaded that I had been in his room, and was talking to him, and he got up at once, and did exactly as I told him.’ On June 24th, 1879: ‘It was this night last year that I woke up in the middle of the night calling H., and then E. came in. And the next morning he told me that just at that moment he thought I came into his room, and he got up to do as I told him.’

    “I can’t account for his thinking I told him to open the window, unless from the fact that I got up and went over to the window in my room where the table was.

    “My brother was several years older than myself, and I was extremely attached to him; he was accustomed to my doing this sort of thing for him by day.

    “This happened at Salehurst Vicarage, in Sussex, two months before my father came here. I never spoke of it to them until this week, when I told my brothers and sisters.”

    The following is the enclosure mentioned:—

    “May 21st, 1884.

    “I remember well the event you allude to, of how you awoke one night, calling for Herbert, and I went into your room, found you crying, and tried to comfort you. I have often thought of it since.

    “EMILY C. O.”

    In answer to inquiries, Miss K. A. O. says:—

    “You ask if this experience was unique in my brother’s case, and I believe it to be so. He would have treated anything of the kind merely as a joke, and the idea that such a thing as thought-transference was possible would never have crossed his mind. Nothing that I had done before could have made him expect me at night, for I had never done any night nursing, and he himself scolded me for what he imagined the imprudence of my proceeding. If I had been in the habit of going to his room, then I should have gone at once when I felt he wanted me, but as I {ii-149} had never done so, I was afraid of alarming him by going in at night. I have never had any similar experience.”

    This case resembles No. 271 above, in the point that the “agency” was apparently exercised at the moment of startled waking from sleep; but considering the circumstances, the present coincidence could more easily than the other be regarded as accidental. Had the brother’s experience been a dream, or even a vision between sleeping and waking, we should feel that to be the reasonable view. There is one feature in the account, no doubt, which looks very like dreaming—the brother’s remark, “You gave me my drops.” But it will be observed that this is not mentioned in the entry in the note-book; it seems therefore very probable that it was an unconscious addition on Miss O.’s part. On the other side we have her brother’s recorded testimony that the phantasmal visit took place at a time when he was “very wakeful”; and it would be at least noteworthy that he should have had what we are led to suppose was the one waking hallucination of his life, at the very time that his sister was also experiencing a unique and closely corresponding impression.

    § 3. The next case is of a rarer type; as, though the senses of sight and hearing were both affected, the two impressions were not combined in the same incident, but were separated by several hours interval. The account is from Mr. Garling, of 12, Westbourne Gardens, Folkestone, a witness as free from credulity and superstitious fancies as can well be imagined.

    “February, 1883.

    (302) “One Thursday evening, about the middle of August in 1849, I went, as I often did, to pass the evening with the Rev.— Harrison and his family, with whom I had for many years lived on terms of the closest intimacy. The weather being very fine, we made up a party with the neighbours, and went to the Surrey Zoological Gardens, and spent the evening there. I note this particularly, because it proves that he and his family were in good health incontestably on that day, and that no suspicion of what was to follow so soon existed with anyone. The next day I went down on a visit to some relatives in Hertfordshire, who lived at a house called Flamstead Lodge, about 26 miles from London, on the high road. We usually dined at 2 o’clock, and on Monday afternoon following, after their early dinner, I left the ladies in the drawing-room, and sauntered through the paddock down to the high road. You will note the time was in the middle of a sunny August day, in a wide, public, commonplace high road, not a hundred yards from a roadside public-house—I myself in a perfectly cheerful, healthy frame of mind—no surroundings of any kind to excite the imagination, some country people not far off, {ii-150} indeed, at the time I speak of. Suddenly a ‘phantom’ stood before me, so close that had it been a human being it must have touched me; blotting out for a moment the landscape and surrounding objects; itself indistinct in outline, but with lips that seemed to move and murmur something, and with eyes fearfully distinct that fixed and followed and glared into mine, with a look so intense and deeply earnest that I fairly recoiled from the spot and started backwards. I said to myself instinctively and probably uttered it aloud, ‘Good God, it is Harrison!’ though not thinking of him or having reason to think of him in the remotest degree at the moment. In probably a few seconds, which seemed to me far longer, it vanished, leaving me rooted to the spot for a few moments, and sensible of the reality of the vision by the curious physical effect it left upon me. This was as if the blood was like ice in my veins;1 1See p. 37, note. no flutter of the nerves, but a deadly chill feeling that lasted more or less for nearly an hour, and only gradually wore off as the circulation returned. I have never felt any similar sensation before or since. I said nothing to the ladies when I returned, as I should have frightened them out of their wits, and the impression made upon me gradually became fainter as the day wore out.

    “I have said that the house was near the high road; it stood in its own grounds by the side of a country lane leading up to the village, 200 or 300 yards or more from any other habitation, with a seven-foot iron railing in front to keep out tramps; gates always locked at night; about 30 feet of hard gravel and paved pathway from front door to lane. A beautiful quiet summer evening followed. Placed as the house was, with hard gravel and high iron palisade and paving, no one could have approached the house in the deep silence of that summer evening without being heard a long way off. There was, moreover, a large dog in a kennel, placed so as to command the front entrance, especially to warn off intruders; and a little terrier inside that barked at everybody and at every noise. We were just retiring to bed, and were sitting in the drawing-room, which was on the ground floor, close by the front door, the terrier within. The servants had already gone to bed in a room quite at the back, 60 feet away. They, when they came down, told us they were asleep, and were roused by the noise. Suddenly there came to the front door a noise so loud and continuous (the door seeming to shake in the frame and to vibrate under some tremendous blows), that we started to our feet in amazement, and the servants came in a moment after, half-dressed, running downstairs from their room at the back to know what it was. We went at once to the door, but

    could neither hear nor see anything or anybody. And the dogs gave no tongue whatever. The terrier, contrary to its nature, slunk shivering under the sofa, and would not stop even at the door, and nothing could induce him to go into the darkness. There was no knocker on the door, nothing to fall down, and no possibility of anyone approaching or leaving the house, so situated, in that profound silence, without discovery. They were all horribly frightened, and I found it very difficult to get them to go to bed, but I was myself in so unimpressionable a frame of mind that I did not at the time connect it with the ‘phantom’ in the afternoon; but still went to {ii-151} bed myself, pondering upon it and seeking some obvious explanation to satisfy the members of the household, but without success.

    “I stopped there till Wednesday morning, having no suspicion of what had happened in my absence. On that morning I returned to town to my chambers, then at No. 11, King’s Road, Grays Inn. My clerk met me at the door with, ‘Sir, a gentleman has been here two or three times; is most anxious to see you; says he must see you immediately; he is gone out for a few minutes to get a biscuit, and he will be back directly.’ In a few minutes the gentleman returned, and I recognised at once a Mr. Chadwick, also an intimate friend of Harrison and his family. He then told me, to my amazement, ‘There has been a fearful visitation of cholera in the Wandsworth Road,’ meaning at Mr. Harrison’s; ‘all are gone.’ Mrs. Rosco was attacked on Friday, and died; her maid the same evening, and died. Mrs. Harrison was attacked on Saturday morning, and died that evening. The housemaid died on Sunday. The cook also was taken ill, was carried away, and escaped very narrowly. Poor Harrison was attacked himself on Sunday night, was fearfully ill all Monday and yesterday, and has been taken away from the Pest-house in the Wandsworth Road to Jack Straw’s Castle at Hampstead, to get into a better air; he was begging and praying for the people about him, all Monday and yesterday, to send for you, but nobody knew where you were gone to. You must take a cab at once and come with me, or you will not see him alive.’ I went with Chadwick at once, but he was dead before I reached the place.

    “H. B. GARLING.”

    The obituary in the Watchman, for August 15th, 1849, shows that Mrs. Rosco died from cholera on August 4th, Mrs. Harrison on August 8th, and the Rev. T. Harrison on Thursday (not Wednesday), the 9th, at Hampstead.

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Garling says:—

    “The ladies were old, and have been dead some 25 years. Of the servants at the house all trace has been lost.”

    Mr. Garling added a few details in conversation with the present writer. The figure met him on the high road, so close to his face that he hardly observed anything in detail except the face. He has had one other hallucination, when he seemed to see the figure of a friend at the foot of his bed. But the friend was one whose funeral he had just been attending, and who, moreover, had been accustomed, in life, to sit where the figure was seen; and Mr. Garling himself was going to sleep at the time. The experience, therefore, cannot be argued to show any special proclivity to subjective hallucination.

    The auditory experience here is a good specimen of what I have called the rudimentary type—a class of which the inconclusiveness has been sufficiently dwelt on. But clearly the presumption that the sound was telepathic in origin is strengthened by the fact of the visual experience which preceded it. Telepathy having (as we may reasonably {ii-152} suppose) produced the first phenomenon, it is not unreasonable to credit it with the second; especially since the second, though it affected so many persons, seems in itself particularly hard to account for by any objective cause in the vicinity. It may appear, no doubt, extremely strange that the conditions which first flashed an impression to the one person directly interested should afterwards involve the whole household in a psychic storm; but this topic belongs to the concluding chapter, on “Collective Cases.”

    {ii-153}

    CHAPTER XVII.

    RECIPROCAL CASES.

    § 1. WE have now to consider a quite new type of telepathic action. In the classes which have so far been passed in review, whether experimental or spontaneous, the parts of the agent and the percipient have been well defined, and the current of influence has set from the one to the other in an unmistakeable fashion. But in several cases, it may be remembered, (especially Nos. 35 and 94,) we have had indications that the influence might be a reciprocal one—that each of the parties might receive a telepathic impulse from the other, and so each be at once agent and percipient. The cases referred to were doubtful, because the experience at one end of the line was a dream; and dreams having an almost limitless scope, it was conceivable enough that that of Mr. Newnham, for instance, though it curiously corresponded with his fiancée’s actions and surroundings at the time, did so by accident; and that therefore his mental condition, while it affected her, was not affected by her. But had he had a waking vision of her, as she had of him, we should have considered it probable that the influence was mutual; since if two rare or unique events, which present so obvious a primâ facie connection as A’s vision of B and B’s vision of A, fall at the same time, we cannot readily assume the coincidence to be accidental. And if there are further and more distinct grounds for attributing B’s vision to telepathy—say because A is dying at the time—it will be only reasonable to regard A’s vision as part of the same complex phenomenon, rather than to suppose that A has an accidental vision at the same time as B has a telepathic one. But of course the proof of a reciprocal influence would be stronger still if, at the the time of B’s impression of A, A expressed in words some piece of knowledge as to B’s condition which could not have been acquired in a normal manner. We thus see that a group of cases which have all the same claim to be considered {ii-154} telepathic, may have different claims, ranging from the very doubtful to the very conclusive, to be considered reciprocally telepathic.1 1The numerous cases where two friends in different places prove to have been each exceptionally engrossed with the idea of the other at the same moment, must not be put forward as instances of telepathic, much less of reciprocal, action; for we may always suppose that the impressions only appeared to have been exceptionally vivid after the fact of the coincidence had given them a certain exceptional interest. The undue importance often attached to such incidents is to be regretted, since it confuses the subject, and to some extent excuses a similar confusion on the part of opponents—as, e.g., when an eminent man of science thinks telepathy sufficiently refuted by this very consideration, that by accident friends sometimes think of one another, and even write to one another, simultaneously (Deutsche Rundschau for Jan., 1886, p. 45). Nor will it suffice for the exceptional character of one of the impressions to be established beyond doubt. For example, Miss Edith Taylor, of 9, Endsleigh Gardens, N.W., tells us of the following experience of herself and a friend. “June 25th, 1884. “I was living at the time in Germany, and my friend in Holland. She had been visiting at the house where I was staying, but had returned home some weeks before the ‘illusion’ occurred. One evening in the autumn of 1880, I was walking alone in the garden, trying to learn some German poetry, and not succeeding very well, when I heard some one step on to the gravel walk behind me. I then felt the touch of a hand on my arm, and my friend’s voice said pretty distinctly, ‘Edith, Edith.’ I turned round very quickly, and I believe I said, ‘Why, what is it?’ I certainly expected to find some one behind me, and had a sort of wild idea that it must be my friend, from the curious way in which my name was spoken, the foreign accent in the word. Seeing nobody I was frightened, and went in. In answer to the letter in which I told her what had passed, my friend wrote back that it was curious that I should have fancied her so near me just then. She had been reading Italian, which we had studied together for a while, and had very much wished to speak to me about some passage that had struck her in the lesson. My friend had not heard or imagined that she heard me, but she said she felt as if the air were full of me.” Miss Taylor’s hallucination was quite unique in her life; but we cannot tell that her friend’s thoughts were not pretty constantly directed to her at this period; and there is, therefore, no reason why the coincidence, such as it was, should not have been a pure accident.

    I will begin with a couple of the more doubtful cases. The following account was received through the kindness of Mr. G. J. Romanes, F.R.S., who is well acquainted with the narrator.

    “March 18th, 1883.

    (303) “On the night of the 26th of October, 1872, I suddenly felt very unwell, and went to bed about half-past 9, an hour earlier than usual, and fell asleep almost immediately, when I had a very vivid dream, which impressed me greatly; so much so, that I remarked to my wife, on waking, that I feared we should shortly receive bad news. I imagined I was sitting in the drawing-room near a table, reading, when an old lady suddenly appeared seated on the opposite side, close to the table. She neither spoke nor moved much, but gazed very intently on me, and I on her, for at least 20 minutes. I was much struck by her appearance, she having white hair, very dark eyebrows, and penetrating eyes. I did not recognise her at all, but thought she was a stranger. My attention was then directed to the door, which opened, and my aunt entering and seeing me and the old lady staring at each other in this extraordinary way, with much surprise and in a tone of reproach exclaimed, ‘John! don’t you know who this is?’ and without giving me time to reply said, ‘Why, this is your grandmother,’ whereupon my ghostly visitor suddenly rose from her chair, embraced me, and vanished.

    {ii-155}

    At that moment I awoke. Such was the impression it made on my mind, that I got my note-book and made a note of this strange dream, believing that it foreboded bad tidings. However, several days passed without bringing any dreaded intelligence, when one night I received a letter from my father, announcing the rather sudden death of my grandmother, which took place on the very night and hour of my dream, half-past 10.

    “About four months after her death, I went to the Isle of Wight, where she lived, to get information from my relatives as to what my grandmother was really like. My aunt and cousin described her in every particular, and their descriptions of her coincided most marvellously with the figure and face that appeared to me, the white hair and dark eyebrows being a peculiarity in her. This I particularly observed in my dream. I learnt, too, that she was extremely fussy in the arrangement of her cap, always being anxious that no part, even the strings, should be out of place, and curious to relate, I noticed in my dream that she was nervously touching her cap strings, now and again, for fear they should be out of place. My cousin, who was with her when she died, told me that my grandmother had been delirious for some time previous to her departure; and for a moment, when in that state, she suddenly put her arms round my cousin’s neck, and on opening her eyes and regaining consciousness, she said with a look of surprise, ‘Oh, Polly, is it you? I thought it was some body else.’ This seems to me very curious, as it was just what she did before she vanished from me in the drawing-room. I must add that I had not seen my grandparent for at least 14 years, and the last time I saw her she had dark hair, but this had gradually changed to white, leaving her eyebrows dark, and I am positive that nobody ever mentioned this peculiarity to me.”1 1In respect of this last feature, the case may be classed with those of Chap. xii., §8. The nervous fidgeting with the cap-strings may possibly be regarded as a distinctive habit, sufficiently deeply organised to be a feature in the person’s latent representation of her own physique. See the remarks at the end of the section referred to.

    “J. H. W.”

    Mrs. W. says:—

    “July 1st, 1885.

    “I quite remember my husband telling me, on my going to my room on the evening of the 26th October, of a remarkable dream he had just had, and also his making an entry in the pocket book on the following morning.

    “F. W.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that Jane W. died at the age of 72, on Oct. 26, 1870 [see below], at Brixton, Isle of Wight.

    Mr. Podmore says:—

    “I called on Mr. J. H. W. to-day (July 4th, 1884), and heard the account from him vivâ voce. His cousin’s corroboration, for a reason which he explained to me, cannot be obtained. But he explained to me that he went to see his cousin within three months of the death, and received full particulars of the death-scene from her then. I asked him if he stood by the phrase ‘at least 20 minutes,’ pointing out that it was difficult to attach any precise meaning to these words; if they were a correct description of his impressions, a grotesque incident must have been interpolated {ii-156} in the midst of an otherwise realistic dream. He maintains that the words are correct; it seemed to him that he and the old lady sat staring at each other across the table for a very long time. Mr. W. told me that he dreams very little; and that he has never had another dream which he thought worth noting. He has never dreamt of death.”

    After a second call, Mr. Podmore writes:—

    “I received an account from Mrs. W. of her husband’s dream, as she remembered to have heard it within an hour of its occurrence and subsequently, which tallied precisely with the account here given. I saw also the note made on the following morning. It occurs at the head of the first page of a small pocket sketch-book, the rest of the page being occupied with pen or pencil memoranda of accounts, &c. The entry is ‘Odd dream, night of October 26th, 1870.’ The last numeral, which is very indistinct, is apparently 0. Mr. W., in writing his original account in March, 1883, had referred to this note and read the final numeral as 2. Hence the discrepancy. He has no other memorandum of the death.

    “I pressed him as far as I could, but he still declines to give his name, fearing that he might acquire the reputation of being ‘ghostly’ and fanciful, and thus injure his professional prospects.”

    Clearly the dream here is far less likely to have been accidental than Mr. Newnham’s. But the inference from the dying woman’s words, that she may have been in some way affected with a sense of her grandson’s presence, is, of course not one that can be pressed. And the same remark applies to several cases where A, who is in the crisis of illness, professes actually to have seen, as though by some clairvoyant flash, an absent relative, B, who turns out to have had at the same time a telepathic impression of A; for unless special details of B’s aspect or surroundings are described, A’s alleged perception of him may always be supposed to have been a mere subjective dream or vision, and the percipience is not demonstrably reciprocal.1 1For instances of the sort, see cases 245 and 354; also 612, and Mrs. Fox’s account, given in a note to that case.

    The next example—from Mr. J. T. Milward Pierce, of Bow Ranche, Knox County, Nebraska, U.S.A.,—stands somewhat apart.

    “Frettons, Danbury, Chelmsford.

    “January 5th, 1885.

    (304) “I live in Nebraska, U.S., where I have a cattle ranche, &c. I am engaged to be married to a young lady living in Yankton, Dakota, 25 miles north.

    “About the end of October, 1884, while trying to catch a horse, I was kicked in the face, and only escaped being brained by an inch or two; {ii-157} as it was I had two teeth split and a severe rap on the chest. There were several men standing near. I did not faint, nor was I insensible for a moment, as I had to get out of the way of the next kick. There was a moment’s pause before anyone spoke. I was standing leaning against the stable wall, when I saw on my left, apparently quite close, the young lady I have mentioned. She looked pale. I did not notice what she wore; but I distinctly noticed her eyes, which appeared troubled and anxious. There was not merely a face, but the whole form, looking perfectly material and natural. At that moment my bailiff asked me if I was hurt. I turned my head to answer him, and when I looked again she had gone. I was not much hurt by the horse; my mind was perfectly clear, for directly afterwards I went to my office and drew the plans and prepared specifications for a new house, a work which requires a clear and concentrated mind.

    “I was so haunted by the appearance that next morning I started for Yankton. The first words the young lady said when I met her were, ‘Why, I expected you all yesterday afternoon. I thought I saw you looking so pale, and your face all bleeding.’ (I may say the injuries had made no visible scars.) I was very much struck by this and asked her when this was. She said, ‘Immediately after lunch.’ It was just after my lunch that the accident occurred. I took the particulars down at the time. I may say that before I went into Yankton, I was afraid that something had happened

    to the young lady. I shall be happy to send you any further particulars you may desire.

    “JNO. T. MILWARD PIERCE.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Pierce says:—

    “I think the vision lasted as long as a quarter of a minute,” He has had no other visual hallucination, except that once, when lying shot through the jaw by an Indian, he thought he saw an Indian standing over him, and infers that it was not a real one, or he would have been scalped.

    Mr, Pierce wrote on May 27th, 1885:—

    “I sent your letter to the lady, but did not get an answer before leaving England, and upon arriving here found her very ill, and it is only recently I have been able to get the information you wished for. She now wishes me to say that she recollects the afternoon in question, and remembers expecting me, and being afraid something had happened, though it was not my usual day for coming; but although at the time she told me that she saw me with a face bleeding, she does not now appear to recollect this, and I have not suggested it, not wishing to prompt her in any way.”

    In another letter of July 13th, 1885, Mr, Pierce says:—

    “I am sorry I can do no better for you than the enclosed letter. The fact seems to be that events of absorbing interest, and illness, appear to have driven nearly all remembrance of the incident from Miss MacGregor’s mind, attaching no particular importance to it at first. I have prompted her memory, but she only says, no doubt I am right, but that she can’t now recollect it.”

    {ii-158}

    The letter enclosed from Miss Macgregor is as follows:—

    “Yankton, D.T.

    “July 13th, 1885.

    “I have read the letter you sent to Mr Pierce. I am afraid I cannot now recall the time you mention clearly enough to give you any distinct recollection.

    “I remember feeling sure some accident had happened, but I told Mr. Pierce at the time everything unusual I felt, and events that have since occurred have, I am afraid, completely effaced all clear recollections of the facts.

    “ANNIE MACGREGOR.”

    Knowing Mr. Pierce, I have no doubt that his recollection of what Miss MacGregor told him at the time is substantially accurate, and if so, it would be natural to interpret her experience as telepathic. But his vision may have been purely subjective. I am not aware, it is true, of any precisely parallel case, unless indeed it be Mr. Pierce’s other experience, with the Indian. In my collection of purely subjective cases, I have one from a lady who was troubled by hallucinations for some time after a concussion of the brain; but the blow which Mr. Pierce received was a comparatively slight one. Still, seeing that on the one hand his faculties may have been momentarily disordered by it, and that on the other the person whose form he saw was in a completely normal state at the time, it is safer not to lay stress on the reciprocal aspect of the case.

    § 2. The remaining cases are; I think, less doubtful. The following account is extracted from the evidence given by the late Mr. Cromwell F. Varley, F.R.S., before a Committee of the Dialectical Society, on May 25, 1869 (Report, p. 161. Another case of Mr. Varley’s will be found in Vol. I., p. 288).

    (305) “In a second case my sister-in-law had heart disease. Mrs. Varley and I went into the country to see her, as we feared, for the last time. I had a nightmare and could not move a muscle, While in this state, I saw the spirit1 1See p. 48, note. of my sister-in-law in the room. I knew that she was confined to her bedroom. She said, ‘If you do not move you will die’; but I could not move, and she said, ‘If you submit yourself to me, I will frighten you, and you will then be able to move.’ At first I objected, wishing to ascertain more about her spirit-presence. When at last I consented, my heart had ceased beating. I think at first her efforts to terrify me did not succeed, but when she suddenly exclaimed, ‘Oh, Cromwell! I am dying,’ that frightened me exceedingly, and threw me out of the torpid state, and I awoke in the ordinary way. My shouting had aroused Mrs. Varley; we examined the door, and it was still locked and bolted, and I told my wife what had happened, having noted the hour, 3.45 a.m., and {ii-159} cautioned her not to mention the matter to anybody, but to hear what was her sister’s version, if she alluded to the subject. In the morning she told us that she had passed a dreadful night; that she had been in our room, and greatly troubled on my account, and that I had been nearly dying. It was between 3.30 and 4 a.m. when she saw I was in danger. She only succeeded in arousing me by exclaiming, ‘Oh, Cromwell! I am dying.’ I appeared to her to be in a state which otherwise would have ended fatally.”

    Even this incident might possibly be explained (like case 94) as an instance of simultaneous dreams11See Vol. i., pp. 314–20, and the opening cases in Chap. iii. of the Supplement. an independent and original nightmare of one of the two parties concerned inducing that of the other, without being reciprocally influenced by it. The next case, if correctly recorded, could not be so regarded. The account is contained in a letter from Mr. T. W. Smith, late of Leslie Lodge, Ealing, to the Psychological Society, dated February 26th, 1876, and kindly lent to us by Mr. F. K. Munton, who was secretary of that Society. Mr. Smith, who was known to Prof. Barrett, left Ealing early in 1877, and his present address cannot be ascertained.

    (306) “I found the lady who is now my wife at a large public institution to which I was appointed headmaster, in 1872. On leaving her situation, I induced her, for certain reasons, to conceal the fact of our intended marriage from those of her friends whom she had left behind at the school, and the only way to do this was not to write to any of them.

    “Some six months after our marriage, I was reading in bed, according to a habit of mine, my wife asleep at my side, when she awoke suddenly, sat up, and exclaimed, in very earnest tones, ‘Oh, I have been to ——.’ I, of course, treated what she forthwith began to relate to me as a more than usually vivid dream, and the next day ceased to think of it. She, however, recurred to her dream from time to time, and I remember the circumstantial way in which she dwelt upon each point of it, especially a peculiar expression which I did not forget, though I made no written note of it at the time. Three months later my wife went to visit her mother, and found there a letter from one of her friends, urgently entreating some one to write and say whether Miss —— (my wife) was alive or dead. I was induced to go and see the writer, and then ascertained the cause of her hastily-written and strangely-worded epistle. The two occurrences on the same day—as well as I could fix the date, for neither of us were quite certain as to that essential particular—present a coincidence which I have never been able satisfactorily to explain on any hypothesis consistent with what is at present known of nature’s laws.

    “My wife dreamt that she was in a well-remembered room, at the base of the building, in company with four females—two of whom were old friends and two strangers to her. They were talking and laughing and preparing to retire to their several sleeping apartments. She saw one of them turn off the gas. She followed them upstairs, entered with two of {ii-160} them into a bedroom, saw ‘Bessie’ place some things in a box, undress, and get into bed; then she went to her, took her by the hand, and said, ‘Bessie, let us be friends.’ So much for the dream.

    “The writer of the letter gave me this account of what had occasioned her writing; and I need scarcely say that I did not first mention what my wife had dreamt, for in that case it might be supposed that I had myself assisted in suggesting the remarkable expression, which, in my opinion, removes the occurrence from the category of ‘remarkable coincidence.’ She and her friend, ‘Bessie,’ had gone to bed one Sunday night, when an alarming cry from the latter brought the other to her bedside: ‘I have just seen ——’ (my wife); ‘she touched me and said, “Let us be friends.”’

    “The next day, on discussing the matter, though some of them thought that Bessie had been dreaming, and imagined what she declared she saw, others thought it a ‘sign’ that my wife was dead. And the one who was the best scribe amongst them undertook to write to the only address they possessed, in order to ascertain the truth. The letter had not been forwarded to us because my wife had, it seems, told her mother my wish that no communication with her former

    friends should take place.

    “The odd thing about the dream is that my wife had always been on good terms with ‘Bessie,’ and was so on parting with her.

    “In the foregoing account of the dream, and what I may call its complement, I omit many minor points, such as the fact that two new comers had taken the place of two former friends of my wife; that the effect on both my wife and Bessie was beyond what any ordinary dream would have produced; and that the two females, whom my wife in her dream saw enter the bedroom, did really occupy the same room.”

    [It is much to be regretted that we have had no opportunity of examining the letter;1 1The importance, in these apparently reciprocal cases, of obtaining independent evidence from both sides, is well shown in the following example. A lady of good sense, occupying a responsible position—whose name is suppressed not by her wish, but because our view of the case differs considerably from hers—wrote to us on November 29, 1884:— “In the summer of 1864, I had cause for grave anxiety concerning the moral condition of a very dear friend. I knew that W. had formed a connection which, if persisted in, would lead to his ruin, present and eternal. On the 30th of August, 1864, I retired to rest about half-past 10. As the clock struck 11 my husband was alarmed by my violent sobbing, which caused me to awake, on which I exclaimed, ‘Oh, husband! it is all over with poor W. I have seen him, in my dream, brought under great temptation by the wicked words of that woman. In a passion of tears I implored him to have mercy on himself. At first he seemed to hesitate, then, at a sign from her, he motioned me angrily away, saying, “I will have none of your restrictions. I have been held back by them too long already,” With these bitter words I awoke, to find myself bathed in tears.’ “For three days this vision haunted me with a tenacity I could not shake off. Judge then my surprise at receiving the following narrative from W.:— “‘On the night of August 20th, while sitting smoking my cigar (after 10 p.m.), the last person on earth I wished to see was announced. She came forward to me with words of bitter reproach, followed by tender persuasion, in the midst of which the door of my dining-room again opened, and you appeared, in a long white gown, your hair floating over your shoulders. With a wild burst of weeping you implored me not to listen to another word she uttered, and when I angrily replied, “I will have none of your restrictions,” with a look of anguish unutterable you slowly faded from my sight. Not so the impression produced on my mind. I felt God had sent you as my guardian angel, and, like one of old, I was not disobedient to the heavenly vision, I was saved in a moment of supreme danger, and desire to give God the glory for so evident an interposition on my behalf.’ “I did not keep the letter, but am absolutely positive of its date and its corroboration of the remarkable vision. “E. A. A.” Mrs. A.’s husband corroborates as follows:— “January 29th, 1885. “I can distinctly recollect the night on which my wife had the remarkable dream referred to, the particulars of which she related to me directly she awoke. She was greatly excited and much troubled, and repeated several times, ‘I hope nothing has happened to W. G.’ “A day or two afterwards—it may have been the second or third day; of this I am uncertain—she received a letter from our friend, which I saw and read, and which confirmed in an extraordinary manner the connection with her dream. Mrs. A., I think, has already told you the particulars, which I need not enter into further. “J. A.” Now though this account was undoubtedly given in good faith, it contains some very suspicious points. The conversational style of interview between the gentleman (whose previous excited state naturally marks him as the “agent”) and the apparition, finds hardly any parallel in our first-hand records; and it is rendered doubly strange by his accepting his friend’s intrusion—at that hour and in that guise—as a quite natural incident. We might surmise that possibly something of a telepathic nature took place; but that it was exactly, or even approximately, what is reported could not be assumed without independent corroboration. I therefore wrote to the gentleman concerned, and asked him whether he remembered having ever seen the phantasmal figure of a friend, whose visit was apparently intended to warn him at a critical juncture. He replied: “I remember the circumstance you refer to distinctly;” adding that he was at the time overwrought in body and mind. But on my asking him whether any one else was present at the time, and what were the words spoken, he replied, “There was no one present, nor any words spoken, to the best of my recollection; had there been, I don’t think I should have forgotten.” Clearly a case where there is this amount of discrepancy between the two principal witnesses cannot be quoted as evidence. but the correspondence of the two experiences would hardly have impressed Mr. Smith as it did, if it had not included a very striking detail.]

    {ii-161}

    The evidential weakness of this narrative is, of course, the doubt as to the exactitude of the coincidence. Supposing the two experiences to have fallen on the same night, we can hardly help connecting “Bessie’s” impression (which seems to have been a hallucination and not a dream) with Mrs. Smith’s remarkable vision; which latter is again, apparently, an instance of thought-transference of that extreme form which I have described as telepathic clairvoyance.1 1 Compare Mr. Moule’s case, Vol. i., p. 110 note.

    That this last word is the appropriate one for describing (it is far enough of course from explaining) the process appears from other examples; and a glance at the condition of these reciprocal cases will show that it would naturally be so. There is, as a rule, no difficulty in deciding to which of the two persons concerned the origin of the complex phenomenon should be traced; since one of the two is in a more or less abnormal condition, as compared to the other. In Mrs. Smith’s case, the abnormality (outwardly at any rate) was nothing beyond sleep; but in other examples it is far more pronounced. If, then, it is A who is in the abnormal state—dying, or whatever it may be—we attribute B’s vision of him to that state. But we cannot inversely attribute A’s vision of B to B’s state, if B’s state is completely normal. It may, no doubt, be said that B’s state ceases {ii-162} to be normal at the moment when A affects him; and that possibly the power to react telepathically on the impression is started by the mere fact of receiving it. But the more natural account of the matter would surely trace A’s impression, no less than B’s, to the peculiarity of A’s state—by supposing either that A’s power to act abnormally in a certain direction has involved an abnormal extension of his own susceptibility in the same direction; or else that some independently-caused extension of his own susceptibility has involved the power to act abnormally.1 1This latter hypothesis seems specially applicable to cases where A’s condition has been one of mere sleep or trance, and not abnormal in any more serious way. For, considering that nearly all the evidence that exists for the reality of clairvoyance goes further to show that sleep and trance are the conditions most favourable to it, we should certainly rather conceive that what enables A to affect B is the clairvoyant perception itself of B or B’s surroundings, than that this perception is a secondary result, dependent on the fact that A has impressed B by dint merely of being asleep or entranced. Case 271, above, may possibly be an instance of what is meant. We should naturally expect that where the conditions are much the same on both sides, A’s and B’s parts in the phenomenon might be exactly equal and parallel—each being perceived by the other in the other’s own environment; and case 644 seems to be an example of this. I may note here that the evidence for a heightening of telepathic susceptibility at the time of death, and in seasons of illness, is not confined to the class of cases now in question. See for instance cases 126, 147, 167, 303, 308, 311, 416; and the opening cases of Chap. ii.

    of the Supplement, which are of the more ordinary thought-transference type. In either case, his reception of the impression would be active rather than passive; of the sort that partly seems (as I tried to express it before) like the momentary using of B’s faculties—although B’s state is not now, as in the former clairvoyant pictures and dreams,2 2Vol. i., pp. 258–67, 338–40, and 368–88. supplying any exceptional telepathic stimulus. Still, though A’s percipience may not be conditioned by B’s state, it must, I conceive, be conditioned by B’s existence and relation to A; and the distinction again stands clear between telepathic clairvoyance, and that alleged independent clairvoyance where what is discerned cannot be traced in any natural way to the contents of any other human mind.

    The next example is from the Hon. Mrs. Parker, of 60, Elm Park Gardens, S.W., who wrote to us on May 24th, 1883:—

    (307) “The following experience happened in the month of November, 1877, in Regency Square, Brighton. My husband [since deceased] was undergoing a course of magnetism from Mr. L., an American. The treatment consisted of rubbing by mesmeric passes down the back and arms and legs, but in all this there was no intention of putting my husband to sleep. The passes were intended to give strength. Mr. L. called himself, I believe, a professional mesmerist, but at the time we employed him he was not practising as such. He had come to Brighton for rest.

    “After the treatment my husband was in the habit of sitting, for some hours, in his wheel-chair, at the top of the Square garden, and on the day {ii-163} of which I am writing he had expressed a wish to stay out rather later than usual. I went into the house for luncheon, leaving him alone, but on looking out of the window a little later, at 2 o’clock, I saw a man standing in front of his chair, and apparently talking to him. I wondered who it was, and concluded it must be a stranger, as I did not recognise the figure, or the wide-awake hat and rather oddly-cut Inverness cape which he wore. However, as it very often happened that strangers did stop and speak to him, I was not surprised. I turned away my eyes for a moment, and when I again looked up the garden, the man had disappeared. I could not see him leaving the garden by any of the numerous gates, and remarked to myself how very quickly he must have walked to be so soon out of sight. Regency Square does not possess a tree and scarcely a shrub, so that there was nothing to impede my view.

    “When my husband came in a little later, I said to him, carelessly, ‘Oh, who was that talking to you in the square just now?’

    “He replied, ‘No one has spoken to me since you left. No one has even passed near me.’

    “‘But I saw a man standing in front of you and—as I thought—talking to you about a quarter-of-an-hour ago. His dress was so odd, I couldn’t at all tell who it could be.’

    “At this my husband laughed, saying, ‘I should think not, for there was no one to recognise. I assure you not a soul has been near me since you left.’

    “‘Have you been asleep?’ I asked, though I did not think it very likely. He assured me he had not. So the subject dropped; still in my own mind I knew I had seen the mysterious figure.

    “Two days afterwards, Mr. L., after giving my husband his treatment, came, as was his usual habit, to speak to me before leaving the house. After a few words and directions, he said, ‘It is a very odd thing, but the same experience has happened to me twice since I have attended your husband, that, when in quite another place, I have suddenly felt as if I were standing by his side, either in your drawing-room or out there in the garden.’

    “I looked at him, and for the first time noticed his overcoat which he had put on before coming into the room, and the wide-awake in his hand. It struck me that these articles were very similar to those worn by the figure I had seen, and that in every way Mr. L. resembled this same figure. I asked him when, and at what time, he had had the last experience spoken of? 'The day before yesterday,’ was the reply. ‘I had just finished an early dinner, and was sitting in front of the fire with a newspaper. It was about 2 o’clock; I remember the time perfectly. Suddenly I felt I was no longer there, but standing near your husband in the Square garden.’

    “I then told him of the figure I had seen at the same time and place, and how I now recognised it to be his. Afterwards I asked my husband if he had mentioned the circumstance to Mr. L., but he had not done so, and had indeed forgotten all about it. My husband was the only person to whom I had mentioned the fact of my vision. It could not by any possibility have got round to Mr. L.

    “AUGUSTA PARKER.”

    [In answer to the inquiry whether she had ever had any other hallucination {ii-164} of the senses, Mrs. Parker replied that she had had one other. It seems likely, however, that this was merely a case of mistaken identity, the figure being seen at the end of a long hotel-passage; and this was her own impression at the time.]

    This case again seems difficult to explain except on the reciprocal theory. It is true that there is not the same proof in the case of Mr. L. as in that of Mrs. Smith above, that the scene which he saw was transferred, and not spontaneously pictured; for the place was familiar to him, and no unusual details are mentioned. But, on the other hand, his experience seems to have been quite unlike an ordinary dream; its very unusualness is what allows us to connect it with Mrs. Parker’s simultaneous and unique vision; and if we may regard it as having been conditioned by the presence in the perceived scene of his patient, Mr. Parker—who forms, so to speak, the pivot of the case—the fact that Mr. Parker himself was not consciously affected can still be accounted for on the analogy of such instances as Nos. 242 and 355.1 1I should further conjecture one of the conditions of Mrs. Parker’s percipience to have been the fact that she was actually contemplating the scene in which Mr. S. seemed to find himself (see pp. 267–9).

    The next case was one of collective percipience; but its best place is in the present chapter. The full names of the persons concerned may be mentioned, but not printed. Mrs. S., one of the percipients, writes:—

    “April, 1883.

    (308) “A and B2 2These letters are substituted for those actually given for the sake of clearness. The names of the villages were not suppressed in the accounts that follow; but as they were suppressed in this first one, it has been thought right to suppress them throughout. are two villages in Norfolk, distant about five miles from each other. At the time of the occurrence about to be related, the clergymen of these parishes both bore the same name, though there was no relationship between them; at the same time there was a great friendship between the two families. On the 20th February, 1870, a daughter, Constance, about 14 years old, of the clergyman of A, was staying with the other family—a daughter, Margaret, in that family, being her great friend. Edward W., the eldest son of the Rector of A, was at that time lying dangerously ill at home with inflammation of the lungs, and was frequently delirious. On the day mentioned, at about noon, Margaret and Constance were in the garden of B Rectory, running down a path which was separated by a hedge from an orchard adjoining; they distinctly heard themselves called twice, apparently from the orchard, thus: ‘Connie, Margaret—Connie, Margaret.’ They stopped, but could see no one, and so went to the house, a distance of about 40 yards, concluding that one of Margaret’s brothers had called them from there. But to their surprise they {ii-165} found that this was not the case; and Mrs. W., Margaret’s mother, assured the girls no one had called them from the house, and they therefore concluded they must have been mistaken in supposing they had heard their names repeated. This appeared to be the only explanation of the matter, and nothing more was thought of it.

    “That evening Constance returned to her home at A. On the following day, Mrs. W. drove over to inquire for the sick boy Edward. In the course of conversation, his mother said that the day before he had been delirious, and had spoken of Constance and Margaret, that he had called to them in his delirium, and had then said, ‘Now I see them running along the hedge, but directly I call them they run towards the house.’ Mrs. W., of B, at once

    called to mind the mystery of the previous day, and asked, ‘Do you know at what time that happened?’ Edward’s mother replied that it was at a few minutes past 12, for she had just given the invalid his medicine, 12 being his hour for taking it. So these words were spoken by Edward at the same time at which the two girls had heard themselves called, and thus only could the voice from the orchard be accounted for.

    “M. K. S.”

    (The “Margaret” of the narrative.)

    The following statement is from Mrs. R., the “Constance” of the narrative.

    “Sept. 1884.

    “Margaret and I were walking in some fields at B., away from the road, but not very far from the house. Here I heard a voice call ‘Connie and Margaret’ clearly and distinctly. I should not have identified it with Ted’s voice [i.e., her brother’s at A.], for we thought it was one of the B brothers at the time, till we found no one had called us. I remember that it was before early dinner, and that I was expecting to be fetched home that same morning, because of Ted’s illness; and that Mrs. W. thought of asking mother if Ted had mentioned our names in any way, before she told her of what had passed at B. I ought to add that an explanation of the story might be found in the conduct of some B plough-boy, playing a trick upon us. The situation was such that he might easily have kept out of sight behind a hedge.

    “C. E. R.”

    Mr. Podmore says:—

    “November 26th, 1883.

    “I saw Mrs. R. yesterday. She told me that they recognised the voice vaguely as a well-known one at the time. She thinks that the coincidence in time was quite exact, because Mrs. W. of B made a note of the circumstance immediately. Her brother—an old school-fellow of mine—cannot recollect the incident at all.”

    [If a written note was made, the girls’ experience must have seemed odder than the “nothing more was thought of it” in Mrs. S.’s account would imply.]

    Mrs. W. of A says:—

    “My son was about 17 years old. He had had fever and inflammation, and was weakened by illness. It was about 12 o’clock. I was sitting with him, after his washing and dressing, and he seemed quiet and {ii-166} sleepy, but not asleep. He suddenly sprang forward, pointed his finger, with arms outstretched, and called out in a voice the loudness of which astonished me, ‘Connie and Margaret!’ with a stress on each name, ‘near the hedge,’ looked wildly at them, and then sank down, tired. I thought it odd at the time, but, considering it a sort of dream, did not allude to it. The next day, Mrs. W. called with Connie and Margaret, and said the girls had heard their names called; had run home; were walking by a hedge in their field, had found no one had called them from B Rectory. The voice sounded familiar, but as far as I can remember—my daughter will say—it was not distinctly thought to be Edward’s. I at once told my story, as it was too striking not to be named. They said it was about 12 o’clock. Though he was constantly delirious in the evening, when the pulse rose, he was never so in the middle of the day, and there was no appearance of his being so at the time this occurred.

    “M. A. W.”

    Mrs. W. of B says:—

    “August, 1884.

    “Connie was staying with us on account of the illness of her brother Edward, and had—with Margaret—been reading with me one morning. At about 11.30 they went into the garden to play (they were girls of about 13 and 14), and in half an hour came up to the window to know what I wanted. I said ‘Nothing,’ and that I had not called them, though they had heard both their names called repeatedly, I asked them where they were when they heard it, and they said in the next walk—which, you will remember, is formed on one side by the orchard hedge. Margaret said directly, ‘There, Connie; I said it was not mother’s, but a boy’s voice.’ Then I turned to look at the clock—for we had some boys as pupils then—and I said, ‘It would not be one of the boys, for they are not out of the study; it is now 12 o’clock, and I hear them coming out.’

    “I was to take Connie home that afternoon,1 1The other accounts make it probable that it was not till next day that Mrs. W. of B went to A. and, on arriving, of course my first question was, ‘How was Edward?’ Mrs. W. told me that he had not been so well, and had been very delirious. She said that morning he had been calling, ‘Margaret! Connie! Margaret! Connie! Oh, they are running by a hedge, and won’t listen to me.’ I did not say what had happened at home, but asked if she knew at what time this had so distressed him. She said ‘Yes;’ for she had looked at the clock, hoping it was nearly time to give him his medicine, which always quieted him, and was thankful to find it was just 12 o’clock.”

    Here we seem to have, on the part of the two girls, a telepathic hallucination, reproducing the exact words that were in the mouth and ear of the sick boy; and, on his part, a vision reflected from their minds, and once more illustrating how what might be described as clairvoyance may be a true variety of thought-transference. The suggestion at the end of Mrs. R.’s account must not be over-looked; {ii-167} but I should be glad to know of precedents for hidden plough-boys calling out the Christian names of clergymen’s daughters and their friends. Nor do I quite see how such a freak could merit the designation of a “trick”; it would surely be a mere piece of aimless and pointless rudeness—unless, indeed the plough-boy was enjoying a telepathic chuckle at the idea that his cry might be confounded with another, which was being simultaneously uttered five miles off.

    It will be seen that the number of these reciprocal cases (even with the addition of those in the Supplement) is small—so small that the genuineness of the type might fairly enough be called in question. There is some danger that our view of the rarer telepathic phenomena may be unduly affected by the sense of certainty that gradually and reasonably forms with regard to the broad fact of telepathy itself. The argument for the reality of telepathy, we must remember, depends on a mass of narratives so large as to make a universal error in the essential point of all or nearly all of them exceedingly improbable; and is not available in respect of peculiar features, which are present in only a very small proportion of the alleged cases. For these, the various possibilities of error so fully discussed in the general sketch of the evidence (Vol. I., Chap. IV.) may seem quite sufficient to account; and the greater the theoretic interest of the peculiarities, the more jealously must their evidential claims be scrutinised. As to reciprocality, the reader will form his own opinion. That the examples should be few, as compared with those of the simpler telepathic types, cannot at this stage of our inquiry seem unnatural. For if, amid all the apparent opportunities that human lives present, the unknown and probably transient conditions of telepathic percipience and of telepathic agency only occasionally chance to coincide, so as to produce a telepathic phenomenon at all (pp. 77–8); and if, of the two, the conditions of percipience are the rarer, as experimental thought-transference would lead us to suppose; then the complete conditions of a reciprocal case must be rare among the rare. Still, if they have occurred, they will occur again. If my colleagues and I are right in supposing the type to be a genuine one, we ought to obtain, as time goes on, some more well-attested specimens of it; and to this we look forward with considerable confidence.

    {ii-168}

    CHAPTER XVIII.

    COLLECTIVE CASES.

    § 1. THE telepathic cases quoted in the foregoing chapters have almost all affected a single percipient only; and the fact that sometimes the percipient was in company at the time, and that his sensory experience was unshared by any one present,1 1 See the list of cases given in p. 105, second note. has confirmed the view (to which all other considerations seemed to converge) that telepathic affections of the senses are in the most literal sense hallucinations. But we have already encountered a few cases where the senses of more than one percipient have been affected;2 2 Nos. 14, 36, 169, 254 (first incident), 258, 264, 279,

    302 (second incident), 308; case 166 is a possible instance. See also the dream-cases 127 and 144. and what awaits us in the present chapter is the discussion and complete illustration of this perplexing feature.

    Of course the first view which is suggested by the fact that two or more people have seen or heard the same thing at the same time is that the sight or sound, however abnormal and unaccountable, was due to some objective reality within the range of their sense-organs—in other words, that it was not a hallucination at all.3 3 It was in this occasional feature of collective percipience that Falck, in 1692, found the strongest argument for the production of hallucinations by an external and dæmonic power. See p. 72 of his able and elaborate dissertation against Hobbes and Spinoza, in De Demonologiâ recentiorum Autorum. Hence those apparently telepathic instances where a sensory experience, representative of some absent person, has been shared by more than one percipient, would imply the immediate presence of some sort of physical wraith, or at any rate of an objective human presence.

    I scarcely know how far the idea of a literal wraith is seriously entertained by any educated person in the present day. Gaseous and vaporous ghosts are, I imagine, quite at a discount; but the word “ether” seems sometimes to be used as a way out of the {ii-169} difficulty. For many ears the word has, no doubt, a convenient vagueness; but, in fact, we know of no mode by which ether can affect the retina, except through waves started by luminous substances of known type. And even if etherial ghosts could be seen, the auditory phenomena would remain a hopeless obstacle to a satisfactory physical explanation of them. For even the assumption of some tenuous and elusive form of matter, which somehow hangs about in relation to the mysterious ether, seems less desperate than the assumption that such a tenuous presence could move the air in the infinitely complex vibration-patterns which correspond to speech or music—that is to say, could produce at will an effect of inconceivable difficulty and complexity on certain gross elements of the known material world.

    As to the notion of an objective presence which may affect the perceptive faculty of several persons without producing changes in the external world, one sort of case is conceivable which would no doubt favour it—e.g., if two persons, situated at some distance from one another, saw the appearance in the respective relations of distance and posture which a real object of the same kind would bear to them—one of them, it might be, seeing a full face, and the other a profile. But I know of no examples of this sort. And as a mere theory, the notion in question may be left with a single general comment; for though our path skirts, it had better not enter, the metaphysical labyrinth suggested by the words “objective reality.” Let it be conceded then that, where there is a consensus of perception, it becomes a nice question for Idealism to determine how far, or in what sense, the percept lacks an objective basis. To put an extreme case—suppose all the seeing world, save one individual, had a visual percept, the object of which nevertheless eluded all physical tests: would the solitary individual be justified in saying that all the others were victims of a subjective delusion? and if he said so, would they agree with him? But then in this case, or in a less extreme one of the same kind, we might at any rate ask one of the perceivers to tell us what meaning he can attach to the objectivity of his percept, beyond that it has its existence in other minds besides his own. If he fails to supply us with any further meaning, on him surely lies the onus of proving that the conditions of the percept lie outside the perceiving minds; and if no proof be forthcoming, I then see no definite way of distinguishing this “objective” view of “collective hallucinations” from the view to be considered {ii-170} immediately, which regards the community of percipience as a form of thought-transference.1 1 A psychical condition outside the perceiving minds might, no doubt, be found in “disembodied intelligence.” For the present, it is enough to remark that this change of “agency” to some further mind would leave the nature of the phenomenon unchanged. Experience thus caused may be called objective, if we will, but it is still thought-transference; just as in Berkeley’s view the whole objective universe was only thought-transference in excelsis.

    “But”—some objectors may say—“the question has been begged by assuming that the collective percept eludes physical tests. True, apparitions have not yet been subjected to spectroscopic analysis, nor have phantasmal remarks been recorded by the phonograph; but suppose that the form of a dying person not only appears, but opens the door or the window, and the door or the window remains open, thus affording to the muscles of the servant who closes it a test of a physical change in the external world—what account is to be given of this?” Now clearly such phenomena, even if established, would afford no convincing analogy by which to judge of cases where no similar physical tests are included. But, as a matter of fact, no records of the sort that we have met with have reached the evidential standard which would entitle them to a place in this book (see Vol. I., p. 165); and until they are established by irrefragable evidence, there is another analogy which has in every way a prior claim—namely, the facts of telepathy as so far set forth. Cannot our further facts be explained without going beyond the purely psychical transference for which we believe that we have ample evidence?

    Let us see in what ways a theory of purely psychical impressions could cover the phenomena of collective hallucination. Two possible views of what may happen present themselves. The first of these would apply only to veridical cases—cases which are “telepathic” in the literal sense. On this view the simultaneous experiences would be traced to a cause external to the percipients; but this cause would not be a real object within the range of the percipients’ senses, but a real condition of an absent person. A, who is passing through some crisis at a distance, produces a simultaneous telepathic impression on the minds of B and of C, who happen to be together; both B and C project this impression as a hallucination of the senses, in the way that has been so fully considered; and the hallucinations more or less nearly resemble each other.

    The second view would apply equally to the cases which are, and to those which are not, telepathic, in this literal sense of relating to a {ii-171} distant agent. The view is that the hallucination of one percipient, however caused, begets that of the other, by a process of thought-transference; the hallucination is in itself, so to speak, infectious. B and C are together, and B has a hallucination—it may be veridical and due to a telepathic impression from the distant A, or it may be non-veridical and due to a spontaneous pathological disturbance of B’s own brain; and this experience of B’s is then communicated to C, whose brain follows suit and projects a kindred image. The process in fact would strongly recall those cases of simultaneous dreaming where one dream may be regarded as the cause of the other.1 1 Vol. i., pp. 314–20, and the opening cases in Chap. iii. of the Supplement. It would be a fresh example of the psychological identity between the sleeping and the waking hallucinations on which so much stress has already been laid.

    Such are the two possible views; and we have now to decide how far either, or both, may be reasonably entertained. I may state at once that in my opinion the best solution that the problem at present admits of involves a certain combination of the two (see § 7 below); but I shall consult clearness by first considering each of them separately.

    § 2. First, then, as regards the theory of the simultaneous origination of two or more hallucinations by a distant agent—we certainly know of no reason why a state of the agent which is telepathically effective at all, should be bound to confine its effects to a single percipient. That it generally does so confine them, may be easily explained by supposing a special susceptibility on the percipient’s part, or a special rapport between him and the agent; but that occasionally the impression should extend to others, who have also been sympathetically related to the agent, may seem no very astounding fact. Now if the impression were a merely inward experience, an impression of a merely ideal or emotional

    kind, and did not give rise to actual hallucination, this account of the matter might be plausible enough: it would apply for instance to Mr. H. S. Thompson’s case, Vol. I., p. 99. But it will be remembered that we have seen reason to regard the hallucination as distinctively the percipient’s work—as something projected by him under a telepathic stimulus; and we have found these sensory projections to take various forms according to the projector’s idiosyncrasies. We have found, moreover, that the time during {ii-172} which such hallucinations may take place extends over several hours—that we cannot name an exact moment at which the telepathic message will reach consciousness, or externalise itself to the sense. It becomes, then, extremely improbable that two or more persons should independently invest their respective telepathic impressions, at the same moment, with the same sensory form; that they should all at once see the same figure, or hear the same sound, in apparently the same place. We should expect to find one of them embodying it in sound, and another, perhaps half an hour later, in visible shape; or one of them embodying it in sound or shape, and another only conscious of it as an inward idea; and so on. And for divergences of this sort, the evidence, though it exists, is small in amount.

    But this is not all. On the theory that joint telepathic hallucinations are all exclusively and directly due to a distant agent, there is one thing that we should not expect to happen, and one thing that we should expect to happen. (1) We should not expect the group of percipients to include anyone who was a stranger to the agent; or who was not personally in such relations with the agent as would have rendered it natural for him, had he chanced to be alone at the time, to suffer the same telepathic experience. Nevertheless, cases exist where such an outside person has shared in the perception. And (2) we should expect that in a fair proportion of cases two or more percipients would share the perception, though they were not in each other’s company at the time. For on the theory that is being considered, there would be no virtue in the mere local proximity of the percipients to one another; the agent is supposed to affect them by dint of his respective relations to each of them, which have nothing to do with their being together or apart. Now, in point of fact, we have a group of cases where the persons jointly affected have been apart, but they are disproportionately rare in comparison with the experiences shared by percipients who have been together; and in several of them, moreover, B and C, the two percipients, were near each other, and had been to some extent sharing the same life-conditions which may have had their share in the effect (see pp. 266–8). However, the existence of this type might no doubt be regarded as an argument for the occasional production ab extrafrom outside of several similar and simultaneous hallucinations; and our few specimens may conveniently be cited at once.

    I have already given (Vol. I., pp. 362–3) a case where two vivid dreams of a quite unexpected death were dreamt by persons who {ii-173} were in the same house, but not in the same room. The following is a somewhat similar instance, but only one of the experiences was a dream. Mrs. Bettany, of 2, Eckington Villas, Ashbourne Grove, Dulwich (the narrator of case 20,) writes:—

    “June, 1885.

    (309) “On the evening of, I think, March 23rd, 1883, I was seized with an unaccountable anxiety about a neighbour, whose name I just knew, but with whom I was not on visiting terms. She was a lady who appeared to be in very good health. I tried to shake off the feeling, but I could not, and after a sleepless night, in which I constantly thought of her as dying, I decided to send a servant to the house to ask if all were well. The answer I received was, ‘Mrs. J. died last night.’

    “Her daughter afterwards told me that the mother had startled her by saying, ‘Mrs. Bettany knows I shall die.’

    “I had never felt an interest in the lady before that memorable night. After the death, the family left the neighbourhood, and I have not seen any of them since.

    “JEANIE GWYNNE BETTANY.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that Mrs. J. died on March 23, 1883.

    The following is the evidence of the servant who was sent to inquire:—

    “January, 1886.

    “I remember Mrs. Bettany sending me to inquire if all were well at Mrs. J.’s. The answer they gave me was that Mrs. J. was dead. Mrs. Bettany sent me to inquire, because she had a presentiment that Mrs. J. was dead or dying.”

    Mrs. Bettany adds:—

    “My cook, to whom I had not mentioned my presentiment, remarked to me on the same morning: ‘I have had such a horrible dream about Mrs. J., I think she must be going to die.’ She distinctly remembers that some one (she does not know who, and I think never did) told her in her dream that Mrs. J. was dead.”

    The following is the first-hand evidence to the dream:—

    “January 11th, 1886.

    “I remember that some one in my dream said ‘Mrs. J. is dead.’ I do not remember the rest of the dream, but I know it was horrible. I told Mrs. Bettany at the time, and she then told me about her presentiment about Mrs. J.

    “M. WENT.”

    [M. Went has occasionally dreamt of the deaths of people she knows, without any correspondence.]

    This case would seem to have been in some way “reciprocal” and it is unfortunate that we cannot obtain further details of the dying woman’s impression.

    {ii-174}

    The next is a waking and sensory example of the same kind. It was first obtained in writing from Mrs. Fagan, of Bovey Tracey, Newton Abbot, the mother of one of the percipients; and her account exemplifies the inaccuracies which second-hand evidence may sometimes introduce, without really affecting the case in any vital point.

    “1883.

    (310) “While the Rev. C. C. T. Fagan [Mrs. Fagan’s son], then Chaplain of Sealkote, India, was dressing for dinner on Christmas Day evening, 1876, his cousin, Christopher1 1 By a slip, Mrs. Fagan has called her nephew by her son’s name—Christopher, instead of George. Fagan, being similarly employed in an adjacent room, both heard the name ‘Fagan’ called. The Rev. C. C. T. Fagan, though thinking it strange his cousin should thus address him, yet knowing no one else was in the house, went to him asking what he wanted, why he had not called him ‘Charlie’ as usual, and remarking that the voice was like that of Captain Clayton, a cavalry officer, who had been under his pastoral charge, but was then at a distant station. His cousin replied that he too had heard the voice, and probably it was that of Major Collis, whom they were expecting to dinner. Upon this they adjourned to the drawing-room, where they found the Major, but as he had only just come in, he had neither called nor heard the voice.

    “While telling him of what had occurred, they all three heard the same voice repeat the same name, and Major Collis remarked, ‘It is like Clayton’s voice.’

    “The next morning a telegram was received to the effect that Captain Clayton died at that hour from an accident received while playing at polo.”

    Major Collis told our friend, the Rev. A. T. Fryer, of Clerkenwell, that Mr. Fagan and his cousin were standing in the doorway of the drawing-room talking, when they heard the call, “Fagan.” He himself was dressing in his room, and they called out to him to know what he wanted; but he had not spoken, nor had he heard the call. Whilst they were talking together, the voice came a second time, and all three heard it.

    On being applied to with regard to the discrepancy between these two accounts, the Rev. C. C. T. Fagan writes:—

    “Sitapur, August 25th, 1883.

    “So far as my memory serves, the statement of Major Collis is correct as to the curious coincidence of which he has told you. He was certainly staying in my house at the time, and was not a guest merely invited to dinner—as my cousin was. I cannot now say who suggested the voice sounded like that of Captain Clayton.

    “C. C. T. FAGAN.”

    Mr. Fagan says, however, in another letter: “I am under the impression that my cousin did not hear the voice.” He adds: “At or about the time in question, and on more occasions than one, I have imagined that I heard people calling me, but, I may add, this experience is now seldom or ever happening to me.”

    {ii-175}

    Major Collis writes to us on August 2, 1884:—

    “3, Barton Terrace, Dawlish.

    “In reply to the questions you ask, I have never had experience of any other auditory hallucination: neither have I ever had any hallucinations of the senses whatever.

    “G. COLLIS.”

    Mr. Fagan’s cousin, Lieutenant G. Forbes Fagan, of the 10th Lancers, writes to us:—

    “Simla, July 31st, 1885.

    “I remember that on the afternoon of the day on which Captain Clayton met his death, I was in the Rev. C. Fagan‘s house at Sealkote; and he said he had heard his mother‘s voice calling to him, and that something was sure to happen. I heard no voice myself. When news arrived of Captain Clayton‘s death, my cousin said the voice must have had some connection with it.

    “G. F. FAGAN.”

    In an interview with Mrs. Fagan, Professor Sidgwick learnt that Captain Clayton was intimate with the Rev. C. C. T. Fagan, and also knew Major Collis.

    The Calcutta Englislunan of December 28th, contains a telegram of December 26th: “Last evening Captain Clayton, extra aide-de-camp to the Viceroy, was thrown while playing polo, and died during the night.”

    In answer to a question as to the hour of the accident, Major Lord William Beresford writes to us:—

    “As well as I remember, it was 6.15 in the evening of Christmas Day, 1876, and he died in my arms exactly as the clock struck 12. He never spoke after he fell.”

    [The somewhat ragged form in which this evidence is presented is due to the fact that the Rev. C. C. T. Fagan and Major Collis are understood to dislike the subject, and that we have scrupled to press them. But it seems quite certain that at a time closely corresponding to that of the accident, two percipients, one of whom has never had any other hallucination, heard a voice which belonged to no one in their vicinity. As to the immediate connection of the voice with Captain Clayton, the evidence is not so clear; but as regards Lieut. Fagan’s recollections, we cannot but remark the extreme unlikelihood that the two hearers should imagine Mrs. Fagan’s voice as calling her son by his surname; and also the unlikelihood that, if it was her voice that her son recognised, he should have altered this interesting point in the account which he gave her. The case is, of course, to some extent weakened by the fact that the Rev. C. C. T. Fagan has had other auditory hallucinations. It is worth adding, however, that one of these experiences, when he heard his mother’s voice urgently calling him, proved to have coincided with a very sudden and exceptional longing for his presence on her part (Supplement, Chap. IV., § 1); and it may possibly have been the mention of this fact that caused a confusion in Lieut. Fagan’s memory, and led him to associate Mrs. Fagan with the present experience.]

    The following case is part of a record of some singular hypnotic experiences, of which some further specimens will be given in {ii-176} Chap. I., § 3, of the Supplement. Mrs. John Evens, of Oldbank, Enniskillen, narrates as follows:—

    “December 4th, 1885.

    (311) “With regard to the apparition or optical illusion, I have a perfect and clear remembrance. It occurred after the experience related [i.e., after a cataleptic fit produced under hypnotic influence]. The operator had left me with an earnest request to my husband to send for, or fetch him, should anything seem to require it.

    “I was wide awake, and enjoying the freedom from pain; my room being carefully darkened. The operator had, while with me, been seated on a chair midway between my bed and a chest of drawers—about three feet from each. I was thinking very gratefully of the relief I had experienced, when I noticed a blueish-white light round the chair. It seemed to be flickering and darting in a large oval, but gradually concentrated on a figure seated on the chair.1 1 As to the oval, see the remarks on case 220; as to the gradual appearance and gradual disappearance, see Chap. xii., §§ 2 and 3, also above, p. 132, note, and p. 97; and compare case 315 below. The appearance did not startle me in the least; my first thought was, ‘It is Mr. T., a young officer with whom we were very intimate, and who had been in the house that evening. But the expression of the mouth struck me then, and I thought ‘Can it be Mr. D.?’—a dear friend who had died some little time before. All this time the face seemed to be changing, and, as it were, settling. Suddenly it flashed into my mind ‘It is Mr. B.’ (the father of the operator). I did not know this gentleman at all, except from having seen his photograph, but had no doubt on the subject. (Curiously enough his mouth and that of Mr. D.’s were singularly alike in expression.) The figure sat in a kind of dim halo. I felt no surprise; nor did I speak to it, but thought, ‘Oh, you have come to find P. (the son); he has been here all the evening, but has gone home now.’ As I thought this the halo gradually diffused itself, as it had before become concentrated, and the figure vanished. Besides the distinctness of feature, a movement, of crossing and uncrossing the knees two or three times, struck me.

    “That same night, and it must have been nearly at the same time, the friend who had magnetised me was awoke by hearing his name called twice. His impression was that I needed his aid, and he was prepared to come (he was living a mile off), if he heard the call repeated. But it was not. The next day, when I saw him, without telling him any of this, I asked, ‘Has your father any noticeable habit or trick of movement?’ At first he said ‘No,’ and then, ‘unless you would describe as such a way he has of frequently crossing and uncrossing his knees. He has varicose veins, and is restless at times!’

    “This was the whole matter. The father, who dislikes such subjects, would never say whether he had dreamed or been thinking intently of his son; but probably it was so.

    “AGNES EVENS.”

    In a letter dated 18th December, 1885, Mrs. Evens writes that she thinks the occurrence took place in September or October, 1881. She has never experienced any other visual hallucination.

    In answer to inquiries, she adds:—

    {ii-177}

    (1) “I cannot be sure as to the time at which I saw the appearance, but, putting circumstances together, I should think between 12 and 1 o’clock—nearer the latter hour.

    (2) “I am perfectly certain that I uttered no sound; the phantom’s disappearance seemed to answer to the thought that passed through my mind, ‘You want Preston; he has been here all the evening, but went back to Fort Tourgis some time since.’

    (3) “I had not any wish for his presence. I was lying in quiet enjoyment of the relief from agonising pain and quivering nerves, in which condition one has no active line of thought. I very likely thought about him, with a lazy kind of gratitude to him as the author of the relief I was experiencing.”

    Captain Battersby, R.A., F.R.A.S., of Ordnance House, Enniskillen, son-in-law of Mrs. Evens, writes:—

    “December 21st, 1885.

    “I had mesmerised Mrs. E. for several months, for severe neuralgia, with the view of affording her natural sleep. One night she had been in the mesmeric trance, and had been awoke by me, and I had returned to barracks—situated about half-a-mile from her house—leaving her in her room. I went to bed, and to sleep, and was awakened with a start by hearing my name called very distinctly. I sat up in bed, and looked for the caller, but saw no one. It was too dark to look at my watch, so that I cannot say what the time may have been. It occurred to me at the time that Mrs. E. might want me for something. I did not recognise the voice, and indeed had no chance of doing so, as it did not call again. In the morning I went to see Mrs. E., in order to find out whether she had had any unusual experience. She asked me if anything had happened to me the night before. I said ‘Yes,’ and asked her why she put the question. She said, ‘Has your father a habit of moving one leg over the other, now and then, in a restless way?’ This was the case. She then said, about 1 a.m. she had been roused from sleep, and saw a phosphorescent appearance on the chair near her bed, which resolved itself into a human figure, recognised by her as my father from a photograph in my possession. It did not speak, but seemed to ask her mentally ‘Where is Preston?’ To which she responded, also mentally, ‘He was here, but is gone home’; whereon the figure disappeared. I was somewhat alarmed at the occurrence, and wrote to ask if my father was well. He was so; and did not remember having any dream of me on that night. Mrs. E. particularly remarked his habit of crossing first one leg and then the other, of which I had not previously told her.

    “T. PRESTON BATTERSBY.”

    In answer to inquiries, Captain Battersby says:—

    “I beg to say that at no time, except on the occasion referred to by me in my previous letter, have I woke from sleep with the impression of having been called  In fact this was the only occasion in my life in which I heard or saw anything unusual.”

    The “collective” character of these two experiences is clearly very doubtful; they may not have been due to any agency on the {ii-178} part of Captain Battersby’s father, or connected with each other. But considering that the accidental coincidence of the two unique experiences would be most improbable, and that a hypnotic rapport probably existed between Captain Battersby and his patient, it is a reasonable supposition that his mind was either the source or the channel of a telepathic communication to hers.

    The next case was received from Mrs. Polson, of 4, Nouvelle Route de Villefranche, Nice.

    “January, 1884.

    (312) “Some years since, when living at Woolstone Lodge, Woolstone, Berks, of which parish and church, &c., &c., my husband was clerk in Holy Orders, I left the fireside family party one evening after tea, to see if our German bonne could manage a little wild Cornish girl to prepare her school-room for the morning. As I reached the top of the stairs a lady passed me who had some time left us. She was in black silk with a muslin ‘cloud’ over her head and shoulders, but her silk rustled. I could just have a glance only of her face. She glided fast and noiselessly (but for the silk) past me, and was lost down two steps at the end of a long passage that led only into my private boudoir, and had no other exit. I had barely exclaimed ‘Oh, Caroline,’ when I felt she was a something unnatural, and rushed down to the drawing-room again, and sinking on my knees by my husband’s side, fainted, and it was with difficulty I was restored to myself again. The next morning, I saw they rather joked me at first; but it afterwards came out that the little nursery girl, while cleaning her grate, had been so frightened by the same appearance, ‘a lady sitting near her, in black, with white all over her head and shoulders, and her hands crossed on her bosom,’ that nothing would induce her to go into the room again; and they had been afraid to tell me over night of this confirmation of the appearance, thinking it would shake my nerves still more than it had done.

    “As chance would have it, many of our neighbours called on us the next morning—Mr. Tufnell, of Uffington, near Faringdon, Archdeacon Berens, Mr. Atkins, and others. All seemed most interested, and Mr. Tufnell would not be content without noting down particulars in his own pocket-book, and making me promise to write for inquiries that very night, for my cousin, Mrs. Henry Gibbs. She had been staying with us some time previously for a few days, and I had a letter half written to her in the paper case.

    “I wrote immediately to my uncle (the Rev. C. Crawley, of Hartpury, near Gloucester,) and aunt, and recounted all that had happened. By return of post, ‘Caroline is very ill at Belmont’ (their family place then), ‘and not expected to live’; and die she did on the very day or evening she paid me that visit. The shock had been over-much for a not very strong person, and I was one of the very few members of the Crawley or Gibbs family who could not follow the funeral.

    “GEORGIANA POLSON.”

    [The three gentlemen whom Mrs. Poison mentions as having been immediately informed of her experience, have since died. If the narrative {ii-179} should happen to meet the eye of any near relative of the late Rev. G. Tufnell, it might perhaps be possible to find out whether the entry in the pocket-book is still existing. According to the account, it would appear that the Rev. C. Crawley had not heard of the death on the second morning after its occurrence. This may seem a little unlikely (as he was a relative living at no very great distance), but is still quite possible.]

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Polson adds:—

    “I have never before or since suffered from any experience of the kind [i.e., had any visual hallucination].

    “I cannot give you the date, it was so long ago. Still, the past days are often present with me, and the scenes of that night are as fresh in remembrance as if all had occurred yesterday.

    “I have no idea whatever what became of the Cornish nursery girl.

    “I wrote to my aunt and uncle, near Gloucester, to tell them of what had occurred. They replied they had heard Mrs. Gibbs (Caroline) was very ill, and the next communication informed us of her departure; but I do not remember whether it took place earlier in the afternoon or later at night than when I saw her.”

    The following is from the lady who was with Mrs. Polson as governess at the time:—

    “Clarence Villa, Church Road, Watford.

    “January 11th, 1884.

    “I do not in the least object to let you know what I remember of the incident you mention. Many years ago Mr. and Mrs. Polson, with the children and myself, were sitting one evening in the drawing-room at Woolstone. In the middle of the evening Mrs. Polson left the room, but soon returned; remaining silent, I looked up, and saw her drop down on the rug fainting. When she recovered, she told us she had seen Mrs. Gibbs on before her in the long passage.

    “I recollect hearing that the little Cornish girl said she had seen that same apparition while cleaning her grate. As to the date of the incident I can only say that, to the best of my recollection, it happened before the year 1851.

    “H. L. MACKENZIE.”

    We find from the Times obituary that Mrs. Gibbs died on February 16, 1850.

    In the next case one of the experiences was emotional, not sensory, but was apparently of a very marked sort. The account is from an intelligent informant, who has been for many years in the service of a family known to the present writer. Neither the witness nor (he believes) his mother ever had any other experience of the sort. His mother has been dead for some years.

    “9, Blandford Place, Clarence Gate, Regent’s Park.

    “October 21st, 1882.

    (313) “In the winter 1850–51, I, Charles Matthews, was living as butler, 25 years of age, with General Morse at Troston Hall, near Bury St. Edmunds. My mother, Mary Ann Matthews, was in the same establishment as cook and housekeeper, a very upright and conscientious woman, {ii-180} and was much liked by all the servants excepting the ladies’ maid, whose name was Susan, but her family-name I have forgotten. This Susan rendered herself disliked by all in consequence of her tale-bearing and mischief-making propensities, but she stood in some awe of my mother, whose firmness of character kept her in check to a great extent.

    “Susan fell ill of jaundice, for which she was medically treated for some months at Troston Hall, but ultimately was removed to Bury St. Edmunds Hospital, and placed in the servants’ ward, at General Morse’s expense, where she died about a week after admission. He used to send a woman from the village to the hospital, seven miles distant, to make inquiries, on such days as the carriage did not go to Bury St. Edmunds; and on a certain Saturday the woman went, but did not return until the Sunday evening, when she said she had found Susan unconscious on her arrival, and as death was evidently approaching, she was permitted to remain in the ward until the end.

    “During this Saturday night the following mystery occurred, which has ever since been a puzzle to myself. Being asleep, I was awakened with or by a sudden feeling of terror. I stared through the darkness of my bedroom, but could not see anything, but felt overcome by an unnatural horror or dread, and covered myself with the bed-clothes, regularly scared. My room door was in a narrow passage leading to my mother’s room, and anyone passing would almost touch my door. I passed the remaining portion of the night in restlessness. In the morning I met my mother on coming downstairs, and observed that she looked ill and pale, and most unusually depressed. I asked ‘What’s the matter?’ She replied, ‘Nothing; don’t ask me.’ An hour or two passed, and I still saw that something was amiss, and I felt determined to know the cause, and my mother seemed equally bent on not satisfying me. At last I said, ‘Has it anything to do with Susan?’ She burst into tears and said, ‘What makes you ask that question?’ I then told her of my scare during the night, and she then related to me the following ‘strange story’:—

    “‘I was awakened by the opening of my bedroom door, and saw, to my horror, Susan enter in her night-dress. She came straight towards my bed, turned down the clothes, and laid herself beside me, and I felt a cold chill all down my side where she seemed to touch me.1 1 Among transient

    hallucinations of the sane—alike of the purely subjective and of the telepathic class—affections of three senses are extremely rare (p. 25, note). I suppose I fainted, as I lost all recollection for some time, and when I came to myself the apparition had gone—but of one thing I am sure, and that is that it was not a dream.

    “We heard by the village woman on her return the Sunday evening, that Susan died in the middle of the night, and that previous to becoming unconscious her whole talk was about ‘returning to Troston Hall.’ We had had no apprehension whatever of the death. We thought she had gone to the hospital, not because she was in danger, but for the sake of special treatment.

    “This is a simple relation of facts, so far as I can state them. I myself was not a superstitious or simple fellow, at the time, having seen a good deal of the world; but I have never yet been able to satisfy my own mind as to the why or wherefore of the occurrence.”

    {ii-181}

    Mr. Matthews tells me that he has never had any similar sensation; and he believes that the hallucination was unique in the experience of his mother, who died some years ago.

    In the remaining cases the percipients were much more widely separated; but unfortunately the evidence as to identity of time is very far from complete. The following account is from Mrs. Coote, of 28, Duke Street, Grosvenor Square, W.

    “July 29th, 1885.

    (314) “On Easter Wednesday, 1872, my sister-in-law, Mrs. W., sailed with her husband and three young children from Liverpool in the steamer, ‘Sarmatian,’ for Boston, U.S., where they arrived in due course and settled. In the following November she was seized with, and died from, suppressed small-pox, at that time raging in Boston. About the end of November, or the beginning of December in the same year, I was disturbed one morning before it was light, as near as may be between 5 and 6 a.m., by the appearance of a tall figure, in a long night-dress, bending over the bed. I distinctly recognised this figure to be no other than my sister-in-law, Mrs. W., who, as I felt, distinctly touched me. My husband, who was beside me asleep at the time, neither saw nor felt anything.

    “This appearance was also made to an aged aunt, residing at this time at Theydon Bois, near Epping, Essex. She is now alive, aged over 80 years, and residing at Hextable, near Dartford, in Kent. She is still in full possession of all her faculties. She told my husband as recently as the 4th inst., that the appearance came to her in the form of a bright light from a dark corner of her bedroom in the early morning. It was so distinct that she not only recognised her niece, Mrs. W., but she actually noticed the needlework on her long night-dress! This appearance was also made to my husband’s half-sister, at that time unmarried, and residing at Stanhope Gardens. The last named was the first to receive the announcement of the death of Mrs. W., in a letter from the widower dated December (day omitted), 1872, from 156, Eighth Street, South Boston, still preserved. The death was announced, among other papers (as my husband has recently learned), in the Boston Herald. A comparison of dates, as far as they could be made in two of the cases, served to show the appearance occurred after the same manner, and about the same time, i.e., at the time of, or shortly after, the death of the deceased. Neither myself nor the aged Mrs. B., nor my husband’s half-sister, have experienced any appearance of the kind before or since. It is only recently, when my husband applied to his half-sister to hunt up the Boston letter, that we learnt for the first time of this third appearance.”

    Mr. Coote writes to us as follows:—

    “That Mrs. Coote’s ‘vision’ occurred within a week of the death of Mrs. W., in Boston, U.S., is undoubted; and without any effort to make our memories more precise, I may add, that from the first I have always thought that the most marked feature in the case was (judging, of course, from an opinion formed at the time when the circumstances were fresh in my memory) that it occurred within the 24 hours after death. I am afraid after this lapse of time that nothing conclusive can be arrived at as to ‘times’ in the other two cases, beyond the general idea that still {ii-182} obtains in the minds of both the aged Mrs. B. and Mrs. ——, that the visions occurred about the same time as that of Mrs. Coote, and after the same manner. Mrs. Coote desires me to add that to this hour she has never exchanged ideas upon this vision, even with the aged Mrs. B., which precludes all possibility of collusion in the matter.

    “C. H. COOTE.”

    [It is not possible to obtain a first-hand account of the vision from Mr. Coote’s half-sister at present.]

    The final example of this type is from Mr. de Guérin, of 98, Sandgate Road, Folkestone, who has had another apparently telepathic experience (Vol. I., p. 424). He has had no subjective hallucinations.

    “1883.

    (315) “The first instance occurred when I was in Shanghai. It was the month of May, 1854. The night was very warm, and I was in bed, lying on my back, wide awake, contemplating the dangers by which we were then surrounded, from a threatened attack by the Chinese. I gradually became aware there was something in the room; it appeared like a thin white fog, a misty vapour,1 1 Cf. cases 193, 194, 311, 332. hanging about the foot of the bed. Fancying it was merely the effect of a moonbeam, I took but little notice, but after a few moments I plainly distinguished a figure which I recognised as that of my sister Fanny. At first the expression of her face was sad, but it changed to a sweet smile, and she bent her head towards me as if she recognised me. I was too much fascinated with the appearance to speak, although it did not cause me the slightest fear. The vision seemed to disappear gradually in the same manner as it came. We afterwards learned that on the same day my sister died—almost suddenly. I immediately wrote a full description of what I had seen to my sister, Mrs. Elmslie (the wife of the Consul at Canton), but before it reached her, I had received a letter from her, giving me an almost similar description of what she had seen the same night, adding, ‘I am sure dear Fanny is gone.’

    “When I promised that I would send you these particulars I at once wrote to my sister, Mrs. Elmslie, and she replies, ‘I do not think I was awake when Fanny appeared to me, but I immediately awoke and saw her as you describe. I stretched out my arms to her and cried ‘Fanny! Fanny!’ She smiled upon me, as if sorry to leave, then suddenly disappeared.’

    “When this occurred we [i.e., Mr. de Guérin and Mrs. Elmslie] were upwards of 1,000 miles apart, and neither of us had a thought of her being seriously, much less dangerously ill. Before her death she had spoken of us both to those around her bedside. She died in Jersey, on the 30th May, 1854, between 10 and 11 at night.”

    The Jersey Register of Deaths confirms the date given.

    Mr. de Guérin kindly applied to Mrs. Elmslie for a further account. In her reply, she rightly remarks that at such a distance of time memory of details is unreliable, and is not sure “whether that which took place was in the nature of a dream or of a vision.” She desires, therefore, {ii-183} that her full description of what she saw shall not be published; but says that the face was unniistakeable. She adds:—

    “I really forget whether it appeared immediately at the time of our dear sister’s death; but I know my impression at the time was that it foreshadowed such an event, the news of which in due course came by mail.”

    In conversation, Mr. de Guérin told me that the figure appeared self-luminous (see Chap. XII., § 7). He is certain that his own and Mrs. Elmslie’s visions were on the same night, and that his own was about 11 o’clock. He cannot be certain whether the death took place at 11 o’clock p.m., of the previous day, in which case it must have preceded the visions by some twelve hours; or 11 o’clock p.m. of the same day, in which case it must have followed the visions by about twelve hours. Mr. de Guérin further told me that, though in a decline, his sister had been very decidedly better of late, and he was in no sort of anxiety about her. The last account had been that she was gaining strength and flesh. The death was extraordinarily sudden.

    § 3. I turn now to the second of the two theories above propounded—the theory that one percipient catches the hallucination from another by a process of thought-transference. This is certainly the explanation that would suggest itself in telepathic cases where one of the percipients has previously had no relations, or only slight relations, with the distant agent. But clearly the most conclusive evidence for the theory of infection would be derived from cases involving no distant “agent” at all; cases which in their inception are pathologic, not telepathic—purely subjective delusions on the part of some one present—but which proceed to communicate themselves to some other person or persons. If it can be shown that this self-propagation is an occasional property of hallucinations as such, there will be no difficulty in extending the same explanation to cases where the hallucination is in its inception due to a distant agent. If B’s purely subjective hallucination may affect C, it is only what we should à priori expect that B’s telepathic hallucination might affect C: such communicability would merely be one more of those points of resemblance, which we have already seen to be so numerous, between the purely subjective and telepathic classes. And as collective hallucinations even of subjective or non-veridical origin (i.e., not due to the critical situation of some distant agent) would constitute in themselves a form of thought-transference, no excuse is needed for examining them here at some length.

    What evidence, then, do we find that hallucinations of the senses, as such, may be infectious? It must be allowed at starting that no property of the sort has ever been attributed to them by {ii-184} psychologists of repute;1 1 This was written before the appearance of Dr. E. von Hartmann’s tract on Spiritism (lately translated by Mr. C. C. Massey), in which he treats the apparitions seen at séances as collective hallucinations; but he regards the influence exercised on the sitters by the medium as to some extent exceptional in kind. the doctrine would be as new to science as every other variety of telepathic affection. This, however, is easily accounted for. We have already seen that psychologists have never made hallucinations, or at any rate transient hallucinations of the sane, the subject of careful collection and tabulation; and it is among the sane rather than the insane2 2 As an instance of the insusceptibility of the insane to abnormal influences, it is worth noting that they are peculiarly difficult to hypnotise. On the other hand, I ought to state that the 2nd chapter of the Supplement contains two cases of what looks like telepathic affection of a person of more or less unsound mind. that we should expect any phenomenon of thought-transference to present itself. It is therefore not surprising that the rare and sporadic evidence for collective hallucinations should have escaped notice. But if, on the one hand, collective hallucinations have not been recognised by science, on the other hand phenomena have sometimes been described by that title which have no sort of claim to it. It is here that the real importance of distinguishing illusions from hallucinations lies; and I cannot well proceed without first making this distinction plain.

    Illusion consists either in perceiving a totally wrong object in place of the right one, as when Don Quixote’s imagination transformed the windmills into giants; or in investing the right object with wrong attributes, as when the stone lion on Northumberland House was seen to wag its tail.3 3 I have never discovered on what authority this anecdote rests; but such an illusion is, I believe, quite possible. Either sort of illusion may easily be collective. The error is not in the actual sensory impression, which is given by the real object and is common to all present, but in the subsequent act of judgment by which the nature of the object is determined; and in this act of judgment one person has every opportunity of being influenced by another. In the attitude of trying to imagine what further attributes will fit in naturally with those which the senses perceive, and will with them compose some known object, the mind is almost at the mercy of external suggestion. We see this constantly exemplified in cases where a group of people are puzzling as to the nature of some barely visible object, or of some imperfectly heard sound: as soon as someone expresses an opinion, someone else is pretty sure to endorse it, and to see or hear the thing in the suggested sense, though on nearer approach this may prove to have been incorrect. Even in cases {ii-185} where we feel as if we were right beyond the possibility of mistake, it often needs an effort to realise how little is given us, and how much we ourselves supply. A few slight sensory signs will introduce to the mind a whole array of attributes that have been associated with them on other occasions; the whole is then taken to be a single and immediate perception of the object; and since the actual sensory signs may be common to several different groups of attributes—i.e., to several different objects—it may easily happen that they suggest some group which is not the object actually present. For instance, the slight sensory signs which Scott would normally have interpreted as the folds of coats and plaids hanging in a dimly-lit hall, were interpreted by him, at a moment when the idea of Byron was running strongly in his head, as the figure of the deceased poet.1 1 An interesting case was given by Mr. W. H. Pollock, in the Christmas number, for 1884, of the Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News, under the title “The Ghost at the Lyceum.” Mr. Pollock has assured me that the description is “an absolute record of fact, without a word of garnish”; and his recollection of the incident, and of the bewilderment that it caused, was quite confirmed by his companion’s account, as reported to me independently by a common friend. Seated in a box at the theatre, Mr. Pollock and a friend saw, during several hours (with intermissions when the lights were turned up), the vivid appearance of a decapitated head, with a fine profile and a grey Vandyke beard, resting on the lap of a lady in the stalls. At the time, they rejected the idea that this could have been an optical effect due to the folds of the lady’s garments—as they noticed that she moved more than once in the course of the evening, while the face remained the same. Mr. Pollock seems to have been unaware that, as a possible example of collective hallucination, the vision had a very high scientific interest; or he would scarcely, even for “sporting and dramatic” purposes, have taken refuge in so meaningless a designation as “ghost.” It may be, however, that the case was after all one not of hallucination, but only of illusion. It is at any rate impossible, from the record, to be quite sure that adequate means were taken to exclude this hypothesis, which, as Mr. Pollock has recently informed me, is the one that he is now inclined to adopt. Here the idea which happened to be dominant at the moment was what determined the false judgment; and such a dominant idea may, of course, often operate upon many minds at once; as when, in a conflagration at the Crystal Palace, a sympathetic crowd watched the struggles of an agonised chimpanzee—alias a piece of tattered blind—in the roof; or when a horrified crew recognised in a piece of old wreck, which was floating on the waves, the form and peculiar limping gait of a drowned comrade.2 2 Dr. Hack Tuke, Influence of the Mind upon the Body, 2nd Edition, p. 59; Wundt, Op. cit., Vol. ii., p. 358. The case of the proverbial crowd and the stone lion’s tail is somewhat different; for there the object was clearly seen, and recognised for what it was. But we are all of us well exercised in imagining familiar objects as moving in position and changing in contour; and the power of evoking mental pictures is often, I think, strong enough to enable us slightly to modify our visual impressions; while such devices as half-closing our eyes, or shutting them alternately in quick succession, or moving or inclining {ii-186} the head, will increase the illusion. It is not surprising, then, that a strong effort to see a thing in a way in which others are professing to see it, should, for a brief period, introduce illusory elements into what seems to be a clear and complete view of the object.

    These considerations will certainly suffice to explain the majority of the collective apparitions on record. The visions seen during battles, such as are especially frequent in the history of the Crusades—either signs in the heavens or phantom champions—may easily have had some objective basis. The streak of cloud, which at one moment may be “very like a whale,” might at another be equally like a fiery sword; real horsemen might be unrecognised, and the first breath of rumour that they were supernatural assistants would be caught up with avidity.1 1 The reader will recall the phantom battle in the sky, described by Motley (The Rise of the Dutch Republic, pp. 559–60), as to which the depositions of five witnesses were taken on oath. The collective vision of an army marching on terra firma, described by the Duke of Argyll in Good Words for January, 1875, would be less easy to account for as an illusion: but the record is second-hand, and was not written down till more than 50 years after the incident is alleged to have occurred. Phantom champions are not yet extinct. Mr. J. T. Milward Pierce, of Bow Ranche, Nebraska, U.S.A., has told me of a quite recent case, narrated to him by one of the witnesses—where the form of a defunct Indian Chief, “Brown Bear,” led his tribe in a battle against the Dacotahs. Mr. Pierce has since sent me a first-hand account of the incident from another professed witness. A recent case of a more ordinary type is the following, from Mrs. Lane, of 49, Redcliffe Square, S.W. When at school, she was sleeping in the bed of a Miss Winch, who had been sent home ill; and waking up, she was much alarmed to see this girl standing at the foot of the bed. She addressed the figure, which nodded slowly. She then roused her companions, “and they all said they saw Miss Winch, too.” The girls did not know, what was learnt next day, that Miss Winch was dying; but even supposing the first percipient’s vision to have been telepathic, her terrified words, and the dim light, would probably be quite sufficient to convert a bed-hanging or a curtain into the suggested form for her companions’ eyes. More deceptive cases however occur, which are not illusions, but yet have as little claim as the preceding to be called collective hallucinations, if that word be (as throughout this treatise it is) confined to the strict sensory meaning. Nothing, for instance, could better illustrate what collective hallucinations are not, than two cases which Dr. Brierre de Boismont2 2 Des Hallucinations (Paris, 1862), pp. 280, 396. has adduced to illustrate what they are. A battalion of infantry, after a 40 miles’ march under a June sun, was quartered for the night in a dismal building which had the reputation of being haunted. The surgeon of the regiment describes how, about midnight, these soldiers rushed out of their quarters with wild cries, and declared that the devil had entered their chamber “in the form of a large black dog with curly hair, who had bounded upon them, ran over their chests with the rapidity of lightning, and disappeared on the side opposite to the one at which he had entered.” Now—on the supposition {ii-187} that no real dog or cat had a share in shaping the idea—what can be more likely than that the general nervousness took sudden form from one man’s sudden cry, on waking from a nightmare? There is not the slightest proof that all present simultaneously saw the dog, and followed his movements. I have already drawn attention to the ease with which uneducated persons may slip into believing that they have seen what they have only heard of; and under excitement this is, of course, doubly easy. One man may have believed that he saw; the rest may merely have believed they had seen. De Boismont’s second case is that of Dr. Pordage’s disciples in the middle of the seventeenth century, who saw “the powers of hell pass in review before them, seated in chariots, surrounded by dark clouds, and drawn by lions, bears, dragons, and tigers. These were followed by inferior spirits, who were provided with the ears of a cat or a griffin, and with deformed and distorted limbs.” But here the fact that “it made no difference whether their eyes were open or shut” renders it doubtful how far the impression was really more than a vivid inward picture; and there is nothing to contradict, and everything to suggest, the notion that one person described his impressions in language which would easily conjure up the general scene in kindred and excited minds.

    But apart from such spurious types, cases undoubtedly remain of really externalised collective hallucination, which are still perfectly explicable without resorting to thought-transference. The history of religious epidemics supplies instances where a whole group of persons have professed to behold some exciting or adorable object, and probably actually projected its image into space as part of the surrounding world; but where, without proof (which has never been presented) that what was seen was independently observed and described, it would be rash to suppose any other cause for the similarity of the individual experiences than a previous common idea and common expectancy.1 1 A probable example is the recent remarkable delusion at Corano—starting from a peasant girl’s alleged vision of the Virgin—in which a crowd of children and many adults shared. It is described in the Times for July 31, 1885. Nor is even expectancy a necessary condition; there are cases where the suggestion of the moment seems sufficient. The most marked of these are hypnotic hallucinations: it is as easy for a mesmerist to persuade a group of good “subjects” that they all see a particular phantasmal object, as to persuade one of them that he sees it. And I think it must be admitted as possible {ii-188} that mere verbal suggestion may act similarly on certain minds at certain times, without the preliminary of any definite hypnotic process. I say at certain times advisedly; for all clear evidence of the sort seems to connect the phenomenon with circumstances of rather special absorption or excitement, sometimes even with a state of semi-trance.1 1 If (as intelligent English eye-witnesses believe,) a semi-hypnotic condition, due to abnormally concentrated attention, is in great part answerable for the extraordinary illusions of Indian jugglery, the same condition might naturally be looked for in cases of collective hallucination. Very suggestive in this respect is the following record, by Professor Sidgwick, of a scene described to him by Mazzini:— “In or near some Italian town, Mazzini saw a group of people standing, apparently gazing upwards into the sky. Going up to it, he asked one of the gazers what he was looking at. ‘The cross—do you not see?’ was the answer; and the man pointed to the place where the cross was supposed to be. Mazzini, however, could discern no vestige of anything cruciform in the sky; and, much wondering, went up to another gazer, put a similar question, and received a similar answer. It was evident that the whole crowd had persuaded itself that it was contemplating a marvellous cross. ‘So,’ said Mazzini, ‘I was turning away, when my eye caught the countenance of a gazer who looked somewhat more intelligent than the rest, and also, I thought, had a faint air of perplexity and doubt in his gaze. I went up to him, and asked what he was looking at. “The cross,” he said, “there.” I took hold of his arm, gave him a slight shake, and said, “There is not any cross at all.” A sort of change came over his countenance, as though he was waking up from a kind of dream; and he responded, “No, as you say, there is no cross at all.” So we two walked away, and left the crowd to their cross.’ It is nearly 20 years since I heard this story; but it made a considerable impression on me, both from the manner m which Mazzini told it, and from its importance in relation to the evidence for ‘spiritualistic’ phenomena.” I do not know of any instance where the sane and healthy A, simply by saying at a casual moment to the sane and healthy B, “There is such and such an object” (not really present, and not capable of being imposed as an illusion on some object really present), has at once caused the object to be conjured up in space before B’s eyes. In the most extreme case that has come to my knowledge, where something like this has proved possible, very strong insistance and repetition on A’s part, of the sort that a mesmerist employs when seeking to dominate a “subject’s” mind, are needed before the impression develops into sensory form. In cases, therefore, where A has himself had a hallucination of which he has spoken at the moment, and B has shared it,

    it is too much to assume at once that B’s experience must have been exclusively due to the verbal suggestion; for if A’s mere suggestion can produce such an effect on B at that particular moment, why not at other moments when he suggests the imaginary object without having himself seen it? None the less, of course, ought the hypothesis of verbal suggestion to be most carefully considered, in relation to the special circumstances of each case, before any other hypothesis is even provisionally admitted.

    I have, perhaps, said enough to define the phenomena which are really of interest for us here. Fairly to allow of explanation by {ii-189} thought-transference, a collective case must present evident marks (1) of being a hallucination and not a mere illusion; (2) of having occurred, so to speak, in an isolated way, and not under the dominance of any special prepossession; and (3) of having been independently projected by the several percipients, and not merely conjured up by one on the suggestion of another. It is naturally not always easy to ascertain how far these conditions are met. In judging of the auditory cases, especially, great caution is necessary; for, as we have seen above (pp. 125–6), there is scarcely any sort of mere noise which may not have some undiscoverable external origin in the house or the neighbourhood. Intelligent speech, on the other hand, and certain musical sounds, such as bell-sounds or distinct melodic sequences, if externally caused, imply conditions the presence or absence of which it is usually possible to ascertain. So again in the visual cases, the fact of dim or uncertain light may favour the hypothesis of illusion; but where the light is good, the presence or absence of an adequate external cause in the vicinity can often be determined with all but complete certainty.1 1 I am including only cases of hallucinations which have occurred to more than one percipient simultaneously, or very nearly so. The extremely perplexing cases, few, but well attested, where the same phantasm has been independently described by different persons who have at different times encountered it in the same locality, may possibly be also connected with the infectious character of hallucinations; for we cannot pronounce it to be indispensable that the infectious influence should act at the moment. A certain amount of evidence for this explanation is afforded by cases where the experience (not apparently due to suggestion or illusion) has sometimes occurred to one person alone, and at other times to several together. But the hypothesis, as thus extended, becomes doubtful and difficult, and is, moreover, only one out of several hypotheses, all about equally doubtful and difficult, that may be suggested. (See Mrs. H. Sidgwick’s paper “On the Evidence, collected by the Society, for Phantasms of the Dead,” in the Proceedings of the S.P.R., Vol. iii., especially pp. 146–8.) Clearly no such explanation is needed for the general run of traditional appearances—the white ladies, headless horses, and phantom dogs, which are the most widely-spread forms; or the phantasms which are more or less indigenous to a particular district, like the “corpse-candles” of some Welsh counties, and the figures in shrouds of the Western Scottish islands. To account for these, we need not go beyond the latent idea in the percipient’s own mind. But it seems occasionally to happen that the percipient of a traditional phantasm is a person not previously acquainted with the tradition. Thus Mr. Lowell tells me that he once saw the appearance of the “Witch-farm,” on the Massachusetts coast, though unaware of the local legend concerning it, at the very place to which he found afterwards that the legend assigned it; and in Dyer’s English Folk-Lore, p. 208, a case is reported where a phantasm, coinciding with and possibly originating in a death, took a form that exactly accorded with the ideas of death-apparitions current in the place, though the percipient was a transient sojourner whom no rumour of those ideas had reached. Another type (recorded by Aubrey, Martin, Dalyell, Napier, Gregor, and other writers on “second-sight,” and possibly genuine), which seems to strain the hypothesis of infection somewhat less, is that where physical contact with the percipient of an abnormal sight or sound has enabled a second person to share it. Our own collection contains a couple of modern instances—one first-hand from Mrs. Taunton, of Brook Vale, Witton, near Birmingham, the other from two daughters and a son-in-law of the late Mr. and Mrs. George Whittaker, of the Bowdlands, Clitheroe, the first-hand witnesses. Such a phenomenon might at least be compared with the favouring effect of contact in certain “thought-reading” results, which (by rare exception among results where contact is a condition) seem not to be explicable as “muscle-reading.” One point of uncertainty often remains, owing {ii-190} to the way in which the evidence reaches us: we cannot be sure how far the mere verbal description of one percipient, after the occurrence, may not have caused another to fill in or modify his own recollection with details which he did not himself observe. But if both clearly shared in the experience, it is not important that their percepts may not have been so precisely similar as is sometimes alleged. So far, indeed, from telling against the theory of mental transfer, such want of identity is rather what we might have expected, both from the numerous approximate successes in experimental thought-transference—e.g., in reproducing drawings—and from the evidence that a telepathic impression is liable to be reacted on in various ways by the person whom it affects.

    § 4. I fear to weary the reader by yet further explanations and distinctions before examples are given. But difficulty of exposition and risk of misapprehension alike culminate in this final chapter; and the patience which has been able to accompany me thus far must be so considerable that I venture to make one more demand on it.

    I have propounded the question, what evidence do we find that purely subjective hallucinations of the senses may be infectious? and I have implied that I am able to produce some evidence of the sort. And, in fact, I am about to cite examples which I think that the majority of my readers—or of such of them at any rate as accept the substantial accuracy of the facts—will regard as going some way to establish the point. But there are those, I am aware, in whose minds some of my instances will produce a doubt whether the experiences were really subjective—whether they may not have had some unknown origin external to any of the perceiving minds; and I admit, though the doubt weakens my argument, that it is one which I in some measure share. To explain this, I must recur to a point that was very briefly touched on in Chap. XI. (Vol I., p. 512, note). It may be remembered that the question there arose whether postmortem appearances of persons some time deceased were necessarily subjective hallucinations, or whether they might not be amenable to a telepathic explanation; and I observed that, while telepathy—being a psychical and not a physical conception—was quite able to embrace these phenomena as possibly due to the action of human minds continuing after bodily death, yet the evidence for them (of a sort that would preclude their being regarded as purely subjective experiences) was scanty and inconclusive; and I dismissed the topic {ii-191} as not germane to an inquiry concerning telepathic transferences between the minds of living persons. But the topic which was rightly thus dismissed when we were considering affections of a single percipient, forces itself on us again when we encounter cases of joint percipience. For suppose that the object which B and C both simultaneously behold is the form of the deceased A. Then, if (1) the idea of B’s and C’s affection by the still continuing mind of A be rejected—as it would be by disbelievers in survival after physical death—yet B’s and C’s simultaneous affection remains a fact which demands recognition in this book; because, if A does not affect them, then one of them must affect the other, i.e., the case is one of transference between the minds of living persons. And if (2) the idea of A’s continuing power to affect B or C be admitted as tenable, but the joint affection of B and C by A be regarded as improbable, (owing to the difficulties already pointed out of conceiving the projection, under a telepathic impulse, of exactly simultaneous and corresponding hallucinations) yet again a fact remains which demands recognition in this book; because, if A affects B and not C, then C’s vision of A must be obtained from B, and the case is again one of transference between the minds of living persons.

    The reader will now, perhaps, divine why I hesitate to apply the words “purely subjective” to some, at any rate, of the cases in the group that awaits us. Though no absent living person was concerned in them as agent, I think it would be rash and unscientific to prejudge the question (deliberately left open in Chap.

    XI.) whether they had an origin in psychical conditions which have survived the change of death. I have shown that alike on either of the above hypotheses—alike, whether the dead (1) have not, or (2) have, minds which can influence the living—cases of collective percipience suggestive of the dead fall within the legitimate scope of the present inquiry; but I am anxious to avoid any appearance of dogmatic decision between (1) and (2). I am about equally dissatisfied with the arguments adduced for the former, and with the evidence adduced for the latter. But in my view the cases, whatever else they involve, at any rate involve an element of quite mundane thought-transference between the minds of the living persons concerned; and I must beg the reader to bear in mind that it is simply as probable or possible cases of thought-transference, and not as manifestations from the dead, that those of them which may seem to have reference to the dead are here adduced. If the senses of B and C are similarly and simultaneously {ii-192} affected without the presence of any material cause, then alike whether there is or is not a real immaterial cause outside their two selves, I believe that the joint phenomenon still depends (partly, if there is such a cause, wholly, if there is not) on psychical communication between their two minds. As to the point that is left in abeyance—the existence or non-existence of the said cause—all varieties of opinion will be allowed for by defining the group, not positively, as cases of “purely subjective” origin, but negatively, as cases which do not apparently originate in the condition of any absent living person.

    § 5. I will begin with visual examples. The following is a collective hallucination of what I have called a rudimentary type, as not suggesting any special form or human presence; but it is a remarkably prolonged and elaborate specimen of the sort.1 1 Another striking rudimentary hallucination, of the cloud type, in which two persons (out of the four who were present) shared, is described in Notes and Queries for September 8th and 22nd, and November 10th, 1860, and for January 5th, 1861. The narrator is Mr. E. L. Swift, who was Keeper of the Jewels in the Tower at the time when the event occurred, in the Jewel House. An incorrect version was given, without authority, in Gregory’s Animal Magnetism. In Vol. i., p. 483, I drew attention to a particular kind of impression, which, without actually developing into a sensory form, yet strongly suggests a particular person‘s presence. It is interesting to observe that such an impression—which seems a sort of potential hallucination—may be collective. Mrs. Easton, of 14, The Crescent, Taunton, writes, in January, 1884:— “I have been, on one occasion, impressed with the certainty that a sort of—so to speak—invisible presence was in the room, and my sister, who was in the same room, told me some hours after, that she had the same impression at that particular moment, I not having spoken of the matter to her. This took place about two or three days after the death of a near relative.” In reply to inquiries, Mrs. Easton adds:— “In answer to the first question as to whether we ever had such an impression at any other time, for myself I can answer ‘No,’ decidedly, and my sister cannot remember anything of the kind. “The second question was, did we connect the impression with our deceased relation at the time? For myself, I can answer, ‘Yes’; my sister has described her thoughts at that praticular moment in the enclosed letter. “The third question, ‘Was there a strong bond of affection?’ Yes. “Fourth question, ‘Can we be sure that the impression in each mind exactly corresponded in time?’ I am quite certain that, whatever produced this unusual feeling, we both experienced it at the same moment, although perhaps in a different way, being so unlike in temperament; I remember looking at my watch on awakening, to know the time. “Fifth question, ‘How long did the impression last?’ For some seconds; the impression on my mind was that some unusual presence, something not material, was near.” The enclosure, from Mrs. Welch, of 5, Colleton Crescent, Exeter, was as follows:— “In August last, I was sleeping in the room with my sister. I think it was the third night after our father’s death, and he was lying in a room below. I was aroused out of my sleep with a feeling as if some person had entered the room, and come as far as the foot of the bed when I awoke. “I am particularly nervous at all times, of course after the recent event more so than usual; yet when I awoke, I did not feel the slightest fear, and only wished I could see the time, as I instantly thought I should hear of something having happened at that moment—the more so as our step-mother, we knew, was in a very precarious state. “My sister awoke at the same time, and on my telling her of my sensations she told me she had felt the same, although she is not in the least of a nervous temperament.” In reply to a question whether such an impression was unique in her experience, Mrs. Welch says:— “I never experienced the same feelings before, that I can recollect.” The narrator is Mrs. Ward, of Glen Aray Lodge, Windsor.

    {ii-193}

    (316) “In May, 1851, I and my husband, the late E. M. Ward, R.A., had a curious experience which we were at a loss to account for, though it became a subject of frequent conversation, and every effort was made to find for it a fitting and rational explanation.

    “We were living at No. 33, Harewood Square. It was in the month of May, and my husband and I had been to a quiet gathering of friends in the neighbourhood; we returned about 12 o’clock, letting ourselves in, for the servants were in bed, and went straight to our bedroom. Having passed such a quiet, unexciting evening, there was nothing much to talk about, and my husband was quickly in bed and asleep. I very soon followed him, and was just getting into bed, having put out my candle, with my face towards the door, when, much to my surprise, I saw, as though suspended a little distance from the top of the door, a strange, flickering flame; it was about six inches high, and four inches across the widest part, pear-shaped, and of a blueish lilac tint. I was considerably startled and must have been much agitated, for my husband (as he informed me afterwards) was roused by the sound of my fast beating heart. In reply to his inquiries, I drew his attention to the strange flame which I still saw suspended from the door frame, and whilst we were both wonderingly speculating as to what it could be, it was joined by another flame, similar in every respect, but smaller. Greater still was our surprise when we observed these two mysterious little lights slowly advancing, side by side, towards us; they came right on to our bed, and then, determined to analyse their nature, we both sat up, and my husband grasped them with his hands, rubbing them and endeavouring to rid us of their society. But, to our astonishment, this treatment had no more effect upon them than to break them into small luminous grains, which ran all over the bed-covering like quicksilver. Gradually, however, this bright inundation began to fade, and, as we still continued our efforts to extinguish it, it disappeared.

    “Such is the account of the occurrence. That it actually did occur to us we never entertained the slightest doubt. I was certainly wide awake at the time, and my mind was troubled in no way, and I was in good health—otherwise there might be some ground for the belief that the appearance was the hallucination of a disordered mind, or of an over-wrought brain. My husband, too, was undoubtedly wide awake, and retained a perfect recollection of all the details of the vision the next day. We discussed it, and tried to fathom its meaning, over and over again, but could never arrive at any conclusion about it at all—except that as it did not act as a forewarning to any coming event, did not correspond to any important event, and did not appear to serve any purpose at all, its appearance was utterly meaningless.

    “HENRIETTA MARY ADA WARD.”

    In a later letter, Mrs. Ward adds:—

    “As the lights were coming to the bed, there were two streaks of moonlight on the counterpane, which could not come from any window, as the room was darkened. They also when touched, with the two lamps, merged into a mass of diamonds.”

    In conversation, Mrs. Ward told us that she had never experienced any other hallucination of the senses

    {ii-194}

    We have several other examples of collective

    hallucinations of light. In one (described to us by Mrs. G. T. Haly, of 122, Coningham Road, Shepherd’s Bush, W., as having occurred a few days after her husband’s death, and assumed by her to be connected with him), a flame as of a candle, but bluer, passed and repassed the bed on which the two percipients were lying, at about 18 inches height from the floor. In another, a luminous ball was seen in a corner of the room. A fourth very remarkable instance, of the brilliant illumination and then sudden darkening of an empty room, is described to us by the Rev. Edward Ram, of Norwich, as a personal experience of himself and his wife—but this was in a house where other unaccountable phenomena have been observed; as was also the case in a fifth instance, where a light is described by one percipient, Mrs. W. B. Richmond, as a glow over the whole room, out of which (according to her recollection) two bright little balls of light seemed to flash out; and by the other (her mother) as “flickering about” specially in a particular part of the room. In none of these cases does it seem possible that the light was in any way cast or reflected into the room from outside.1 1 In the last case, the second percipient suggests the lantern of thieves trying to rob the pigeon-house. But in the first place, the pigeon-house was not robbed, and no vestige of thieves was found; and in the second place, the light would have had to penetrate a very dark green blind, and thieves are not wont to require for their work an advertisement of such preternatural brilliancy.

    Coming to instances of a more developed type, we have a considerable group of cases as to which it might be a possible—though I think a rather desperate—assumption that what was seen was a real object, most strangely misinterpreted, or else appearing in most improbable circumstances; and which I do not therefore number as evidential items. Specially baffling are some of the cases where a carriage, as well as human beings, has appeared. For instance, Major W., resident near Conon Bridge, Ross-shire, writes:—

    “February 9th, 1882.

    “It was the month of August; rather a dark night and very still; the hour, midnight; when before retiring for the night I went, as is often my custom, to the front door to look at the weather. When standing for a moment on the step, I saw, coming round a turn in the drive, a large close carriage and pair of horses, with two men on the box. It passed the front of the house, and was going at a rapid rate towards a path which leads to a stream, running, at that point, between rather steep banks. There is no carriage-road on that side of the house, and I shouted to the driver to stop, as, if he went on, he must undoubtedly come to grief. {ii-195} The carriage stopped abruptly when it came to the running water, turned, and, in doing so, drove over the lawn. I got up to it; and by this time my son had joined me with a lantern. Neither of the men on the box had spoken, and there was no sound from the inside of the carriage. My son looked in, and all he could discern was a stiff-looking figure sitting up in a corner, and draped, apparently, from head to foot in white. The absolute silence of the men outside was mysterious, and the white figure inside, apparently of a female, not being alarmed or showing any signs of life, was strange. Men, carriage, and horses were unknown to me, although I know the country so well. The carriage continued its way across the lawn, turning up a road which led past the stables, and so into the drive again and away. We could see no traces of it the next morning—no marks of wheels or horse’s feet on the soft grass or gravel road; and we never again heard of the carriage or its occupant, though I caused careful inquiries to be made the following day. I may mention that my wife and daughter also saw the carriage, being attracted to the window by my shout. This happened on the 23rd of August, 1878.”

    After a visit to the house in September, 1884, Mr. Podmore wrote:—

    “Major W., on whom I called to-day, is practically satisfied that what he and his family saw was not a real carriage. He showed me the whole scene of its appearance. The spot where the carriage appeared to turn barely leaves sufficient room for the passage of an ordinary carriage, and that a carriage should turn round there seems almost impossible. The carriage went for some distance across the lawn—a mossy and rather damp piece of grass—and stopped in front of the house for more than a minute, the while Major W. spoke to the man, but without receiving any reply. His wife, whom I also saw, was attracted to the window by the sound of the wheels, in the first instance, on the gravel. Major W. made many inquiries among his neighbours, but could not find that anyone had seen the carriage at all. The house is situated on a peninsula stretching between the Cromarty and Moray Firths, and some 3 miles from the neck of the peninsula. The locality is very lonely, there being no villages or hamlets, and but few private residences of any kind; and it is difficult to imagine the errand which could bring a strange carriage into such a country at the dead of night. Major W. has had one other purely subjective hallucination.”

    In another of the carriage-cases, the hallucination was of a more bizarre sort, the coachman and footman on the box having black faces, and the four ladies inside being dressed completely in black. The vehicle passed the window without producing any sound on the gravel. In a third case (quoted above, pp. 97–9), one of the percipients was altogether apart from the three others—they seeing the phantasmal carriage pass the window, and she meeting it some way down the road. In a fourth case, our informant—Mr. Paul Bird, of 39, Strand, Calcutta—followed a phantom gharrie for 100 yards, into the very portico of Hastings House at Alipore, while the same vehicle was watched in its approach by his wife from a window. But {ii-196} more of a puzzle even than the carriage-cases is a narrative received from two daughters of a well-known clergyman—neither romantic nor superstitious witnesses—who describe a vast swarm of soundless phantasmal shapes, dressed in old-fashioned garments, most of them dwarfish, and two with sparks round their faces, by which they and a maid were once accompanied for about 200 yards in a lane near Oxford. “One might imagine it to be a kind of mirage; only the whole appearance [owing to the dresses] was so unlike what one would have seen in any town at the time we saw it.”1 1 This case, which in brief abstract may sound like a frightened girl’s story, will not, I think, produce that impression in the complete account, which may be found in the Proceedings of the S.P.R., Vol. iii., p. 77. If this must be regarded as illusion, because it occurred in misty moonlight, yet an identity of impression is described which still suggests mental infection:—“If one saw a man, all saw a man; if one saw a woman, all saw a woman; and so on.”

    I pass by, however, as necessarily inconclusive, the greater number of our instances of collective impression where the appearance was seen out of doors in imperfect light—though there is not one of them which would not be decidedly more remarkable, as a specimen of joint illusion, than any that I have found recorded in print.2 2 The following case, remote but first-hand, is made interesting by the fact that one of the persons present did not share the experience. Mrs. Stone, of Walditch, Bridport, tells us that one beautiful summer evening, after sunset but while it was still quite light, she was driving home with a cousin and a friend—“three more merry girls could hardly be met with”—and a man-servant. “I saw the figure of a man on the right-hand side, walking, or rather, gliding, at the head of the horse. My first idea was that he meant to stop us, but he made no effort of the kind, but kept on at the same pace as the horse, neither faster nor slower. At first I thought him of great height, but afterwards remarked that he was gliding some distance (at least a foot) above the ground. Mary was sitting by me. I pointed out in a low voice the figure, but she did not see it, and could not at any time during its appearance. Emily was sitting by the man-servant on the front seat; she heard what I said, turned round, and speaking softly, ‘I see the man you mention distinctly.’ Then the manservant said, in an awful, frightened voice, ‘For God’s sake, ladies, don’t say anything! please keep quiet!’ or words to that effect. I had heard that horses and other animals feel the presence of the supernatural; in this instance there was no starting or bolting, the creature went on at an even pace, almost giving the idea of being controlled by the figure. The face was turned away, but the shape of a man in dark clothing was clearly defined. My cousin and the man-servant saw it

    distinctly, but my friend was unable to do so, though the figure stood out plainly against the evening light; she was so placed that she ought to have seen it particularly well. At the entrance of the village of Charminster it vanished, and we saw it no more. I never heard the road was haunted.” This may perhaps have been an optical effect due to the horse’s breath; but many breathing horses are out on summer evenings, and I should be glad to know of a similar effect in other instances. It is at any rate odd that it should have been interpreted in the same way by several observers. The following daylight example is from the Misses Montgomery, of Beaulieu, Drogheda.

    “March 2nd, 1884.

    (317) “About the year 1875, I and my sister (we were about 13 years old then) were driving home in the tax-cart one summer afternoon about 4 {ii-197} o’clock, when there suddenly appeared, floating over the hedge, a female figure moving noiselessly across the road; the figure was in white, and the body in a slanting position, some 10 feet above the ground. The horse suddenly stopped and shook with fright, so much so that we could not get it on. I called out to my sister: ‘Did you see that?’ and she said she had, and so did the boy Caffrey, who was in the cart. The figure went over the hedge, on the other side of the road, and passed over a field, till we lost sight of it in a plantation beyond. Altogether, I suppose, we watched it for a couple of minutes. It never touched the ground at all, but floated calmly along. On reaching home we told our mother of what we had seen, and we were perfectly certain it was not a mere delusion or illusion, nor an owl, or anything of the kind.

    “I have never seen anything like this nor any apparition before or since. We were all in good health at the time, and no one had suggested any grounds for the apparition beforehand; but we afterwards heard that the road was supposed to be haunted, and a figure had been seen by some of the country folks.

    “VIOLET MONTGOMERY.

    “SIDNEY MONTGOMERY.”

    Professor Barrett, who knows the witnesses, adds that Mrs. Montgomery remembers the incident well, and the terror her children were in  They both agreed as to the reality of the figure. Caffrey has gone to America, and been lost sight of.

    No one probably will suppose that the witnesses here have agreed to repeat, for our benefit, a romance which they fabricated for their mother’s at the time; and however much allowance be made for childish terror or exaggeration, the community of experience in broad daylight seems to exceed what can be attributed to verbal suggestions, passed from one to another, à propos of a fleece of cloud or an owl. We have a very similar instance from Mr. W. S. Soutar, solicitor, of Blairgowrie, N.B.—who records that he and his brother, as young boys, at play behind their father’s house, in the gloaming of a summer evening, “both saw an apparition in the shape of a female figure, plainly dressed, with a striped apron over the face, and which glided, without any apparent movement of the feet, from the road till about half-way between it and the hedge surrounding a shrubbery near the house, when the figure suddenly disappeared. There was no cover near, behind which the person (if in the body) could hide, the spot where it disappeared being bare and open.” This case, however, is remote, and the second witness is dead. A much more striking example (brought to our notice by Mr. A. Farquharson, of North Bradley, Trowbridge, Wilts) is one where the senses of two adults—a gentleman-farmer, described as a hard-headed unromantic businessman and his wife—were similarly deluded in an exposed space and in {ii-198} broad daylight; but the timidity of the witnesses precludes me from giving details.

    To come, however, to indoor cases, of a less dubious type. As a rule, the figure seen (just as in purely subjective cases occurring to a single percipient) is unrecognised. The following account, though remote, is first-hand, and at any rate deserves quotation. It occurs in Letters of Philip, 2nd Earl of Chesterfield (1829), p. 11. The incident was recorded by Lord Chesterfield in an MS. volume containing his letters and “notes for my remembrance of things and accidents, as they yearly happen to me.”

    (318) “A very odd accident this year [1652] befell mee, for being come about a law sute to London … I, waking in the morning about 8 o’clock, … plainly saw, within a yard of my bedside, a thing all white like a standg sheet, with a knot atop of it, about 4 or 5 foot high, wh I considered a good while, and did rayse myself up in my bed to view the better. At last I thrust out both my hands to catch hold of it, but, in a moment, like a shadow, it slid to the feet of the bed, out of wh I, leapg after it, cd see it no more. … Doubting least something might have happened to my wife, I rid home that day to Petworth in Sussex, where I had left her with her father, the Earl of Northumberland, and as I was going upstairs to her chamber, I met one of my footmen, who told me that he was comming to me with a packet of letters, the wh I having taken from him went to my wife, who I found in good health, being … with Lady Essex, her sister, and another gentlewoman, one Mrs. Ramsey … They all asked me what made me to come home so much sooner than I intended. Whereupon I told them what had happened to me that morng; which they all wondering at desired me to open and read the letter that I had taken from the footman, which I immediately did, and read my wife’s letter to mee aloud, wherein she desired my speedy returng as fearg that some ill wd happen to mee, because that morning shee had seen a thing all in white, with a black face, standing by her bedside. … By examining all particulars we found that the same day, the same hour, and (as near as can be computed) the same minute, all that had happened to me had befallen her, being fortie miles asunder. The Lady Essex and Mrs. Ramsey were witnesses to both our relations.”1 1 In another case where a phantasm, again of a very unusual aspect, was simultaneously perceived by two persons at a distance from one another, we have the special reason for supposing it to have been purely subjective in origin, that both percipients were somewhat liable to subjective visual hallucinations; but though it comes to us on good authority, it is third-hand, and cannot receive an evidential number. Dr. T. King Chambers, F.R.C.P., of Shrubs Hill House, Sunningdale, writes:—“December 26th, 1885. “My uncle by marriage, Colonel Macdonald, was subject to frequent hallucinations, when sitting up late reading, and working at some improvements in fortification and Semaphore telegraphy, which he thought would be of value. The hallucinations were wholly visual, I understood, not aural; though he used to be heard hailing them, and what he called ‘conversing’; yet the conversation was in his usual style of pure monologue. He was always quite sane—as have been all his children and grandchildren. His son, Charles, was a civilian in the E.I.C. Service, and, whilst a student at Haileybury College, was a constant visitor at our house in Keppel Street, and also in Essex. He was the only one of the family who inherited his father’s peculiarity, which they both considered to be an hereditary racial disease, or rather mental malformation, of no practical importance for good or harm, when once so understood by the afflicted person. “Shortly before my cousin went to India when I was quite a child, he slept a night at my father’s in Keppel Street; and while going to bed he saw a man with a face he did not recognise, dressed in an old-fashioned Spanish costume. He was not alarmed, or particularly interested; but as a matter of chit-chat, mentioned it in a letter to his father at Exeter, who answered by return of post that, at the same time, he had seen an exactly similar figure, in the same strange dress. I was too young at the time to be safely told ghost-stories; but my father and mother often detailed the circumstances as a singular instance of coincidence. I should explain it by the fact that both my uncle and cousin were at home in Devon, and fond of history. Both would be likely to have a store of half remembered dates relating to the defeat of the Armada and Spanish affairs, and the day may have suggested the forgotten date, and clothed it in appropriate costume.“T. K. CHAMBERS.”

    {ii-199}

    Here, it will be seen, the two percipients were widely separated, which excludes the idea of joint illusion or of verbal suggestion; and the case forms a parallel, among sensory phantasms, to that given in Vol. I., p. 240, where the common experience was of an ideal and emotional kind.

    In the next example the percipients, though near together, were not actually in one another’s company. The case is of special interest, inasmuch as the two percepts were slightly different,—the figure being seen by one observer with a hat on, and by the other without, and the difference corresponding with the associations natural to each in their respective positions. A clergyman writing to us from Lincoln, on April 29th, 1885, describes an afternoon call of the preceding January.

    (319) “I was ushered into the drawing-room, and was asked to take a low arm-chair in the middle of the room; but I preferred sitting on a couch drawn up at right angles to the side of the fireplace, where I could command a view, through the window, of the garden. Facing me, with her back to this window, sat one lady; to my left, seated not far from the arm-chair mentioned, was another lady, fronting the hearth. While we sat chatting upon the subject of my visit, an old man, of somewhat sad appearance, dressed in a dark blue over-coat—somewhat shabby—and with a flat-topped felt hat, and remarkable for a white beard, passed the window; and immediately after the front door bell rang. The lady of the house was expecting a visit from some lady friend, and remarked ‘This must be ——.’ I said, ‘No, it’s an old man with a white beard.’ At which both ladies present expressed surprise, and began wondering who it could be. Just then the door of the room opened, and in walked a well-known local practitioner. As soon as he had shaken hands all round, the lady of the house said, ‘But where is the old man with the white beard?’ To which the doctor replied, ‘Yes; where is he?’

    “Our friend, the doctor, had happened to be passing the gate a short time before, and had, without premeditation as he says, suddenly turned in, struck with the idea of paying an afternoon call. He came up the walk towards the hall door, and, in passing the window mentioned, looked into the {ii-200} room where we were sitting, and saw, seated in the low arm-chair, an old man exactly answering to the description of the old man I had seen passing the window (doubtless when the doctor passed), with this exception, that the person he saw had, of course, no hat on. The doctor was surprised not to find the old gentleman in the room; hence his strange reply to the lady’s question.

    “Now observe: I saw the old man exactly at the time the doctor was passing the window. I did not see the doctor, whom I know well, who is much shorter than the figure I saw, and who wore a brown top-coat, a silk hat, and no beard. And the doctor saw the figure in the room, sitting down and without a hat.[☼]

    “I am not, as far as I know, subject to similar hallucinations, if the affair may be rightly so-called.”

    Dr. Cant writes to us as follows:—

    “Silver Street, Lincoln.

    “May 7th, 1885.

    “I have seen Mr. —— [the clergyman], and quite agree with all he said. The old man was sitting down in the room, and I felt certain of his presence, and was greatly astonished not to find him in the room. The reports we have given are absolutely true, without any doubts in either of our minds.

    “W. T. CANT.”

    Dr. Cant was asked whether he had ever had any other hallucinations; and also whether he would have been certain to see any real person occupying the position where the clergyman saw the figure. He replied:—

    “In answer to your questions these phenomena are quite new to me, and I never remember having one of the sort before, It was quite impossible for the figure that Mr. —— saw to have been there, as I must have seen it when passing, and he only saw one figure, and did not see me at all.”

    The next two cases resemble the last, in the point that the two percipients do not seem to have seen exactly the same thing. Surgeon-Major Samuel Smith, of Wyndham House, Kingsdown Parade, Bristol, sent the following account to the Western Daily Press (Nov. 30, 1881), and has since confirmed it to us.

    (320) “I solemnly vouch for the truth of the statement made. I will add that I have been, although not a professed teetotaller, a total abstainer from stimulants for the past 10 years, and that I am not a believer in Spiritualism as it exists in the present day.

    “About 20 minutes past 11 o’clock on the night of the 20th of April last, I was engaged with my wife’s mother in playing a selection from ‘La Figlia del Reggimento’ for the flute and piano. We were seated in the drawing-room, which was brilliantly lighted by three large gaslights burning in globes which hung from the centre of the ceiling, the only other occupants of the room being my wife, who had fallen asleep upon the couch, and the baby asleep in the cradle. My wife’s brother, who had been with us, left the room at 11 o’clock, and retired to rest. The room itself is spacious, lofty, and parallelogram-shaped, the piano occupying a position immediately opposite to the only door of entrance in {ii-201} the middle of the corresponding long side, so that in playing we sat with our backs to the door, which was closed.

    “I was thoroughly intent upon the music, which was new to me, and difficult to read, so far as the flute was concerned, owing to the small size of the notes; when suddenly, in the midst of the performance, a strange feeling of mingled awe and fear came over me, and I distinctly felt the approach of someone, or rather of something, coming behind me, and this although I was so engrossed with playing; and in my mind I seemed to perceive the shape. As it approached nearer, I turned my head to the right, and distinctly perceived a shade of a greyish colour standing by me upon my right hand, a little in advance of me. I did not see the whole figure, but what I saw was part of a shadowy face, the outline of the forehead, nose, mouth, chin, and a part of the neck being visible. Strange to say, I do not remember seeing the eye, but the figure appeared to have a top hat upon its head. As I gazed upon it, it vanished, and with it the feelings, to a great extent, to which it gave rise. Of the mingled feelings which its presence raised in my mind, I should say that awe predominated.

    “I did not cease playing, and subsequently played other pieces by the old masters, sang some songs, and finally went to bed, and slept well. Nor did I mention the matter to my wife’s mother that night, either at the time of the occurrence, or before retiring to rest. Now, however, comes the most remarkable part of the matter. At or about 11.30 a.m. on the following day, my wife’s mother came into the private room, and suddenly said, ‘Did you see something when you turned your head last night, when you were playing?’ I did not immediately reply, but the strange event of the preceding night flashed across my mind instantly. I was, indeed, too greatly surprised to reply at once, for I did not believe at the time that she had noticed the action upon my part; and, as I have already said, I had not mentioned the matter to her, or even hinted at it.

    “‘Why do you ask?’ I replied.

    “‘Because I thought you did.’

    “‘Did you see anything?’ I asked.

    “‘Yes, I believed that someone had come into the room, as I felt that someone had come in.’

    “‘Did you think it was a man or a woman?’

    “‘I felt that it was a man, and at first believed it to be James’ (my wife’s brother), ‘who had come down, and I wondered how he could come in without my hearing him.’

    “‘Did you see anything?’ I asked.

    “‘Yes, I saw the back and shoulders of the form of a man; it passed across like a shadow behind you, stood to your right hand, and then disappeared. I was not alarmed, but surprised.

    “So ends the narrative. In no way can I explain the cause, or sequence of events. As they occurred, so I present them.”

    Surgeon-Major Smith (January 15th, 1886), in sending his mother-in-law’s confirmation, adds:—

    “In speaking of the matter to-day she said she felt the presence of the visitor in her mind before she saw it; and this is my experience of it. I felt its presence before I saw it.”1 1 See Vol. i., p. 483, and Chap. xii., § 2.

    {ii-202}

    “Wyndham House, Kingsdown, Bristol,

    “January 15th, 1886.

    “Agreeably to the request of Mr. Gurney, I write, but have nothing to add to the statement of my experience of the strange visitation described in the Western Daily Press in November, 1881; the facts being as therein stated.

    “HANNAH ROBINSON.”

    Mr. Smith has repeated the account to me on the spot; and it then became evident that Mrs. Robinson, turning her head the

    instant after he did the same, would have seen any flesh-and-blood figure rather more full-face than he did; instead of which she saw the back. The extremely distinct and startling character of the experience came out more impressively in conversation than in the written account. Neither percipient can recall having had anything like a hallucination on any other occasion.

    The following account is from the Rev. D. W. G. Gwynne, M.D., Neuaddvach, Pontardulais, South Wales. He first describes how he took up his abode at P—— House, near Taunton, in 1853, and how both he and his wife were made uncomfortable by auditory experiences to which they could find no clue. He proceeds:—

    (321) “I now come to the mutual experience of something that is as fresh in its impression as if it were the occurrence of yesterday. During the night I became aware of a draped figure passing across the foot of the bed towards the fire-place. I had the impression that the arm was raised, pointing with the hand towards the mantel-piece, on which a night-light was burning. Mrs. Gwynne at this moment seized my arm, and the light was extinguished. Notwithstanding, I distinctly saw the figure returning towards the door, and being under the impression that one of our servants had found her way into our room, I leapt out of bed to intercept the intruder, but found, and saw, nothing. I rushed to the door, and endeavoured to follow the supposed intruder, and it was not until I found the door locked, as usual, that I was painfully impressed. I need hardly say that Mrs. Gwynne was in a very nervous state. She asked me what I had seen, and I told her. She had seen the same figure, but her impression was that the figure placed its hand over the night-light and extinguished it.

    “The night-light in question was relit and placed in a toilette basin, and burned naturally. I tried to convince myself that it might have been a gust of wind down the chimney that put the light out; but that will not account for the spectral appearance, which remains a mystery.

    “D. W. G. GWYNNE.”

    Mrs. Gwynne writes, on April 15, 1884:—

    “In addition to my husband’s statement, which I read, I can only say that the account he has given you accords with my remembrance of the ‘unearthly vision,’ but I distinctly saw the hand of the phantom placed over the night-light, which was at once extinguished. I tried to cling to Dr. Gwynne, but he leapt out of bed with a view, as he afterwards said, of intercepting some supposed intruder. The door was locked as usual, and was so when he tried it. He lit a candle at once, and looked under the bed, and into a closet, but saw nothing. The night-light was also relit, {ii-203} which was placed on the wash-stand, and together with the candle, remained burning all night. I must observe that I had never taken to use night-lights before we lived there, and only did so when I had been so often disturbed and alarmed by sighs and heavy breathing close to my side of the bed. Dr. Gwynne, on the appearance of the phantom, in order to calm my agitated state, tried to reason with me, and to persuade me that it might have been the effects of the moonlight and clouds passing over the openings of the shutter, and possibly that a gust of wind might have extinguished the light, but I knew differently. When we had both been awakened at the same moment apparently, and together saw that unpleasant figure, tall and as it were draped like a nun, deliberately walk up to the mantel-piece and put out the light with the right hand, there could be no mistake about it; and I distinctly heard the rustling sound of garments as the figure turned and left through the door, after my husband’s attempt to stop it with his open arms. The moonlight was very clear and the white dimity curtains only partly closed.

    “MARY GWYNNE.”

    [As telling against the purely subjective origin of this experience, I ought to mention that there was distinct evidence of others’ having observed unaccountable phenomena in the house, though this was not known by Dr. and Mrs. Gwynne till after their own observation. They soon afterwards gave up the house.]

    In the next case the difference is still more marked, the percept being visual to one person and auditory to the other; while at the same time something of the same idea seems to have been suggested to both. For the purpose in view, the case (in spite of certain discrepancies in the two accounts) is, perhaps, stronger than it looks. For the fact that the visual and the auditory experience were both unshared, is a decided indication that they were neither of them due to a real external cause; and if they were hallucinations, then (since no words passed till after both had been experienced) it seems at any rate very possible that one of them produced the other by thought-transference. Lady C. writes, on Oct. 13, 1884:—

    (322) “In October, 1879, I was staying at Bishopthorpe, near York, with the Archbishop of York. I was sleeping with Miss Z. T., when I suddenly saw a white figure fly through the room from the door to the window. It was only a shadowy form, and passed in a moment. I felt utterly terrified and called out at once, ‘Did you see that?’ and at the same moment Miss Z. T. exclaimed, ‘Did you hear that?’ Then I said, instantly, ‘I saw an angel fly through the room,’ and she said, ‘I heard an angel singing.’

    “We were both very much frightened for a little while, but said nothing about it to any one.

    “K. C.”

    Miss T. writes:—

    “December 19th, 1884.

    “Late one night, about October 17th, 1879, Lady C. (then Lady K. L.) {ii-204} and I were preparing to go to sleep, after talking some time, when I heard something like very faint music, and seemed to feel what people call ‘a presence.’ I put out my hand and touched Lady C., saying, ‘Did you hear that?’ She said, ‘Oh, don’t! Just now I saw something going across the room!’ We were both a good deal frightened, and tried to go to sleep as soon as we could. But I remember asking Lady C. exactly what she had seen, and she said, ‘A sort of white shadow, like a spirit.’ The above occurred at Bishopthorpe, York.

    “Z. J. T.”

    In the next two examples (in which the figure was unrecognised) no difference seems to have been noted in the impressions of the two percipients. Mr. Bettany, of 2, Eckington Villas, Ashbourne Grove, Dulwich, S.E., writes:—

    “November, 1884.

    (323) “One night, early this year, I became conscious of a figure in my bedroom. It was a crouching figure of a woman, enveloped in a black cloak and hood. My impression was that the woman was old, but I did not see a face. This figure slowly and stealthily advanced from the bedroom door to a wardrobe on the same side of the room. It then suddenly and entirely disappeared, and, from the sudden shock, I gave a sharp loud cry. I never saw such an appearance before or since. I consider myself unusually unlikely to see apparitions. This figure and circumstance were like no dream, but were to me real and evident, and there appeared to be no transition between waking and sleeping. I was convinced that what I saw was a waking sight. I have no idea whom the figure represented. I had then occupied this house nearly three years, and I know nothing of former occupants.

    “No light was carried nor was any light burning in the room. The figure was visible and the wardrobe was visible; but when the figure disappeared darkness was complete.1 1 See Vol. i., pp. 550–1. The door was found locked.

    “G. T. BETTANY.”

    Mrs. Bettany (the narrator of cases 20 and 309) writes:—

    “On the night referred to, I woke suddenly, I know not from what cause. My husband was leaning on his elbow, looking intently at a strange woman whom I saw crouching by the wardrobe. I believed it to be a real person. It, however, suddenly disappeared. My husband then gave a cry as he describes. He then told me what he had seen. I tried the door and found it locked.

    “The thought has occurred to me that I may have seen this by sympathetic transference from my husband; but, against this, I am much more likely to see something of this kind than he.

    “Without having mentioned this apparition to my servants, the nursemaid told me, next day, that Muriel (a child of three years) had woke her in the night, saying, without any fear in her voice, ‘Clara, Clara, there is an old woman in the room.’ The nurse herself saw nothing. I may add that my cook has on several occasions asked me if I had entered {ii-205} her room during the night, on occasions when I had certainly not done so. She appeared much mystified on learning this.

    “JEANIE GWYNNE BETTANY.”

    The narrator of the next experience requests that her name may not appear.

    “February 17th, 1884.

    (324) “Shortly after my marriage, about the year 1847, I went to stay at my father’s house. I had at that time two sisters at home, unmarried. The elder of the two was nearly two years younger than myself, and would therefore be about 22 years of age at the time I speak of. The other sister was much younger than us both, and at this time was about 14 years old. My two sisters slept together in a room adjoining mine.

    “One morning, on my going down to breakfast, my elder sister said to me, ‘Sarah, such a strange thing happened in the night. I was sleeping outside (the other side of the bed was against the wall), and I was awoke by a feeling of oppression at my chest, as though there was a weight there, and I could not breathe. On opening my eyes I was startled to see a veiled figure bending over me. While I looked, I felt Anna’s arm come round me. After what seemed to me a few minutes the form disappeared. Then Anna whispered, ‘Oh Lizzie, I thought it was going to take you away.’”

    “This was my sister’s account. I took an opportunity, when my younger sister and I were alone, to ask her what that was that she and Lizzie had seen. She said she was awoke by a feeling of oppression, as though she could not breathe, and on opening her eyes, in the dim light of the room (the blind was down, but there was a gas lamp in front of the house, which gave some light to the room), she saw a veiled figure bending over Lizzie, and she put her arm round her, as she thought it had come to take her away.

    “My father and his family shortly after moved into another house, my sisters still occupying a room together. They assured me that once in this other house they were visited by the same appearance, but this time it was over Anna. She only lived a short time after, dying at sixteen and a-half.

    “On sending this account to my sister, in case I might, through lapse of time, have altered the matter, she assures me that it is substantially corerct, and adds that the form was grey, darker and thicker in the middle; she also adds that the feeling of horror was intense.

    “L. S. B.”

    [Unfortunately the sister’s letter was destroyed.]

    The following case is a very singular one. The phenomenon of mutual hypnotisation (or rather of hypnotisation of one person through the process of hypnotising another) is one of which we have other examples. But I have met with no other instance of genuine transfer of a hallucination between two hypnotised persons; and, if this instance is a genuine one, it is difficult to resist the conclusion that it depended on the peculiar condition established—the two not being “subjects” influenced in common by a third person, but the originator of the hallucination, whichever of the two it was, having exerted an {ii-206} active influence on the other, and presumably established the sort of rapport which is so common a feature of hypnotism. It could of course only be by the rarest accident that an operator who had established such a rapport should then and there become the victim of a sensory hallucination, which would thus have a chance of being transferred; and the accident in this case was the fact that the operator herself fell into an abnormal condition. I do not number the narrative, as it is impossible to be quite certain that some unconscious look or gesture on the part of one percipient did not evoke the image in the other’s mind; for though the hypnotic state in itself has no special tendency to promote hallucinations, except such as are suggested and impressed in the plainest manner, in the present instance there seems to have been a certain amount of expectancy, which probably facilitated the affection in both the persons concerned. The case was received from Miss Becket, of Hotel Vendôme, Boston, U.S.A., an Associate of the S.P.R., who wrote on January 25, 1886.

    Miss Becket begins by describing how on one occasion she attempted to hypnotise a friend who was standing two or three yards from her. She made slow downward passes till her friend “shivered with cold.” She then reversed the passes, but soon herself became rigid, with outstretched arms. “Both the lady and myself turned our heads, and seemed to follow with our eyes the movements of some invisible body around the room. We seemed to see the same horrible something in the same part of the room, for our faces had an expression of unutterable horror. Sometimes we looked behind this one object, as at something following its progress round the room, but our eyes instantly returned to the greater attraction, and at last our faces seemed so frozen in an agony of fear that the gentleman sprang towards his wife, and dragged her to a seat, and used great physical force before he could rouse her from the terrible spell. I seemed to be in part liberated with her, but it was a long time before we were really free from the strange influence we had fallen under.

    “When we could talk, we found that we had each seen the same vision, in every detail alike. I have always had a strong faith in religion. My friends were too philosophical to admit dogmas into their minds. But the one horrible central figure in our visions, it seems, must have originated in my brain, from its resemblance to my idea of a personal devil. At all events, we both saw, suddenly take form out of empty space, the giant figure of a man. His face expressed fiendish cruelty and wickedness, and we felt ourselves in part in his power, and knew that he was exulting in this power. He seemed to be followed by a great many pigmy figures, that danced about the room and made ugly faces at us, but dared not do more in the presence of this master spirit. It was when the supernatural malignancy of this frightful creature had almost overpowered us with fear and horror, that our faces expressed such torture as to cause the gentleman to interfere, and try to rouse us from the spell.

    “As I have said, it was entirely out of our plan that I should share in {ii-207} the vision. I had counted on watching the effects of my passes on my friend; and the shock of this unwelcome surprise put an end to any further experiments in future.

    “MARIA J. C. BECKET.”

    The following is an independent and very different description, from Mrs. Frederic D. Williams, the lady who shared in the experience:—

    “35bis, Rue de Fleurus, Paris.

    “March 24th, 1886.

    She first narrates how Miss Becket and she used to try on each other, standing some distance apart, the effect of “magnetic passes,” and how she herself used to feel a hot current of air, and Miss Becket a cool one;1 1 From this it would appear that Miss Becket confounded her friend’s temperature-sensations with her own. It seems to be an accident whether such subjective impressions take the form of heat or cold. and continues:—“I cannot remember who [i.e., which of us] acted as magnetiser on the particular occasion to which Miss Becket alludes: the chief feature of it I, however, do recollect. This was seeing a strange something—an appearance of a shadowy, transparent film, or veil, or sheet of thinnest vapour,2 2 This rudimentary sort of appearance, as we have seen, is a well established form of subjective hallucination (see, e.g.. p. 73, note). float slowly upward between Miss Becket and myself, but (as it appeared to me) nearer her. Any possible doubt, if not of the object itself, at least of our perception of something unusual, should be disproved by the fact of our exclaiming simultaneously, ‘Did you see that!’—or words to that effect. I hesitate to say anything of the truth of which I am not absolutely sure; but I have an impression amounting to certainty that it was upon the reverse passes being made that the above incident happened. [This detail agrees with Miss Becket’s statement.]

    “L. L. W.”

    On receiving this account, I told Mrs. Williams what Miss Becket’s version was, and also asked whether Mr. Williams remembered the incident. She replied that Mr. Williams could corroborate her statement as being the same that she made to him at the time, but does not remember having been present, though he admits that he may have been. She remembers that her experience differed from Miss Becket’s in not being alarming, and that Miss Becket described hers as ‘infernal.’ What she saw had the same sort of shape as a veil falling around a human form, and changed like a cloud while being watched. She concludes:—‘I had forgotten that Miss Becket became rigid, but now remember the circumstance, and this fact, that I was very much alarmed, not at what I saw (although it is quite true we opened our eyes very wide at that), but at the state into which Miss Becket was thrown, and also at the possibility of having done her some serious harm through my inexperience in such matters; which would seem to decide, at least in my own mind, a point on which Miss Becket and I seem to be at variance, namely, that it was I

    who was ‘magnetising,’ and not she. I do not know, however, that this is of any importance.”

    [Memory is clearly more likely to have erred as to the resemblance than as to the difference of the two visions. But even if we only had Mrs. Williams’s account, some germ of thought-transference would be strongly suggested by the sudden and simultaneous occurrence of two such singular experiences.]

    {ii-208}

    I now come to cases where the figure was recognised. The following transitional instance, of semi-recognition, is from Captain Cecil Norton, late of the 5th Lancers, who tells us that he has had no other hallucination of the senses.

    “5, Queen’s Gate, S.W.

    “December 20th, 1885.

    (325) “About Christmastime 1875 or 1876, being officer on duty, I was seated at the mess table of the 5th Lancers, in the West Cavalry Barracks, at Aldershot. There were 10 or 12 other officers present, and amongst them Mr. John Atkinson (now of Erchfont Manor, near Devizes, Wilts), the Surgeon-Major of the regiment, who sat on my right, but at the end of the table furthest from me and next to Mr. Russell. [Captain Norton was sitting at the end of the table and directly facing the window.] At about 8.45 p.m. Atkinson suddenly glared at the window to his right, thereby attracting the notice of Russell, who, seizing his arm, said, ‘Good gracious, Doctor, what’s the matter with you?’ This caused me to look in the direction in which I saw Atkinson looking, viz., at the window opposite, and I there saw (for the curtains were looped up, although the room was lighted by a powerful central gas light in the roof and by candles on the table) a young woman, in what appeared a soiled or somewhat worn bridal dress, walk or glide slowly past the window from east to west. She was about at the centre of the window when I observed her, and outside the window. No person could have actually been in the position where she appeared, as the window in question is about 30 feet above the ground.

    “The nearest buildings to the window referred to are the Infantry Barracks opposite, about 300 yards distant. Behind where I sat is a conservatory, which was examined by me, as well as the front window, immediately after the occurrence. There was no person in the conservatory. [It was unused in the winter.] The nearest buildings to it are the officers’ stables, over which are the staff sergeants’ quarters, about 50 yards distant.

    “The occurrence made little if any impression upon me, though it impressed others who were in the room. All present had been drinking very little wine; and the dinner had been very quiet.

    “It has just occurred to me that I may be wrong as to the time of year and that the occurrence may have taken place about 15th October or about 15th March.

    “CECIL NORTON.”

    Mr. Atkinson writes:—

    “Erchfont Manor, Devizes.

    “August 31st, 1885.

    “The appearance of a woman which I saw pass the mess-room window at Aldershot seemed to be outside, and it passed from east to west. The mess-room is on the first floor, so the woman would have been walking in the air. There has been a very nice story made out of it—like most other ghost-stories, founded on an optical illusion.”

    [Captain Norton’s vivâ voce account made it tolerably clear, in my opinion, that the case was one of hallucination, not illusion. He {ii-209} further mentions that both Mr. Atkinson and he were “satisfied that the face and form of the woman seen were familiar,” though they could not at the moment identify the person. Captain Norton afterwards felt sure that the likeness was to a photograph which he was in the habit of seeing in the room of the veterinary surgeon of the regiment, representing the surgeon’s deceased wife in bridal dress. Oddly enough, this man was at the time, unknown to his friends, actually dying or within a day or two of death, in the same building. But Mr. Atkinson recalls nothing about the photograph; and the coincidence is not one to which we can attach weight.]

    The next instance must be reckoned as “ambiguous” in origin; as, though the person whose form was seen was in an abnormal state, this had been to some extent chronic, and no reason is known why he should have exercised a telepathic agency on the day in question more than on any other. The narrator desires that her name may not be printed.

    “October 28th, 1885.

    (326) “In the month of November, 1843, myself, my eldest sister, and the man-servant were driving home from a small town to our parsonage in the country. The time might be about half past 4 or 5 p.m. As we came slowly up the hill by the churchyard wall, we saw a gentleman in walking-costume going into the vestry door. We both exclaimed, ‘That’s papa,’ and the man George said at the same moment, ‘Why there’s the master.’ My father was then ill, and away from home many miles away. He died the following January 23rd, 1844. He wore a particular long cloak which I should have recognised anywhere, and which he had many years, and wore as a loose wrap. [What is meant clearly is that the cloak in which the figure appeared to be dressed exactly resembled that of the narrator’s father.] He looked exactly like himself, and was going in by the small vestry door he used to enter the church by when going to take duty. I do not think he looked at us, but seemed intent on entering the church, and disappeared inside. We were all much frightened, and searched round the house and church but could see no one, and no one had been seen about. I recollect the occurrence as if it had been yesterday, and, as I write, see all distinctly in my mind’s eye.

    “The man-servant is dead; my sister begs to corroborate my account.

    “S. R.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. R. says:—

    “My sister has always, when I have talked of the vision, said she saw it so likewise, and she reiterated that only last summer, but she is not equal to write about it.[☼] I quite see the weak point, if the church was not searched inside. I can’t say it was, nor can I say it was not. Old George, the man, was most fond of his master, and may have gone into the church; but I can’t say. I only know we were all so terribly frightened. The vision was sudden, so true to life, and even to the particular long cloak, all gathered in to a collar clasped at the throat. I ought to have said that the figure seemed in the act of going in by the vestry door: we did not see him enter, as we drove on in great fright to the house. My father was then under medical treatment at Northampton.”

    Mrs. R. gives details, showing the absolute impossibility that her father {ii-210} could really have “left Northampton, being a dying man, so to speak, when admitted,” and come to the spot where he was seen, unknown to all his friends. “Then, again,” she adds, “the church was always kept locked, the keys at the parsonage, supposing for a moment that we saw a living figure. I recollect that inquiry was made of the villagers as to any strange gentleman having been seen about, and the answer was ‘No.’”

    Asked whether she or her sister have ever had a hallucination of the senses on any other occasion, Mrs. R. says, “I can emphatically answer ‘No,’ for both of us.” Her sister was about 19 at the time, and she herself 11—“a fresh young child with perfect nerves.”

    The following account is from Mrs. Moberley, of Tynwald, Hythe.

    “May 9th, 1884.

    (327) “The case of hallucination shared by myself and a friend was rather odd. We were both convinced we saw one afternoon a friend pass before the window in which we stood, and enter the garden. We both bowed to him, and believed he returned the greeting. He was in sight for some short time; quite long enough to allow of a distinct recognition, and the road along which he passed was near to the window at which we stood. A quiet country road, we knew every passer-by by sight and name, and our friend was a remarkable man in some ways, not one to be easily confounded with other people—a short, brisk, alert, foreign-looking man, with jet black hair and white whiskers, a decidedly un-English overcoat, and a salute peculiar to himself, a wave of the hat and a low bow, with which he never failed to greet us. We waited to hear him announced in vain. On her way home my friend met his son, who was extremely perplexed at hearing that his father had been to our house. He had been intending to come, but finding that he should be engaged had sent his son instead. Of course when we all met, the mystery was exhaustively discussed, and dismissed as a mystery.

    “FRAS. MOBERLEY.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Moberley says that the date was 1863; that she was 19, and in good health;

    and that she has never had any other hallucination. The lady who shared the experience with her declines to answer any questions, saying that “it is a question of principle.” Mrs. Moberley adds, “She has not forgotten the circumstance: she would have been only too glad to say so.”

    Bearing in mind the “arrival” cases of Chap. XIV., § 7, we cannot here assume it as quite certain that the direction of the absent person’s thoughts had nothing to do with the appearance; but if to this extent “ambiguous,” the case seems at any rate one of collective hallucination. The same remark applies to the next example—from Mrs. Forsyth Hunter, of 2, Victoria Crescent, St. Heliers, Jersey.

    “1882.

    (328) “Another odd appearance1 1 Some apparently veridical cases from the same informant will be found below—Nos. 408, 553, 554, 650. was that of my elder daughter, a bright lively girl of fifteen. I had placed her at a finishing school in {ii-211} Edinburgh, and returned to my cottage, in M. Next morning at breakfast, I suddenly looked out of the window, and saw her quite distinctly coming in at the garden gate, in pork-pie hat, grey dress looped up over a red petticoat, just as she had been the day before. Not a word said I, but M., my second daughter [since deceased], exclaimed joyously and wonderingly, ‘There is B!’ For the few seconds the vision lasted, I saw her, as if stooping to undo the latch of the gate. Afterwards she told me how unhappy she had been for the first day in school, and what an intense longing had seized her to return to us. No doubt both her sister and myself were thinking of her, at the same time.”

    In answer to the question whether she can be quite certain that the figure seen was not that of a stranger bearing some resemblance to her daughter, Mrs. Hunter replies:—

    “Your supposition amuses me. The figure melted away, in the act of seemingly stooping to undo the latch of our little gate. It was a bright autumn morning. We were seated at breakfast, the table close to a bow-window, overlooking a strip of garden, belonging to a cottage at Melrose: the gate being a low wooden gate, and no house near. It was my daughter’s face, figure, and dress, just as she had appeared the day before, when I took her to school at Edinburgh. My daughter was distinguished-looking, and no one in that neighbourhood could at all be mistaken for her. Our sight was quite good, and neither short-sighted. In short, there is no doubt that in some mysterious way her longing and our thinking [of her] brought about this appearance. Another explanation might be that our imaginations might at the same moment have called up the figure.”

    [The facts that the phantasm presented exactly the aspect of the real figure so recently seen, and that Mrs. Hunter’s thoughts were much occupied with her absent daughter, and further that she had previously had a subjective “after-image” of this very daughter (Chap. XII., § 4), decidedly favour the supposition that her experience on this occasion was also of that character. And if so, the case seems clearly to be one where a purely subjective hallucination has been transferred.]

    In the next example, the apparition seems more definitely independent of any conscious mental action on the part of the absent person; for it would be hard to attribute a special telepathic influence to some casual image of his usual resort that may have flitted across his mind, at the same time that his form appeared. The two percipients were at the time secretaries to societies of which the offices were in the same building. The narrator is Mr. R. Mouat, of 60, Huntingdon Street, Barnsbury, N. His account, which was written down soon after the occurrence, has been slightly condensed.

    (329) “On Thursday, the 5th of September, 1867, about the hour of 10.45 a.m., on entering my office, I found my clerk in conversation with the porter, and the Rev. Mr. H. standing at the clerk’s back. I was just on the point of asking Mr. H. what had brought him in so early (he worked {ii-212} in the same room as myself, but was not in the habit of coming till about mid-day) when my clerk began questioning me about a telegram which had missed me. The conversation lasted some minutes, and in the midst of it the porter gave me a letter which explained by whom the telegram had been sent. During this scene Mr. R., from an office upstairs, came in and listened to what was going on. On opening the letter, I immediately made known its purport, and looked Mr. H. full in the face as I spoke. I was much struck by the melancholy look he had, and observed that he was without his neck-tie. At this juncture Mr. R. and the porter left the room. I spoke to Mr. H., saying, ‘Well, what’s the matter with you? You look so sour.’ He made no answer, but continued looking fixedly at me. I took up an enclosure which had accompanied the letter and read it through, still seeing Mr. H. standing opposite to me at the corner of the table. As I laid the papers down, my clerk said, ‘Here, sir, is a letter come from Mr. H.’ No sooner had he pronounced the name than Mr. H. disappeared in a second. I was for a time quite dumbfounded, which astonished my clerk, who (it now turned out) had not seen Mr. H., and absolutely denied that he had been in the office that morning. The purport of the letter from Mr. H., which my clerk gave me, and which had been written on the previous day, was that, feeling unwell, he should not come to the office that Thursday, but requested me to forward his letters to him at his house.

    “The next day (Friday), about noon, Mr. H. entered the office; and when I asked him where he was on the Thursday about 10.45, he replied that he had just finished breakfast, was in the company of his wife, and had never left his house during the day. I felt shy of mentioning the subject to Mr. R., but on the Monday following I could not refrain from asking him if he remembered looking in on Thursday morning. ‘Perfectly,’ he replied; ‘you were having a long confab with your clerk about a telegram, which you subsequently discovered came from Mr. C.’ On my asking him if he remembered who were present, he answered, ‘The clerk, the porter, you and H.’ On my asking him further, he said, ‘He was standing at the corner of the table, opposite you. I addressed him, but he made no reply, only took up a book and began reading. I could not help looking at him, as the first thing that struck me was his being at the office so early, and the next his melancholy look, so different from his usual manner; but that I attributed to his being annoyed about the discussion going on. I left him standing in the same position when I went out, followed by the porter.’ On my making known to Mr. R. that Mr. H. was 14 miles off the whole of that day he grew quite indignant at my doubting the evidence of his eyesight, and insisted on the porter being called up and interrogated. The porter however, like the clerk, had not seen the figure.”

    Mr. R. has supplied independent and precise corroboration of these facts, so far as he was a party to them—the one insignificant difference being that he says he did not speak to Mr. H., but “gesticulated in fun to him, pointing to Mr. M. and the clerk, who were having an altercation about a telegram; but my fun did not seem at all catching, Mr. H. apparently not being inclined, as he often was, to make fun out of surrounding circumstances.” He adds that he has never experienced any other hallucination of the senses; and Mr. Mouat made a similar statement vivâ voce to the present writer.

    {ii-213}

    Cases of this type naturally suggest the question whether they may not be parallel to those cases of casual agency (Chap. XIV., § 5), where the same person has on several occasions, unconnected with any crisis, been the source of hallucination, now to one friend now to another. But even supposing such an impression as the above, of an absent person who is in a normal state, to be telepathic and not purely subjective in its inception, no one on reflection will maintain that by pure accident two percipients were casually affected in this extremely rare way at the same moment. And if not, then something took place between them; which—if what one saw was not suggested to the other by verbal or physical signs—must be of the nature of thought-transference.

    The next narrative is from Mr. James Cowley, who wrote from 32, Langton Street, Cathay, Bristol, on Jan. 7, 1884:—

    (330) “My eldest son is a twin. The night after his dear mother was laid in the grave at the Highgate Cemetery (1845) I had him in bed with me. (I was then residing at 39, Charlotte Terrace, Islington.) Something causing me to start from my sleep, I saw, with all the distinctness possible to visual power, my dearest angel receding, in a bent position, as if she had been blessing one or both of us, with a kiss. At the same instant

    the child, only two years and five months old, exclaimed, ‘There’s mother!’ You will hardly wonder that, after the night had passed away, I was perplexed to know whether I had only dreamt it, or whether it was real. But the reference made to the matter by my dear little motherless one, the moment he awoke, removed all possibility of doubt.”

    The next account is from Mr. Charles A. W. Lett, of the Military and Royal Naval Club, Albemarle Street, W.

    “December 3rd, 1885.

    (331) “On the 5th April, 1873, my wife’s father, Captain Towns, died at his residence, Cranbrook, Rose Bay, near Sydney, N. S. Wales. About 6 weeks after his death, my wife had occasion, one evening about 9 o’clock, to go to one of the bedrooms in the house. She was accompanied by a young lady, Miss Berthon, and as they entered the room—the gas was burning all the time—they were amazed to see, reflected as it were on the polished surface of the wardrobe, the image of Captain Towns. It was barely half figure,1 1 See p. 33, note. the head, shoulders, and part of the arms only showing—in fact, it was like an ordinary medallion portrait, but life-size. The face appeared wan and pale, as it did before his death; and he wore a kind of grey flannel jacket, in which he had been accustomed to sleep. Surprised and half alarmed at what they saw, their first idea was that a portrait had been hung in the room, and that what they saw was its reflection—but there was no picture of the kind.

    “Whilst they were looking and wondering, my wife’s sister, Miss Towns, came into the room, and before either of the others had time to speak she exclaimed, ‘Good gracious! Do you see papa?’ {ii-214} One of the housemaids happened to be passing down stairs at the moment, and she was called in, and asked if she saw anything, and her reply was, ‘Oh, miss! the master.’ Graham—Captain Towns’ old body servant—was then sent for, and he also immediately exclaimed, ‘Oh, Lord save us! Mrs. Lett, it’s the Captain!’ The butler was called, and then Mrs. Crane, my wife’s nurse, and they both said what they saw. Finally, Mrs. Towns was sent for, and, seeing the apparition, she advanced towards it with her arm extended as if to touch it, and as she passed her hand over the panel of the wardrobe the figure gradually faded away, and never again appeared, though the room was regularly occupied for a long time after.

    “These are the simple facts of the case, and they admit of no doubt; no kind of intimation was given to any of the witnesses; the same question was put to each one as they came into the room, and the reply was given without hesitation by each. It was by the merest accident that I did not see the apparition. I was in the house at the time, but did not hear when I was called.

    “C. A. W. LETT.”

    “We, the undersigned, having read the above statement, certify that it is strictly accurate, as we both were witnesses of the apparition.

    “SARA LETT.

    “SIBBIE SMYTH (née TOWNS).”

    Mrs. Lett assures me that neither she nor her sister ever experienced a hallucination of the senses on any other occasion. She is positive that the recognition of the appearance on the part of each of the later witnesses was independent, and not due to any suggestion from the persons already in the room.

    [We hope in time to receive the corroboration of Miss Berthon, and of Mrs. Crane, Mrs. Lett’s nurse.]

    These last are cases where the distinction to which I have called attention (pp. 190–2) must be specially borne in mind. My central object being to prove that ideas may be transferred from mind to mind without words or physical signs, I am presenting certain collective sensory experiences which I think may constitute one type of such transference. Now believers in communications with the departed will probably need so little convincing as to the general theory of the far less startling transferences between living persons, that on them I am not concerned to press the evidence of this particular type. But of the rest of my readers I would ask—supposing the above and similar occurrences to be truly described—on what hypothesis, other than that of the transferability of hallucinations as such, they would explain them.

    I pass by some other examples of the same kind; as no insistance [sic] on my point of view in quoting them would prevent my seeming to some to be explaining away veritable manifestations as subjective delusions, and to others to be introducing “ghosts” by a side-wind. But I give the following as a further interesting case of impressions {ii-215} which, though probably simultaneous, were not similar. The narrative was originally printed in July, 1883, in an account of the Orphanage where it occurred, entitled The Orphanage and Home, Aberlour, Craigellachie, &c. (pp. 44–5). The narrator throughout is the Rev. C. Jupp, Warden of the Orphanage.

    (332) “In 1875, a man died leaving a widow and six orphan children. The 3 eldest were admitted into the Orphanage. Three years afterwards the widow died, and friends succeeded in getting funds to send the rest here, the youngest being about 4 years of age. [Late one evening, about 6 months after the admission of the younger children, some visitors arrived unexpectedly; and] the Warden agreed to take a bed in the little ones’ dormitory, which contained 10 beds, 9 occupied.

    “In the morning, at breakfast, the Warden made the following statement:—‘As near as I can tell I fell asleep about 11 o’clock, and slept very soundly for some time. I suddenly woke without any apparent reason, and felt an impulse to turn round, my face being towards the wall, from the children. Before turning, I looked up and saw a soft light in the room. The gas was burning low in the hall, and the dormitory door being open, I thought it probable that the light came from that source. It was soon evident, however, that such was not the case. I turned round, and then a wonderful vision met my gaze. Over the second bed from mine, and on the same side of the room, there was floating a small cloud of light, forming a halo of the brightness of the moon on an ordinary moonlight night.

    “‘I sat upright in bed, looking at this strange appearance, took up my watch and found the hands pointing to 5 minutes to 1. Everything was quiet, and all the children sleeping soundly. In the bed, over which the light seemed to float, slept the youngest of the 6 children mentioned above.

    “‘I asked myself, “Am I dreaming?” No! I was wide awake. I was seized with a strong impulse to rise and touch the substance, or whatever it might be (for it was about 5 feet high), and was getting up when something seemed to hold me back. I am certain I heard nothing, yet I felt and perfectly understood the words—“No, lie down, it won’t hurt you.” I at once did what I felt I was told to do. I fell asleep shortly afterwards and rose at half-past 5, that being my usual time.

    “‘At 6 o’clock I began dressing the children, beginning at the bed furthest from the one in which I slept. Presently I came to the bed over which I had seen the light hovering. I took the little boy out, placed him on my knee, and put on some of his clothes. The child had been talking with the others; suddenly he was silent. And then, looking me hard in the face with an extraordinary expression, he said, “Oh, Mr. Jupp, my mother came to me last night. Did you see her?” For a moment I could not answer the child. I then thought it better to pass it off, and said, “Come, we must make haste, or we shall be late for breakfast.”’

    “The child never afterwards referred to the matter, we are told, nor has it since ever been mentioned to him. The Warden says it is a mystery to him; he simply states the fact and there leaves the matter, being perfectly satisfied that he was mistaken in no one particular.”

    {ii-216}

    In answer to inquiries, the Rev. C. Jupp writes to us:—

    “The Orphanage and Convalescent Home, Aberlour, Craigellachie.

    “November 13th, 1883.

    “I fear anything the little boy might now say would be unreliable, or I would at once question him. Although the matter was fully discussed at the time, it was never mentioned in the hearing of the child; and yet, when at the request of friends, the account was published in our little magazine, and the child read it, his countenance changed, and looking up, he said, ‘Mr. Jupp, that is me.’ I said, ‘Yes, that is what we saw.’ He said, ‘Yes,’ and then seemed to fall into deep thought, evidently with pleasant remembrances, for he smiled so sweetly to himself, and seemed to forget I was present.

    “I much regret now that I did not learn something from the child at the time.

    “CHAS. JUPP.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Jupp says that he has never had any other hallucination of the senses; and adds, “My wife was the only person of adult age to whom I mentioned the circumstance at the time. Shortly after, I mentioned it to our Bishop and Primus.”

    Mrs. Jupp writes, from the Orphanage, on June 23, 1886:—

    “This is to certify that the account of the light seen by the Warden of this establishment is correct, and was mentioned to me at the time”—i.e., next morning.

    It is possible that the child’s experience here was a dream; if so, the case might be taken as a link between the two classes of phenomena—collective hallucinations and simultaneous dreams—which I have referred to as so closely related (p. 171).1 1 In the Life and Correspondence of Charles Mathews by Mrs. Mathews, pp. 94, 95, a case is recorded which again illustrates this relation. One night, when Mr. and the future Mrs. Mathews were intimate acquaintances, but without any intention of marrying, and when they were at a distance from one another, they had a precisely similar vision, which so violently affected both of them that they fell out of their respective beds, and were found on their respective floors; Mr. Mathews was so much affected as to be extremely ill for a day afterwards. The experiences were independently described long before they were compared. The joint vision was one of which the substance might have been easily suggested to either of the parties by a recent incident; it was in fact the apparition of Mr. Mathews’ former wife, who, before her death, had tried to make them promise to marry one another; but it is difficult to believe that it was by accident that experiences so unique as those described corrresponded and coincided. If, on the other hand, the incident was telepathic, and one experience was the cause or the condition of the other, it is interesting to remark that the visions in fact much more resembled waking hallucinations than genuine dreams; for Mrs. Mathews especially records that both she and Mr. Mathews had been unable to sleep through restlessness. The following case is interesting enough to deserve quotation, though not ostensibly “collective,” and possibly no more than a single subjective hallucination. We received it from the Rev. Arthur Bellamy, of Publow Vicarage, Bristol, in February, 1886; but the particulars were first published in 1878. “When a girl at school my wife made an agreement with a fellow pupil, Miss W., that the one of them who died first should, if Divinely permitted, appear after her decease to the survivor. In 1874 my wife, who had not seen or heard anything of her former school-friend for some years, casually heard of her death. The news reminded her of her former agreement, and then, becoming nervous, she told me of it. I knew of my wife’s compact, but I had never seen a photograph of her friend, or heard any description of her. [Mr. Bellamy told the present writer, in conversation, that his mind had not been in the least dwelling on the compact.] “A night or two afterwards as I was sleeping with my wife, a fire brightly burning in the room and a candle alight, I suddenly awoke, and saw a lady sitting by the side of the bed where my wife was sleeping soundly. At once I sat up in the bed, and gazed so intently that even now I can recall her form and features. Had I the pencil and the brush of a Millais, I could transfer to canvas an exact likeness of the ghostly visitant. I remember that I was much struck, as I looked intently at her, with the careful arrangement of her coiffure, every single hair being most carefully brushed down. How long I sat and gazed I cannot say, but directly the apparition ceased to be, I got out of bed to see if any of my wife’s garments had by any means optically deluded me. I found nothing in the line of vision but a bare wall. Hallucination on my part I rejected as out of the question, and I doubted not that I had really seen an apparition. Returning to bed, I lay till my wife some hours after awoke and then I gave her an account of her friend’s appearance. I described her colour, form, &c., all of which exactly tallied with my wife’s recollection of Miss W. Finally I asked, ‘But was there any special point to strike one in her appearance?’ ‘Yes,’ my wife promptly replied; ‘we girls used to tease her at school for devoting so much time to the arrangement of her hair.’ This was the very thing which I have said so much struck me. Such are the simple facts. “I will only add that till 1874 I had never seen an apparition, and that I have not seen one since.“ARTHUR BELLAMY.” We have also seen an account written by Mrs. Bellamy in May, 1879, which entirely agrees with the above, except that she “thinks it was a fortnight after the death” that the vision occurred, and that the light was “the dim light of a night-lamp.” She says, “The description accorded in all points with my deceased friend.” In conversation Mr. Bellamy described the form as seen in a very clear light (see Vol i., pp. 550–1); and this may account for his idea that the room itself was lighted by fire and candle. This experience, as I have said, may have been purely subjective; and identification of a person’s appearance by mere description is generally to be regarded with great doubt. But in view of the circumstances, and especially of the fact that Mr. Bellamy has never had any other hallucination, two alternative hypotheses seem at least worth suggesting. (1) Believers in telepathic phantasms may suspect Mr. Bellamy’s experience to have been conditioned by his wife’s state of mind—possibly even by a dream, forgotten on waking, in which her friend figured. (2) Believers in the possibility of post-mortem communications, if they believe that this was one of them, might further suppose that Mr. Bellamy’s experience depended on a psychical influence exercised in the first instance on Mrs. Bellamy, though acting below the level of her normal consciousness—which would make the case parallel to Nos. 242 and 355. To me, I confess, this appears a more reasonable supposition than that a direct influence (so to speak) missed its mark, and was exercised on Mr. Bellamy by a stranger who cared nothing about him. I may mention that we have another first-hand case of just the same type, where the percipient was unaware of any compact, and was quite unoccupied with the thought of the dead person. She was, however, a young child at the time, and I therefore do not quote the account.

    I will give one more “recognised” case, which presents the curious feature that the figure seen was that of one of the percipients. {ii-217} I have spoken before (Chap. XII., § 8, first note) of a form of hallucination, as I hold it, which consists in seeming to see oneself as a person outside one; and I have also pointed out (p. 85, note) that one of our informants who has had an experience of the sort is also one of the few persons who have given us evidence of what I have called casual agency, exercised in the midst of quite ordinary life. Now the fact that a person who has, so to speak, casually impressed herself, has at other times casually impressed others, is in itself of great interest; but it leads us on to the following still more interesting case, where the ‘double’ was seen by its original and by others at the same time. The account is from Mrs. Hall, of The Yews, Gretton, near Kettering, and was received in December, 1883.

    (333) “In the autumn of 1863, I was living with my husband and first baby, a child of 8 months, in a lone house, called Sibberton, near Wansford, Northamptonshire, which in by-gone days had been a church. As the weather became more wintry, a married cousin and her husband {ii-218} came on a visit. One night, when we were having supper, an apparition stood at the end of the sideboard. We four sat at the dining-table; and yet, with great inconsistency, I stood as this ghostly visitor again, in a spotted, light muslin summer dress, and without any terrible peculiarities of air or manner. We all four saw it, my husband having attracted our attention to it, saying, ‘It is Sarah,’ in a tone of recognition, meaning me. It at once disappeared. None of us felt any fear, it seemed too natural and familiar.

    “The apparition seemed utterly apart from myself and my feelings, as a picture or statue. My three relatives, who, with me, saw the apparition, are all dead; they died in about the years 1868–69.

    “SARAH JANE HALL.”

    The dress in which the figure appeared was not like any that Mrs. Hall had at the time, though she wore one like it nearly two years afterwards. Mrs. Hall has had other visual hallucinations, which were all connected with ill-health or nervous shock; one which occurred a few months before that here described had represented herself as if “laid out.”

    I now pass to auditory cases. I have spoken of the caution which these require;1 1 Even the sound of the human voice—though ordinarily so distinctive—may be illusory. For example, we should hardly, I think, be justified in regarding the two following cases as other than joint illusions, due to some undiscovered source of sound in the house. Mr. Gascoigne Bevan, of the Bank House, Sudbury, writes, in 1884:— “Some few years ago and since, I have been living in this house, and manager of the bank. I returned home one evening in the summer time with a friend. On entering by the garden door, we were both greeted with the sounds of children’s laughter, peal after peal, all over the house. ‘Why,’ says my friend, ‘I did not know you had children in the house, or I would not have come.’ I don’t know why I answered, but I did so: ‘Hush, don’t say anything; you will frighten Mrs. Springett, my housekeeper.’ I ran all over the house, looking in all the rooms, in vain, for an explanation. I know there was no one in the house except Mrs. Springett, her old husband and an under servant.” [Mr. Bevan believes that the friend who shared this experience has recently died in Africa.] Miss Twynam, of 1, Waterloo Place, Southampton, writes, on Nov. 12, 1885:— “I had myself repeatedly heard the voice calling my name, ‘Ellen,’ at various intervals, extending over some months, and had mentioned the fact to the different members of the family, but never to my knowledge in the presence of the servants. I have always been laughed at, and told it was only my fancy, and no one then had heard it but myself. On one occasion, I and my sister were in the drawing-room, and my mother and aunt, who were both invalids, were in their respective bedrooms upstairs, on opposite sides of the house; while my brother was in another sitting-room downstairs, on the other side of the hall: and the servants were both in the kitchen, which was an underground one. I and my sister heard the voice distinctly call ‘Ellen, Ellen!’-a clear, high, refined woman’s voice, but with something strange and unusual about it. My sister at once noticed it, turning to me and saying, ‘There, I have heard it myself this time.’ I still, however, thought it might really be someone, so went to my mother, asking whether she had called. She said, ‘No,’ but she had heard someone calling me, and thought it was my aunt. I went to her, and she said exactly the same, only thought it was my mother. I then went to my brother. He said, ‘No;’ but had heard someone call quite plainly. I then went down to the servants, and asked whether they had heard anyone calling. They said, ‘Yes;’ they thought it was mistress. But there was nothing about them to lead me to think they were playing any trick, and they had never any idea that I had heard this voice before. The voice sounded to me as though it were above me, and yet very close to me, and it gave me a strange uncomfortable feeling. I do not think it was the servants, as they answered so naturally, as a matter of course, that it was their mistress who had called. Our house stood in a garden near the village, but I am sure it was no one from outside, as the voice was so decidedly in the house, and apparently close to us.“ELLEN B. TWYNAM.” Miss Twynam’s sister says:— “I perfectly remember the occurrence alluded to by my sister. I distinctly heard the voice calling her name, and noticed at the time that it was very clear, and resembled a woman’s voice, but with a strangely unnatural sound which attracted my attention. I remember turning to her and saying, ‘I have heard it for myself this time,’ as she had mentioned the fact of repeatedly hearing her name called, but I had never heard it, though other people had done so before; but on this occasion everybody in the house heard it at the same time. I have no doubt whatever that the voice came from no one in the house.“MARIA TWYNAM.” I have carefully questioned these informants, and believe that the account is accurate. But it seems possible to suppose that some peculiar sound in the house was interpreted in the way which Miss E. B. Twynam’s description of her own experience had suggested. It is curious that we have another case where an unaccountable sound, heard several times by two persons in the same house, was the call “Ellen, Ellen,” which was the name of one of them. Perhaps there is something in the sound which renders it easily simulated. but the following instances must, I think, have been more than mere misinterpretations of real sounds.

    The first account is from a lady of unimpeachable veracity; and the account, though written in the third person, is first-hand.

    “November, 1884.

    (334) “Some 20 years ago, Miss G. [the narrator] was recovering from a severe illness, and it was of the utmost importance for her to have a {ii-219} good night, in order to wind her up for a journey to Edinburgh next day. All the house was sent to bed early, and the utmost quiet enjoined upon everybody. A devoted friend, whose name was Louisa, went to bed with her, in order to be close at hand if anything should be wanted. About an hour after she had lain down she was startled by a loud outcry, ‘Louie, Louie!’ as if someone was in urgent want of assistance. Miss G. thought that probably someone had slipped and was hanging over the banisters; she anxiously turned to her friend trying to rouse her. Her friend made no offer to rise, but said, in a very marked way, ‘Did you hear that voice? It was my mother; I hear it constantly.’ Next morning every inquiry was made; but no call whatever had been made.”

    I have already mentioned that the hearing of the name, in the tones of a familiar voice, is one of the commonest and most recurrent forms of subjective hallucination; but whatever view be taken of the origin of the friend’s impression, we may reasonably suppose that it was through her that it was communicated to Miss G.

    The next example was sent to us by Mr. George Saxon, of Parklands, Bruton, Somersetshire, who completely confirms the narrative as far as he was concerned. The following is his wife’s account:—

    “February 26th, 1885

    (335) “On first coming to this house to reside, in September, 1879, myself and two servants were in the kitchen talking one evening at about 10.30; and we all three distinctly heard a voice coming from the next room, or the passage that leads from the kitchen to this room, saying three times, ‘Are you coming?’ On the first occasion I answered and said, ‘I am coming, dear,’ thinking it was my husband calling, whom I supposed to be in the next room. The voice again said the second time, ‘Are you coming?’ and one of the servants said, ‘You had better go; master is calling.’ The voice again said the third time, ‘Are you {ii-220} coming?’ I then went through the passage before mentioned, to the next room, where I thought to find my husband, there being no one else in the house except three children, who were upstairs fast asleep. On going through the passage into the next room, I found no one there, and no light, it being quite dark. I then returned to the kitchen and obtained a light, and went through the said room into the room beyond, where I found my husband, who was busy writing letters, and he had not called or

    spoken. This room he was in had the door shut. We all thought it very strange, and went up to see the children, who were all fast asleep. One of the servants before mentioned, I should say, had left my service and had only come down by train (10 miles) for the day, and was to return [arriving home at 8 p.m.] by the last train, which she missed and had to stay the night. She had a daughter-in-law expecting to be confined, to whom she was going back. She was an elderly person, had lost a son not long before, and used to see at times ‘ghosts,’ or what appeared human beings, but disappeared suddenly and mysteriously.

    “CAROLINE AUGUSTA SAXON.”

    Mr. Saxon adds:—

    “The house is quite an isolated one, standing in gardens away from a road, and about half-a-mile from the town. The doors and windows were closed. The voice was evidently within the house; and could not have come from anyone in the house. Our children’s ages were respectively 9 years, 7 years, 5 years and 7 months. We were sure they were all asleep at the time, as we went up at once to see. I asked them the next day; besides, it was not the voice of the children, but seemed a low plaintive voice. Notwithstanding, my wife and the two servants thought it must have been myself calling from the next room, I being the only other being about.”

    I have examined the localities, and saw how natural it was that Mrs. Saxon should imagine her husband to be calling from the nearer room. She describes the voice as very distinct and startling. She has occasionally had the hallucination of hearing her own name called, when overtired; but never of anything else.

    Here, as in the last example, we have to note a slight tendency to subjective hallucination, which in the servant’s case may have been intensified by recent trouble; and, without absolutely excluding the hypothesis of telepathic influence from her daughter-in-law,1 1 The repetition of the experience somewhat favours this hypothesis (see p. 105). I still think it more probable that a purely subjective hallucination on her part, easily referable to her anxiety about her daughter-in-law’s condition, was psychically transferred to her two companions.

    The next example is from the Rev. W. Raymond, Rector of Ballyheigue, Co. Kerry. I need not repeat with regard to it the comments made on cases 330 and 331. Whatever view be taken as to the origin of the sound, it is impossible to suppose that it was by accident that the two identical impressions so exactly coincided.

    {ii-221}

    “December 18th, 1884.

    (336) “About 30 years ago, Miss Mildred Nash, my mother’s aunt, died in my mother’s house, at the advanced age of 82 years. She had been blind for some years, and an orphan cousin of mine had been much in attendance on her. My aunt lived and died in a room on the ground floor in the front of our house, which was situated in a retired street of Tralee. A few days after her death, my cousin and I were sitting, on a summer evening, at the window of the room over the room in which my aunt had died. I heard distinctly the words ‘Rosy, Rosy’ (my cousin’s name), apparently from the room beneath, and in my aunt’s voice; then I heard my cousin answer to the call; she also heard the voice. I, struck with the strangeness of the circumstance, at once threw up the window to see if it were a voice from the street, but there was no one visible, and there could be no one there without being seen. I then searched the house all around, but there was nobody near except ourselves—my cousin and myself. The tale ends there; nothing afterwards happened in connection;—merely the unaccountable fact that two persons did independently hear such a voice as I have mentioned. I heard both the name called and the answer.

    “WM RAYMOND.”

    Writing on January 9th, 1885, Mr. Raymond says:—

    “I send you, as soon as I was able to get it, the enclosed statement in corroboration, sent me by my cousin. She mentioned an item that helped to fix the facts in her memory (and which shows the superstition of the people here), that her neighbours all said she should not have answered, but, as she says, no harm came of it. This was my only experience of auditory hallucination.”

    The enclosed statement was as follows:—

    “Tralee, January 8th, 1885.

    “My cousin, Rev. William Raymond, has asked me if I remember about the voice we heard at the time of the death of old Miss Nash, his aunt. I do remember that a few days after her death he and I were sitting, one summer evening, in the room over the room where she died, that I heard my name called, apparently from that room and in her voice, and that I answered the call, and that we searched and could find no one about who could have spoken.

    “ROSE RAYMOND.”

    In answer to an inquiry, Miss Raymond states that this is her sole experience of an auditory hallucination.

    It remains to illustrate the musical type of collective hallucination. The following account is from Mr. and Mrs. Sewell, of Eden Villas, Albert Park, Didsbury. The latter (writing on March 25th, 1885) tells us that in the spring of 1863, a little girl of theirs, called Lilly, was ill.

    (337) “My husband came home about 3 o’clock, and, to please Lilly, said he would have his dinner in the bedroom with her. I sat beside the bed with one of Lilly’s hands in mine, my husband was eating his dinner, and one little boy was talking to Lilly, and all were quietly trying to amuse the patient, when our attention was roused by sounds of the music of an Æolian harp, which proceeded from a corner cupboard in one corner of {ii-222} the room. All was hushed, and I said, ‘Lilly, do you hear that pretty music?’ and she said, ‘No,’ at which I was much surprised, for she was a great lover of music. The sounds increased until the room was full of melody, when it gradually and slowly seemed to pass down the stairs and ceased. The servant, who was occupied in the kitchen, two stories below, heard the sounds, and our eldest daughter, who was going into the larder, stopped in the passage to listen and wonder where the music came from, and the servant called to her, ‘Do you hear that music?’ It was then a few moments past 4 o’clock in the afternoon.

    “The next day (Sunday) my old nurse and aunt came up to see how Lilly was, and were, with my husband, all in the room with the child. I had gone down into the kitchen to prepare some little dainty milk-food for her, when the same sounds of Æolian music were heard by all three in the room, and I heard the same in the kitchen. Monday passed, but we had no repetition. On Tuesday, at the same hour, we [i.e., Mr. and Mrs. Sewell] once more heard the same wailing Æolian music from the same part of the room; again it increased in volume, until the room was full of wailing melody; and again did the sounds appear to pass through the door, down the stairs, and out at the front door. Now, this music was heard three different days, at the same time each day, and not only by those in the room with the child, but by myself, my daughter, and the servant, two flights of stairs below the room the child was in; and on the second day by my aunt and nurse and the children, who were in the dining-room.

    “One circumstance, I think, was very remarkable: the child herself, who had a perfect passion for music, never heard a sound. There cannot be any mistake in the sounds, for no instrument played by human hands can make the same sounds as the wailing Æolian harp. We had lived in the same house 6 years, and remained in it 12 years more, and we never heard similar music either before or after.

    “SARAH A. SEWELL.”

    Mr. Sewell says:—

    “April, 1885.

    “The only confirmation which is now available is that of myself. I can speak with all sincerity. I heard the sweet music identically with my wife. The music was heard on Saturday, 2nd of May, a little before 4 o’clock in the afternoon, also on the next day at about the same time, and also on the following Tuesday at about the same hour. Those who heard the music were my wife, myself, my wife’s aunt, the nurse, our son Richard, aged 7; our son Thomas, aged 9 (the last four all dead), our eldest daughter, aged 11, and our servant, who shortly left us and went to Ireland to her husband, who was a soldier, and was soon lost sight of. Our eldest daughter is now in New York, and I have no doubt but that she will remember the circumstance. I am quite satisfied that the music heard was not produced by someone at a distance, for our house was then situated in a long garden, some 50 yards distant from the public road, and the adjoining house to ours was unoccupied at the time. The sound was not a muffled sound at all, but the soft, wild notes of

    an Æolian harp, which rose and fell distinctly, and increased gradually, until the room was full of sound, as loud as the full swell of an organ, and it rolled slowly down the stairs, dying softly on the ear in weird cadences. I am certain it was not produced by human fingers.

    “MATHEW SEWELL.”

    {ii-223}

    I have copied the following extract from a letter written to Mr. Sewell by his daughter, Mrs. Lee, and dated July 20th, 1885.

    “Williams Bridge, New York.

    “I do distinctly remember hearing the music before Lilly’s death, and also remember the impression it made on us children at the time, the feeling of terror and fear we had, at not understanding where the music came from and what kind of music it was.”

    [A personal interview with Mr. and Mrs. Sewell has made evident to me how uniquely impressive to them this incident was. The music appeared to issue from a particular corner of the room, which was not one formed by external walls; and the nature of the sound makes it hard to explain as an objective effect, due to air or water; while the fact that one person present, with sensitive ears, did not share the experience seems almost fatal to such an explanation. The sound lasted on each occasion not more than half a minute. The little girl died on the Tuesday evening. If the hallucination be connected with her abnormal condition, the incident (like case 335 above) would belong to the succeeding section.]

    A further example of the musical class, with even more complete attestation, has on account of its length been placed in the Supplement (p. 639): the following shorter specimen may be given here. The late Mrs. Yates, of 54, Columbia Square, E., wrote in 1884:—

    (338) “In 1870 I lost a dearly loved daughter, 21 years old; she died at noonday, of aneurism. At night, my only other daughter was with me, when all at once we both assumed a listening attitude, and we both heard the sweetest of spiritual music, although it seemed so remote, my ears were hurt listening so intently. Till some hours after, my dear girl and I were afraid to inquire of each other had we heard it, for fear we were deluded, but we found both had been so privileged and blessed.”

    To our request for Mr. Yates’s testimony, Mrs. Yates replied:—

    “Mr. Yates perfectly well remembers how myself and the daughter who is now living were affected by hearing music that night, such as mortals never sang; but I have to write for him, he being troubled by incapacity of his right hand.”

    (Signed as correct) “GEORGE YATES.”

    The daughter wrote as follows, on Oct. 9, 1884:—

    “31, St. John’s Street Road, Clerkenwell, E.C.

    “I can speak with certainty respecting the beautiful music my dear mother and I heard on the 26th November, 1870. I shall never forget it; we were both afraid to speak, it was so exquisite.

    “A. BEILBY.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Beilby adds:—

    “We were living at 3, Henry Street, Pentonville. The two windows in the room were shut tight and fastened; and as near as I can remember, it must have been between 2 and 3 in the morning. The music lasted several minutes.” She further says that, when the sounds began, her mother exclaimed, “Anne, do you hear that?”—so that her mother’s statement is not quite exact; but she confirms the fact that some hours passed before they ventured to describe their impressions to one another.

    {ii-224}

    The foregoing instances may perhaps suffice to show that a purely psychical account of these joint experiences—as due either partly or wholly to a thought-transference between the percipients—is at all events possible; and that acceptance of the phenomena as genuine, i.e., as percepts truly described, does not imply any materialistic theory of phantasmal beings who travel about through space (sometimes in their carriages) on their own account. And possibly a certain number of my readers may further agree with me in supposing some, at any rate, of these cases to have been in their inception purely subjective, and will not feel the need of invoking for them an unknown or post-mortem “agency,” however little disposed to rule the possibility of such agency out of court. I cannot, indeed, deny a certain force to an objection which Mr. Myers urges,1 1 See pp. 280–2. that we know of no instances where a hallucination which can be connected with insanity or other distinctly morbid conditions in the person impressed, and which is thus quite clearly proved to be purely subjective, has become collective in the way supposed. But then neither do we know of instances where a person in one of these morbid conditions has exercised any other form of telepathic influence. We have no instances of telepathic impressions of the deaths of dying lunatics. The ultimate conditions of telepathic agency are as little known to us as the ultimate conditions of telepathic percipience; and transient hallucinations of the sane, such as those of the preceding examples, differ so greatly in their nature and ostensible conditions from the types of hallucination to which Mr. Myers points as never transferred, that it seems rash to assume that they may not differ also in the particular point of transferability. At any rate, whatever the difficulties of that view, it is one that may be provisionally entertained by those who see equal difficulties in any other; and whatever my own surmises as to future discovery may be, in the present state of the evidence I feel as much bound here to press the theory of thought-transference, before admitting causes of an obscurer kind, as in a former chapter to press the theory of unconscious physical indications before admitting the reality of thought-transference.

    The degree in which the infectious character may exist is very hard indeed to determine; for the majority of hallucinations (purely subjective and telepathic alike) occur to persons who are alone—silence and recueillementcontemplation being apparently favourable conditions; and we {ii-225} have no means of knowing how many of these hallucinations might have been shared by some one else, if some one else had happened to be present at the time. All that can be said is that, taking the whole class of transient hallucinations of the sane, the cases where the experience has been shared by a second person appear to be more numerous than those where a second person has been present, awake, and rightly situated, and has not shared the experience. Nor, again, can I at all adequately explain why these phenomena should be a form of mental impression specially liable to spread to neighbouring minds. That those of them which are telepathically produced in the first instance should have a tendency to spread in this way may appear, perhaps, less remarkable, if we remember that a telepathic impulse, as such, seems sometimes to have very distinct and peculiar physiological effects; witness Mrs. Newnham’s exhaustion (Vol. I., p. 64) in experiments where the ideas conveyed were in themselves of a quite unexciting sort. But as regards the transference in purely subjective cases, all I can suggest is that sensory hallucinations, and especially the occasional hallucinations of sane and healthy people, are to begin with and in themselves very peculiar things; and that a fresh peculiarity, meeting us in something that we do not completely see round or understand, is less staggering than if it met us in something of which we have held our knowledge to be complete. At any rate the fact, if admitted, that purely subjective hallucinations may spontaneously become collective, greatly simplifies the consideration of the collective cases whose origin is traceable to an external “agent.” The appearance of an absent person’s figure to several spectators at once has had in it something specially startling; and when associated with the idea of death, it has almost inevitably suggested a material or “etherial” spirit—an independent travelling ghost. But as soon as the experience is analysed, it is found to involve nothing new or antagonistic to scientific conceptions. In being connected with the absent person, it is merely on a par with other specimens of telepathy—e.g., many of those cited in the preceding chapters: in being collective, it is merely on a par with other specimens of hallucination—e.g., some of those already cited in this chapter. Still, though a telepathic impulse from an absent person may not be an essential condition, it may be, and I believe is, an exceptionally favourable condition, for a collective hallucination. And I now proceed to the final group of examples, of which that condition is the distinguishing mark.

    {ii-226}

    § 6. I will begin the list with the auditory class. The following account is from Mr. J. Wood Beilby, of Redbank Cottage, Elgin Road, Beechworth,

    Victoria.

    “October 17th, 1883.

    (339) “A young lady, a friend of my wife’s, staying with us in the bush, had gone some hours, on horseback, to our post-town—some eight miles distant—when my wife and I in the house, a servant-man and woman and my adopted son, a youth, in an outside kitchen, heard this young lady scream, and call out, ‘Oh, Johnnie! Johnnie!’—that being my boy’s name, he being a usual attendant to the fair equestrian. All simultaneously rushed out; but nothing further could be heard or seen of the exclaimant for nearly an hour, when she arrived, and informed us that at a spot between four and five miles distant she had to open a gate. Trying to do this without dismounting, she leaned over it from her side-saddle to undo a sort of hasp. Her horse took fright at something and bounded aside, leaving her, happily, detached from him, hanging over the gate. She said she shrieked for help, and fancied ‘Johnnie’ was behind, but got extricated—I forget how—and her horse caught. She remounted, and came on to us without injury but the fright. It was absolutely impossible her natural voice could have been heard over a forest country intervening for even one-third of the distance. The strange thing to me is that others, not so specially gifted with magnetic impressions as I am, should have simultaneously and distinctly heard the ejaculation. All instantly acted a reply, going out of the several houses which they were in at the time, and making for an entrance gate, expecting to find the lady in some difficulty close at hand; and all were astonished that she was not even in view upon an extensive plain, skirted by the forest-land she had to traverse.

    “J. WOOD BEILBY.”

    Mrs. Beilby corroborates as follows:—

    “I perfectly recollect the voice being heard, as narrated above by my husband. I vouch for the accuracy of the narration.

    “CATHERINE W. BEILBY.”

    In another account, written on January 28th, 1886, and signed by Mr. and Mrs. Beilby, it is more clearly brought out that the young lady, Miss Snell, actually called out the name, “Johnnie, Johnnie.” The only point of difference between the two accounts is that the second, instead of saying that all four persons rushed out simultaneously, states that Mr. and Mrs. Beilby went out and called to the servants that Miss Snell had returned, and that “they said they heard her call, and immediately went to the gate of entrance to the homestead,” but found no one there.

    Mr. Beilby further adds:—

    “The homestead is isolated from any other residence, some 3 miles; and no one was about at the time, except the servants and the employers in separate but closely adjacent buildings.” He implies that he has had no other auditory hallucination.

    The next account, which was first received by the Rev. W. Stainton Moses from an intimate friend of the agent’s, was revised {ii-227} by his parents, the percipients, who have since again read it over and pronounced it correct.

    “1881.

    (340) “About two years ago W. L. left England for America. Nine months since, he married, and hoped to bring his wife home to see his mother, to whom he was tenderly attached. On February 4th, however, he was taken with sudden illness, which terminated fatally on the 12th, about 8 p.m. On that night, about three-quarters of an hour after the parents of W. L. had retired to rest in England, the mother heard the clear voice of her son speaking. Her husband who also heard it, asked his wife if it was she who was speaking. Neither of them had been asleep, and she replied, ‘No! Keep quiet!’ The voice continued, ‘As I cannot come to England, mother, I have come now to see you.’ At this time both parents believed their son to be in perfect health in America, and were daily expecting a letter to announce his return home. A note was made of this very startling occurrence; and when a fortnight since news of the son’s death arrived, it was found to correspond with the date on which the spirit-voice1 1 See p. 48, note. had announced his presence in England. The widow said that the preparations for departure had nearly been completed, and that her husband showed much anxiety to get to England and see his mother.”

    [Unfortunately the percipients in this case dislike the subject, and it has been thought better not to press them with further inquiries. Otherwise we should of course have ascertained whether or not they had ever had other hallucinations.]

    The next account is from Commander T. W. Aylesbury (late of the Indian Navy), of Sutton, Surrey. The case, at first sight, may seem as if it belonged to the reciprocal class; but Commander Aylesbury’s vision did not include enough detail to justify us in regarding it as other than subjective, the scene being apparently such as he might naturally have conjured up.

    “December, 1882.

    (341) “The writer, when 13 years of age, was capsized in a boat, when landing on the Island of Bally, east of Java, and was nearly drowned. On coming to the surface, after being repeatedly submerged, the boy called his mother. This amused the boat’s crew, who spoke of it afterwards, and jeered him a good deal about it. Months after, on arrival in England, the boy went to his home, and while telling his mother of his narrow escape, he said, ‘While I was under water, I saw you all sitting in this room; you were working something white. I saw you all—mother, Emily, Eliza, and Ellen.’ His mother at once said, ‘Why yes, and I heard you cry out for me, and I sent Emily to look out of the window, for I remarked that something had happened to that poor boy.’ The time, owing to the difference of E. longitude, corresponded with the time when the voice was heard.”

    Commander Aylesbury adds in another letter:—

    “I saw their features (my mother’s and sisters’), the room and the {ii-228} furniture, particularly the old-fashioned Venetian blinds. My eldest sister was seated next to my mother.”

    Asked as to the time of the accident, Commander Aylesbury says:—

    “I think the time must have been very early in the morning. I remember a boat capsized the day before, and washed up. The mate said we would go and bring her off in the morning, but the exact time I cannot remember. It was a terrible position, and the surf was awful. We were knocked end over end, and it was the most narrow escape I ever had—and I have had many; but this one was so impressed on my mind with the circumstances—the remarks and jeers of the men,—‘Boy, what was you calling for your mother for? Do you think she could pull you out of Davey Jones’ locker,’ &c., with other language I cannot use.”

    The following is an extract from a letter written to Commander Aylesbury by one of his sisters, and forwarded to us, in 1883:—

    “I distinctly remember the incident you mention in your letter (the voice calling ‘Mother’); it made such an impression on my mind, I shall never forget it. We were sitting quietly at work one evening; it was about 9 o’clock. I think it must have been late in the summer as we had left the street door open. We first heard a faint cry of ‘Mother’; we all looked up, and said to one another, ‘Did you hear that? Someone cried out “Mother.”’ We had scarcely finished speaking, when the voice again called, ‘Mother’ twice in quick succession, the last cry a frightened, agonising cry. We all started up, and mother said to me, ‘Go to the door and see what is the matter.’ I ran directly into the street and stood some few minutes, but all was silent and not a person to be seen; it was a lovely evening, not a breath of air. Mother was sadly upset about it. I remember she paced the room, and feared that something had happened to you. She wrote down the date the next day, and when you came home and told us how near you had been drowned, and the time of day, father said it would be about the time 9 o’clock would be with us. I know the date and the time corresponded.”

    [The difference of time at the two places is a little more than 7 hours; consequently 9 in the evening in England would correspond with “very early in the morning” of the next day at the scene of the accident. But the incident happened too long ago for memory to be trusted as to the exactitude of the coincidence.]

    In the next case, though the sound heard was apparently vocal, it was not articulate; and it can scarcely be pronounced impossible that such an effect might be produced by bubbling air, or some other local cause. The coincidence, however, appears to have been very close, though perhaps not so absolutely precise as is alleged; and the form of impression is not without analogy (see e.g., case 288 above). The account is signed by one of the percipients, but is in the words of her son, Mr. W. R. Weyer, of 7, Willis Street, St. Paul’s, Norwich.

    “June, 1883.

    (342) “At the time that this occurrence took place, my mother’s brother {ii-229} was lying in a dangerous condition, suffering from a complication of disorders, together with an old wound received in the Crimea some time previous; consequently at that time my parents’ minds were in a great state of anxiety. It was on the night of July 6th, 1865; my parents were retiring to rest at a somewhat late hour, when they were both suddenly startled by a sound of three distinct sobs as (according to my mother’s experience) of a person dying. My father immediately arose, procured a light, and a thorough search was made, but with no success. On again retiring, the sobs were again repeated, this time in a perfectly clear and distinct manner.1 1 As regards the repetition, see p. 105. As to the three sobs, in examining a large mass of evidence respecting abnormal phenomena (and especially second-hand accounts), one finds this number recurring with somewhat noticeable frequency—which at any rate suggests unconscious modification of the facts. Nor need we assume any specially superstitious habit of mind on the part of the witness, to find it natural that, at the points where memory is hazy, slight resulting errors should take lines which are (so to speak) marked out for them by literary or religious associations. My mother then noted the time, which was then 10.50 p.m., remarking at the same time that we should hear bad news. After making another search they again retired to rest, the sobs being heard no more.

    “On the next day my mother received a letter bearing the Chatham post-mark, stating that her brother, David Mackenzie Annison, had died at Chatham Hospital on the night of July the 5th, at 10.50, being the exact time that the sobs were heard by my parents.

    “WILLIAM ROBT. WEYER.”

    [Signed as correct by Mrs. Weyer, the surviving witness]

    “MARIA E. WEYER.”

    Mr. Weyer, the father, died a year after the occurrence. In answer to inquiries, Mr. W. R. Weyer adds:—

    “My parents informed my cousin and aunt (who is now deceased) of the circumstance, before she received the letter; and my aunt, who is just dead, remembered the circumstance quite well. My grandmother often used to mention it. I have appealed to my cousin to write her recollection of the incident, but I cannot at present persuade her to do so.”

    In conversation Mrs. Weyer stated that there were no water-pipes near the room, and that the sound seemed startlingly near—close to the head of the bed. She is not at all predisposed to alarms or fancies, and has never had any other hallucination—unless we are to reckon as such a startling sound of knocks which others also heard, and for which no external cause could be discovered. The idea which she expressed that the sounds in the present case were premonitory of bad news, since it was not founded on any sufficient knowledge of the evidence for telepathic occurrences as facts in Nature, indicates, no doubt, an uncritical acceptance of marvels. But the only question for us is how far such a habit of mind may have affected the evidence to the facts; and my strong impression is that it has not appreciably affected it. We may regard it as probable, however, that the sobs were not described as like those “of a person dying” until after the fact of the death was realised.

    The following is the result of an independent inquiry as to the time of death.

    {ii-230}

    “Melville Hospital, Chatham.

    “July 18th, 1885.

    “In reply to your letter asking to be informed of the exact hour of the death of David Mackenzie Annison, I beg to state that there was a David Annison, chief stoker, aged 38, admitted into this hospital 26th June, 1865, from H.M.S. ‘Cumberland.’ He was suffering from chronic liver disease and jaundice. He died at 11.35 p.m., on the 5th July, 1865, and his friends took his body away to Sheerness.

    “In case of a death in this establishment, the body is seen by the medical officer on duty, who himself notifies on the man’s ticket the hour and minute of his decease. It was from this document I gathered the information you required.

    “BELGRAVE NINNIS, M.D.

    “(Deputy Inspector-General.)”

    With respect to this point, Mr. Weyer writes, on August 7th, 1885:—

    “In reference to the mistake regarding the time, I have consulted my mother upon that point, and she asserts that she might possibly be mistaken, but of this fact she is most positive, viz., that the time she noted on that night exactly corresponded with the time given in the message which arrived next day; this, she says, there is no mistake about. My mother felt almost certain that the time was 10.50, but as it occurred so long ago she is not likely to have it on record; therefore she thinks that the medical official report would be the most reliable.”

    The percipients here are described as having been in great anxiety. We have seen grounds for rejecting from the telepathic evidence instances where this condition has existed on the part of a single percipient (Vol. I., pp. 508–9); but where two are affected the case is different. For, even if the experience of one was purely subjective in origin, it would be extravagant to suppose that of the other to have taken place by accident at the same moment; so that there would at least have been a “psychical” phenomenon—a transferred hallucination. But in the present instance there is some reason for going beyond this, and supposing a telepathic origin to the experience. For the sort of sound heard is scarcely a likely one for anxiety to suggest; and, moreover, in no case could the hypothesis of a joint rapport of the agent with two percipients seem more in place than where the two are his near relatives, whose minds are already similarly and fully occupied with him.

    I will add a couple of specimens of the non-vocal type. In the first, the hallucination presents a curiously close connection with the probable idea of the agent at the moment. The account is from Mrs. Paget, of Farnham, Surrey.

    “June 5th, 1884.

    (343) “A man-servant, who had lived with us from a child, and who was a real friend, fell into a consumption, and thinking that the climate {ii-231} of Ventnor might prolong his life for some months, we sent him to St. Catharine’s Home in September, 1880. On the 8th of October, I received a letter from the Sister-in-charge, saying that Arthur Dunn was decidedly worse, but that the doctor thought there was no immediate danger, and therefore she did not think I need go to Ventnor at once. I therefore wrote to say I would be there on the following Monday, when I hoped to be able to stay with him to the last. That morning I said to my girls, ‘I really must remember to speak to the new servant about putting out the gas upstairs at half-past 10, for since poor Arthur left us, it has not been put out punctually and even some nights the burner close to my bedroom and my eldest girl’s dressing-room has been alight all night.’

    “That same evening was very warm, and my daughter and myself both left our doors open, in order to be able to talk after we went upstairs (the gas-burner being close to our rooms). Whilst we were both saying our prayers, the clock struck half-past 10, and at that moment we heard a man’s heavy step along the passage, which stopped at the gas-burner, and then we heard the footsteps retiring. Almost at the same moment my daughter and myself came to our respective doors and exclaimed, ‘Why, the man did not put out the gas after all. How like his step sounded to poor Arthur’s heavy tread.’

    “The next morning I received a telegram from the Sister-in-charge at St. Catharine’s Home, saying, ‘All was over last night.’ I went down to Ventnor at once to make arrangements, and in telling Sister Mary Martha how I grieved that I had not started for Ventnor before, she remarked, ‘We did not think there was immediate danger, and his mind was wandering so much that day that he was hardly conscious. It was curious to see what form his wandering took, for, after he had been very silent for some hours, the clock struck half-past 10, when he raised himself in bed and said distinctly, ‘The clock has struck, I must go and put out the gas,’ and fell back and died immediately.

    “I ought to mention that punctuality had been a perfect mania with him. He was never, as far as I can remember, three minutes late for any thing he was ordered to do, and he was most devotedly attached to us and our home.

    “FRANCES PAGET.”

    Miss Paget (now Mrs. P. Hanham) wrote as follows, on June 11, 1884:—

    “I can only most emphatically confirm my mother’s statement. I distinctly heard the ‘footsteps’ as described by her, and it happened at half-past 10 at night, the exact time, as we heard afterwards,

    that our poor man-servant died. I may mention that I questioned our new manservant in the morning as to whether he had not been upstairs on the previous night; but it turned out that he had forgotten the orders given him to turn out the gas, and had not been upstairs. The footsteps, as I remarked at the time, were exactly similar to those of poor Arthur Dunn, and you may judge of my surprise when, on my mother’s return from the funeral, she told us about her conversation with the Sister, who was with him at the last, and his last words having been, ‘The clock has struck, I must go and put out the gas.’

    “In answer to your questions:—

    (1) “The occurrence happened here, and it was on October 8th, 1880, as I have since found on referring to a diary.

    {ii-232}

    (2) “Neither my mother nor myself ever remember to have had any hallucinations of any sort, before or since.

    “GERTRUDE F. PAGET.”

    [The diary, which I have seen, gives the date of the death only. Miss Paget’s meaning was that this was fixed on their minds next day as having happened on October 8th, on which day—as they could not then be mistaken in recollecting—the sounds had been heard.]

    To a suggestion that the steps might have been those of a heavy-footed housemaid, Mrs. Paget replied:—

    “I can positively affirm that the housemaid did not come upstairs on the night of my servant’s death; for that point was inquired into at the time.”

    The Sister-in-charge at St. Catharine’s Home, Ventnor, writes as follows, on March 6, 1885:—

    “Arthur Dunn died at 10.30 p.m. on the 8th of October, 1880. I was with him when he died; he was only with us eight days.

    “MATILDA S. S. S. M.”

    Mrs. Paget’s account having been sent to Sister Matilda, she replied as follows, on March 9, 1885:—

    “Arthur John Dunn was only here eight days before his death. I nursed him, and was with him when he died on October 8th. I do not recollect what Mrs. Paget says at all; all I can remember was that he was in bed three days; his breathing was very laboured; he had a weak heart; he was not unconscious at all; he was a very silent man, and seldom spoke, except to answer any question asked. Just before he died he asked me the time; it was half-past 10; his words were: ‘What is the time?’ I do not think he spoke after. There was nothing about the gas. He could not hear any clock strike, for there is not one in the ward or near it. Sister Mary Martha was in charge of the house at the time, and I had the nursing of the men.”

    Sister Mary Martha writes from St. Margaret’s, East Grinstead, on March 17, 1885:—

    “I regret that I am quite unable to recall any particulars of Arthur Dunn’s death. I remember the young man perfectly well; he was at the Home only about eight days, and died almost suddenly. He suffered from heart disease as well as consumption. He was a very nice fellow, and we all liked him much. Mrs. Paget, I remember, spoke in the highest terms of him. My impression is that his end was very sudden—too much so for any last words.

    “SISTER MARY MARTHA.”

    [It will be observed that there are two discrepancies between Mrs. Paget’s and the Sisters’ account. The point as to the way in which the man ascertained the time—whether by hearing the clock strike or by in quiry [sic]of the Sister—is not in itself important: the point about his mention of the gas, though not vital, has more importance. I have thoroughly talked over the matter with Mrs. Paget and her daughter. Mrs. Paget is quite clear in her recollection of Sister Mary Martha’s statement; but she does not recollect having heard or realised who it was to whom the man made the remark. The daughter is equally clear about her mother’s mention of this detail at the time. Had there been a considerable {ii-233} interval between Mrs. Paget’s conversation with the Sister and her narration of it to someone else, it would not be hard to suppose that the incident of the man’s asking the hour, combined with her own and her daughter’s experience at that exact time, had gradually led to her imagining the crowning detail of his mentioning the gas; but that this detail, if it was not reported to her, should have got immediately impressed upon her mind as though it had been reported, seems decidedly less likely than that it has slipped from the memory of the Sisters, for whom it would have no special interest, since Mrs. Paget did not tell them what had occurred at home. And there is a further point which tells, I think, decidedly in favour of this view. On the supposition that the man made the remark about the gas, it is very easy to see how Mrs. Paget may have made the mistake about his hearing the clock strike; for the remark would become the fact of interest, and the manner in which the man ascertained the time would retain no significance. If, on the other hand, the only thing reported to Mrs. Paget had been that the man asked and was told what the time was, that would have served completely to stamp the coincidence, and to suggest the direction of the man’s thoughts, and would thus have given a quite sufficient impressiveness and completeness to the story. Briefly, the introduction of the clock, on the first hypothesis, seems more easily comprehensible than the introduction of the gas, on the second.

    Mrs. Paget showed me the scene of the incident. The gas burner is at the end of a long passage, just outside her and her daughter’s rooms. The house is a very quiet one, standing in grounds far back from the road; and it is difficult to imagine any sort of real sound that could possibly have been mistaken for heavy steps twice traversing the length of the passage, the doors of both hearers (it will be remembered) being open. Mrs. Paget says, moreover, that Arthur Dunn’s tread was decidedly peculiar. That the steps were not those of the man-servant for the time being was practically proved (apart from his own assertion next day) by the fact that the gas was not turned off; for he could have no possible duty in that corner of the house at night, except to turn it off; and there was no other man in the house. Mrs. Paget and her daughter both confirmed the statement that they have had no other hallucinations. They are far from being credulous or superstitious witnesses; but the strangeness of this incident made an extremely strong impression upon them.]

    In the next case the coincidence seems again to have been close to within a very few minutes; but the form which the hallucination (if it was one) took had no special connection with anything that we can conceive to have been present to the agent’s mind. Bells are, however, a not uncommon form of purely subjective impression.1 1 See Vol. i., p. 503, and above, p. 127, note And if the principle of telepathic hallucinations be granted, one would naturally expect that the rudimentary specimens of that class—specimens which do not suggest any conscious idea of the agent, but {ii-234} are projected, as it were, blindly under the telepathic impulse—should follow the ordinary lines of hallucinations in general. The account is from the Misses Lafone, of Hanworth Park, Feltham.

    “January, 1884.

    (344) “My sister and I were both much astonished at hearing our church bell ring in a loud and hurried manner, at a few minutes before 7.30, one evening, when we knew no service was to take place. Our church is within 5 minutes’ walk across fields, and all the neighbouring churches a mile or more off. We talked together of the occurrence, and mentioned it at dinner, but did not connect it with anyone in particular. The next day we heard an aunt had died at 7.20 the evening before, but did not connect the two facts until a few days afterwards, when we made inquiries, and found no one had been in the church at the time we imagined the bell to be ringing. This took place 19th September, 1883. No one else in the house heard the bell.”

    The Times obituary confirms Sept. 19, 1883, as the date of death.

    In answer to inquiries, Miss Lafone adds:—

    “There was no particular bond of sympathy between my aunt and my sister and myself, although we knew her very well. We were aware she was seriously ill, but being very much occupied with another subject the evening she died, had hardly thought of her at all. We are not conscious of ever before experiencing ‘auditory hallucinations.’

    “MARY E. LAFONE.”

    “March 18th, 1884.

    “My sister’s account of the bells we heard is perfectly correct. We were dressing for dinner at 7.30, in different rooms, when I was attracted by the sound of the bells, as I supposed from our church, ringing in a most eccentric way, and having called to my sister found that she heard them too. We discussed the possibility of someone being shut in, as there was no service, and the sounds were too irregular and too quick to be tolling for a death. We mentioned the

    subject downstairs, and then forgot it, until having heard the following day that our aunt had died at 7.20, just at the time we were listening to the bells. We made inquiries as to whether anyone had been in the church at the time, but could not find that anyone had, or that the bells were heard by anyone besides ourselves.

    “JENNY LAFONE.”

    [I have been to Hanworth, and realised the relation of the bouse to the village church, and also to Feltham Church. There seems to be no possibility whatever that the sound heard could have proceeded from the latter, or any more distant edifice. Feltham Church lies more than a mile to the back of the house; the intervening space is thickly clothed with trees; and the Misses Lafone’s windows look out in the directly opposite direction. Miss Lafone does not recall that she has ever so much as heard the Feltham bell, even faintly; whereas the sounds on this occasion appeared louder even than those which the neighbouring church-bell usually produced. It is extremely unlikely that this neighbouring bell should have been rung at this time (on a week-day evening when there is never any service), and in this eccentric way; and it is even more {ii-235} unlikely that, if so rung, it should have been unobserved by others. The result of my visit is that I find it all but impossible to doubt that the case was one of collective hallucination—whether connected with the death of the aunt or not is of course a different question.]

    I now come to cases where the sense of sight was involved. And I may begin with a few specimens where the experiences of the several percipients were either not exactly simultaneous or not exactly similar, and where, therefore, the theory that they were severally derived from the agent receives some slight support. (Compare in this respect the auditory case, No. 36.)

    In the following example the experience of the second percipient included an auditory as well as a visual impression, and was, moreover, separated by an interval of 3 hours from that of the first. The narrator is Mrs. Cox, who wrote from Summer Hill, Queenstown, Ireland.

    “December 26th, 1883.

    (345) “On the night of the 21st August, 1869, between the hours of 8 and 9 o’clock, I was sitting in my bedroom in my mother’s house at Devonport, my nephew, a boy aged seven years, being in bed in the next room, when I was startled by his suddenly running into my room, and exclaiming in a frightened tone, ‘Oh, auntie, I have just seen my father walking around my bed.’ I replied, ‘Nonsense, you must have been dreaming.’ He said, ‘No, I have not,’ and refused to return to the room. Finding that I was unable to persuade him to go back, I put him in my own bed. Between 10 and 11 I myself retired to rest. I think about an hour afterwards, on looking towards the fireplace, I distinctly saw, to my astonishment, the form of my brother seated in a chair, and what particularly struck me was the deathly pallor of his face. (My nephew was at this time fast asleep.) I was so frightened, knowing that at this time my brother was in Hong Kong, China, that I put my head under the bed clothes. Soon after this I plainly heard his voice calling me by name; my name was repeated three times. The next time I looked, he was gone. The following morning I told my mother and sister what had occurred, and said I should make a note of it, which I did. The next mail from China brought us the sad intelligence of my brother’s death, which took place on the 21st August, 1869, in the Harbour of Hong Kong, suddenly, [of heat-apoplexy].

    “MINNIE COX.”

    We have received from the Admiralty an official confirmation of the date of the death.

    In answer to further inquiries, Mr. Cox (at present Secretary to the Naval Commander-in-Chief at Devonport) wrote:—

    “February 21st, 1884.

    “As my wife is too unwell to reply to your letter she has asked me to state with reference to your question on the subject of the appearance of her brother to her, that:—

    “As she has no note now in her possession, and as her mother is {ii-236} dead, she cannot be positive as to the hour at which her brother died. The circumstance happened about 15 years ago—both the persons she mentioned it to are dead. All that she can now state positively is that she now believes it must have been after midnight when she saw the appearance, but at the same time she is quite certain that her little nephew came into her room before midnight. She is sure that afterwards, when the news came from China, the time corresponded, but has nothing to prove it. I fear that she has not sufficient evidence, or in fact any evidence now; but it is an old story she has often told me, and I have not the slightest doubt that she did see the appearance.

    “JAMES COX.”

    In conversation Mrs. Cox told me that she was quite certain of having put down the date, and compared it with the date in the letter. She has never had the slightest hallucination on any other occasion. The child was not in the least given to frights, and had no dread of the dark.

    [If the time either of Mrs. Cox’s or of her nephew’s impression coincided with that of the death, the first date in the account is of course given wrongly, as 9 p.m. in England would correspond with about 5 a.m. of the next day at Hong Kong. If the first date is right, then the percipients’ experiences must have followed the death by some hours. It might be suggested that Mrs, Cox’s experience was due to suggestion from her nephew. But it is scarcely probable that a person who has no tendency to hallucinations should evolve one from what she took to be the dream of a frightened child.]

    In the next case, the difference between the several impressions was perhaps rather one of degree than of kind. The account is from Mr. T. N. Deane, of University Club, 3, Upper Merrion Street, Dublin, and was procured through the kindness of the Rev. J. N. Hoare, now vicar of Keswick.

    “1882.

    (346) “In the year 1851, on the 4th of June, I was in a large bedroom of a country house in the County Cork. The windows of the room faced the River Lee; both were open. The air was sultry and still; all the inmates of the house were out, with the exception of my wife and an intimate friend (now dead), who were with me in the room. We sat on three chairs near one of the open windows, and talked on ordinary subjects. The old-fashioned four-post bed occupied the side of the room to my right, and the only door (which was open) was on my left. We sat into the twilight, but there was still sufficient light to recognise each other, and see objects pretty clearly. A figure approached me from the side of the room occupied by the large bed, and apparently from the side of it, moved directly towards me, and placed its hand on my shoulder. It was a female figure, but I could not recognise the features. I followed it to the lobby, but did not see it again. I returned to my companions, and asked them had they seen it. They replied in the affirmative. I said, ‘If ever there was a ghost, that was one.’ That evening my mother was seized with fatal illness. Next morning I got a telegram stating that she was in extremis, and for hours before was asking for me to be sent for. On receipt of the telegram I started for Dublin, and was just in time to see my mother before her {ii-237} death. The first person I met was Mr. Hoare’s father [deceased], to whom I said, ‘My mother will die! I saw her last night.’

    “THOS. N. DEANE.”

    We find from the obituary in the Freeman’s Journal that Lady Deane died on June 5, 1851, at Dublin.

    Mrs. Deane writes on March 7, 1883:—

    “I must say I felt the presence more than saw it, and it certainly came up to where we (three friends) were sitting, All saw it or felt it; in fact, it was both, for I could describe it as a misty shadow passing through the chamber, and went out silently. Of course we did not turn round until we all three said, ‘Was not there some one near the chair who is gone from the room?’ Then one of our number got up and inquired had any one been in, and all were absent from where we were—some downstairs in other sitting-rooms reading, others in the garden, and the servants at tea in their kitchen; then it appeared doubly odd, and it seized hold of one’s mind there had been an apparition or vision. We had been talking of the lady at the time she appeared to us.

    “HENRIETTA DEANE.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Deane says, “Neither my wife nor I ever saw anything of the kind before or since.”

    Here the vaguer form of Mrs. Deane’s impression, as compared to that of her husband, seems a good example of rudimentary or arrested development (see p. 73, note).

    The following case is one that would not have been included here, but for the favourable opinion which our colleague, Mr. Richard Hodgson,[☼] formed of the principal witness. The account was written down by Miss Atkinson, of Park Head, Jesmond Dene, Newcastle-on-Tyne, and is

    signed by Mrs. Reed, of 7, Miller’s Lane, Byker Hill, Newcastle-on-Tyne, the younger of the two percipients; the other is dead.

    “July, 1884.

    (347) “It was at Christmas time. Mr. and Mrs. Adams and their daughter Annie had been spending the evening with some friends, not far from home. Annie (a girl of 12 at the time), along with another girl, was sent home to fetch something that had been forgotten. On entering the kitchen, Annie said to the other girl, ‘See, there’s a man sitting by the fireside.’ The other girl said there was nobody there. The two went upstairs to get what they had been sent for, when Annie said ‘There’s the man again.’1 1For the feature of repetition in visual hallucinations, see cases 159, 160, 184, 213, 240, 503, 519, 540. In Vol. i., p. 414 second note,, I mentioned an example in my collection of subjective cases, for which I am now allowed to name Mr. J. Champ, of High Street, Chelmsford, as my authority. What he saw (after a fatiguing march) was a grotesque, parti-coloured figure, about as wide as high, which appeared on the wall of the room, disappeared, and re-appeared after an interval of a few minutes. The other girl persisted that there was nobody there. Having got what was wanted, they returned to the friend‘s house. On coming home late at night, Mrs. Adams said to her husband—‘There’s my brother standing beside that house; don’t you see him, all in white?’ Mr. Adams did not see him. A day or two afterwards she received a letter to say that her brother was killed down the pit, the night and the hour corresponding with the time that Annie saw the man (as she said) {ii-238} sitting by her mother’s hearth. Annie had never seen her uncle, as she had always travelled from place to place with the regiment, and had never been taken to the colliery village where her mother’s family lived.

    This is a correct statement.

    “ANNIE REED.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that Mrs. Reed’s uncle was crushed by a fall of stone in the Washington coal mine on December 29, 1862; which confirms the first words of the account.

    Miss Atkinson tells us that Mrs. Adams, unlike her husband, was of a superstitious turn of mind. She adds on July 31, 1884;—

    “I have been to see Mrs. Reed, but cannot say I have gained much information. She says that the figure she saw upstairs was the same as she had seen sitting by the fireside downstairs. She cannot give any definite information about the girl who was with her, except that her name was Sophie Arnup, and that she belonged to Norwich, where the incident occurred. Mrs. Reed does not know whether she is living or dead, or whether married. Mrs. Reed cannot remember that there were any differences noted when she and her mother talked about what they had seen. She mentioned about the man in white sitting by the fireside, as soon as she reached the friend’s house where her mother was, and before her mother returned. She cannot remember any details about face or dress, except that the dress was white; she was too frightened to observe carefully, and I am glad to find she is too truthful to set her imagination to work, and fancy she remembers what she does not. This is the only hallucination that she ever had.

    “E. E. ATKINSON.”

    Mr. Hodgson writes in September, 1884:—

    “I have talked with Mr. Adams [now resident at 144, High Street, Jarrow-on-Tyne], who told me the story as given above. The pit where the brother was killed was in the Durham district; the figure was seen at Norwich. I have also seen Mrs. Reed, who first saw the figure, and who also told the story as given above. She impressed me as being exceptionally truthful.”

    [We might conceive that Mrs. Adams’ hallucination was due to apprehensions caused by her daughter’s account. But it will be observed that there had been nothing in the daughter’s account to suggest Mrs. Adams’ brother; the point therefore that Mrs. Adams mentioned her brother (which there is no reason to doubt) is important. And even if we suppose that she was given to apprehensions about this relative, which may have taken a superstitious colour, this would not explain the other hallucination, unique in her daughter’s experience, occurring on the same evening. That the impressions were hallucinations and not illusions, is strongly indicated by the fact that neither of them was shared by a second person whose attention was drawn to the appearance (p. 105, second note.).]

    In the remaining visual cases, the impression seems to have been distinct and identical to all the percipients. I will begin with a case where it is a question whether a distant agent was or was not the source of the phenomenon; but where the flashing of the hallucination from one of the percipients to the other seems specially well {ii-239} illustrated, since the figure which appeared was one which the second percipient had never seen in the flesh. The account is firsthand, though written in the third person. It is from Mrs. Elgee, of 18, Woburn Road, Bedford.

    “March 1st, 1885.

    (348) “In the month of November, 1864, being detained in Cairo, on my way out to India, the following curious circumstance occurred to me:—

    “Owing to an unusual influx of travellers, I, with the young lady under my charge (whom we will call D.) and some other passengers of the outward-bound mail to India, had to take up our abode in a somewhat unfrequented hotel. The room shared by Miss D. and myself was large, lofty, and gloomy; the furniture of the scantiest, consisting of two small beds, placed nearly in the middle of the room and not touching the walls at all, two or three rush-bottomed chairs, a very small washing-stand, and a large old-fashioned sofa of the settee-sort, which was placed against one-half of the large folding-doors which gave entrance to the room. This settee was far too heavy to be removed, unless by two or three people. The other half of the door was used for entrance, and faced the two beds. Feeling rather desolate and strange, and Miss D. being a nervous person, I locked the door, and, taking out the key, put it under my pillow; but on Miss D. remarking that there might be a duplicate which could open the door from outside, I put a chair against the door, with my travelling-bag on it, so arranged that, on any pressure outside, one or both must fall on the bare floor, and make noise enough to rouse me. We then proceeded to retire to bed, the one I had chosen being near the only window in the room, which opened with two glazed doors, almost to the floor. These doors, on account of the heat, I left open, first assuring myself that no communication from the outside could be obtained. The window led on to a small balcony, which was isolated, and was three stories above the ground.

    “I suddenly woke from a sound sleep with the impression that somebody had called me, and, sitting up in bed, to my unbounded astonishment, by the clear light of early dawn coming in through the large window before-mentioned, I beheld the figure of an old and very valued friend whom I knew to be in England. He appeared as if most eager to speak to me, and I addressed him with, ‘Good gracious! how did you come here?’ So clear was the figure, that I noted every detail of his dress, even to three onyx shirt studs which he always wore. He seemed to come a step nearer to me, when he suddenly pointed across the room, and on my looking round, I saw Miss D. sitting up in her bed, gazing at the figure with every expression of terror. On looking back, my friend seemed to shake his head, and retreated step by step, slowly, till he seemed to sink through that portion of the door where the settee stood. I never knew what happened to me after this; but my next remembrance is of bright sunshine pouring through the window. Gradually the remembrance of what had happened came back to me, and the question arose in my mind, had I been dreaming, or had I seen a visitant from another world?—the bodily presence of my friend being utterly impossible.

    {ii-240}

    Remembering that Miss D. had seemed aware of the figure as well as myself, I determined to allow the test of my dream or vision to be whatever she said to me upon the subject, I intending to say nothing to her unless she spoke to me. As she seemed still asleep, I got out of bed, examined the door carefully, and found the chair and my bag untouched, and the key under my pillow; the settee had not been touched, nor had that portion of the door against which it was placed any appearance of being opened for years.

    “Presently, on Miss D. waking up, she looked about the room, and, noticing the chair and bag, made some remark as to their not having been much use. I said, ‘What do you mean?’ and then she said, ‘Why, that man who was in the room this morning must have got in somehow.’ She then proceeded to describe to me exactly what I myself had seen. Without giving any satisfactory answer as to what I

    had seen, I made her rather angry by affecting to treat the matter as a fancy on her part, and showed her the key still under my pillow, and the chair and bag untouched. I then asked her, if she was so sure that she had seen somebody in the room, did not she know who it was? ‘No,’ said she, ‘I have never seen him before, nor anyone like him.’ I said ‘Have you ever seen a photograph of him?’ She said, ‘No.’ This lady never was told what I saw, and yet described exactly to a third person what we both had seen.

    “Of course, I was under the impression my friend was dead. Such, however, was not the case; and I met him some four years later, when, without telling him anything of my experience in Cairo, I asked him, in a joking way, could he remember what he was doing on a certain night in November, 1864. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you require me to have a good memory;’ but after a little reflection he replied, ‘Why that was the time I was so harassed with trying to decide for or against the appointment which was offered me, and I so much wished you could have been with me to talk the matter over. I sat over the fire quite late, trying to think what you would have advised me to do.’ A little cross-questioning and comparing of dates brought out the curious fact that, allowing for the difference of time between England and Cairo, his meditations over the fire and my experience were simultaneous. Having told him the circumstances above narrated, I asked him had he been aware of any peculiar or unusual sensation. He said none, only that he had wanted to see me very much.

    “E. H. ELGEE.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Elgee says:—

    “I fear it is quite impossible to get any information from Miss D. She married soon after we reached India, and I never met her since, nor do I know where she is, if alive. I quite understand the value of her corroboration; and at the time she told the whole circumstance to a fellow-traveller, who repeated it to me, and her story and mine agreed in every particular, save that to her the visitant was a complete stranger; and her tale was quite unbiassed by mine, as I always treated hers as a fancy, and never acknowledged I had been aware of anything unusual having taken place in our room at Cairo. I never have seen, or fancied I saw, any one before or since.

    {ii-241}

    “My visitant, also, is dead, or he would, I know, have added his testimony, small as it was, to mine. He was a very calm, quiet, clever, scientific man, not given to vain fancies on any subject, and certainly was not aware of any desire of appearing to me.”

    [This seems at any rate an interesting example of collective hallucination; though as regards its supposed origination in the thoughts of Mrs. Elgee’s friend in England, one may doubt whether, after a lapse of 4 years, complete certainty as to the identity of dates was attainable. If there has been an error on this point, the case would properly belong to the preceding section.]

    The next account (which has been very slightly condensed) was written down for us, in 1883, by the late Miss Katherine M. Weld, one of the two percipients, at the request of Mr. James Britten, of Isleworth. It proves to be identical with a former account, as to which Miss Weld wrote to Mr. Wilfrid Ward, of Sherborne House, Basingstoke, on May 19, 1883, as follows:—

    “The account was written about 15 years ago; it was an account which appeared in a book and in the newspapers at that time, and which I, at the request of friends, revised and corrected. I believe every word of the account to be perfectly true, as such things become impressed on one’s mind; but at the same time it must be remembered that the account was not written at the time, but many years afterwards. Therefore I can only say that as far as I remember every detail is exact.”

    “The Lodge, Lymington.

    (349) “Philip Weld was the youngest son of Mr. James Weld, of Archers Lodge, near Southampton, and a nephew of the late Cardinal Weld. He was sent by his father, in 1842, to St. Edmund’s College, near Ware, in Hertfordshire, for his education. He was a well conducted, amiable boy, and much beloved by his masters and fellow-students. In the afternoon of April 16th, 1845, Philip, accompanied by one of the masters and some of his companions, went to boat on the river, which was a sport he enjoyed much. When one of the masters remarked that it was time to return to the college, Philip begged to have one row more; the master consented and they rowed to the accustomed turning point. On arriving there, in turning the boat, Philip accidentally fell out into a very deep part of the river, and, notwithstanding every effort that was made to save him, was drowned.

    “His corpse was brought back to the college, and the Very Rev. Dr. Cox (the president) was immensely shocked and grieved. He made up his mind to go himself to Mr. Weld, at Southampton. He set off the same afternoon, and passing through London, reached Southampton the next day, and drove from thence to Archers Lodge, the residence of Mr. Weld; but before entering the grounds he saw Mr. Weld at a short distance from his gate, walking towards the town. Dr. Cox immediately stopped the carriage, alighted, and was about to address Mr. Weld, when he prevented him by saying:—

    “‘You need not say one word, for I know that Philip is dead. {ii-242} Yesterday afternoon I was walking with my daughter, Katherine, and we suddenly saw him. He was standing on the path, on the opposite side of the turnpike road, between two persons, one of whom was a youth dressed in a black robe. My daughter was the first to perceive them and exclaimed, “Oh, papa! did you ever see anything so like Philip as that is?” “Like him,” I answered, “why it is he.” Strange to say, my daughter thought nothing of the circumstance, beyond that we had seen an extraordinary likeness of her brother. We walked on towards these three figures. Philip was looking, with a smiling, happy expression of countenance, at the young man in a black robe, who was shorter than himself. Suddenly they all seemed to me to have vanished; I saw nothing but a countryman, whom I had before seen through the three figures, which gave me the impression that they were spirits. I, however, said nothing to anyone, as I was fearful of alarming my wife. I looked out anxiously for the post the following morning. To my delight, no letter came. I forgot that letters from Ware came in the afternoon, and my fears were quieted, and I thought no more of the extraordinary circumstance until I saw you in the carriage outside my gate. Then everything returned to my mind, and I could not feel a doubt that you came to tell me of the death of my dear boy.’

    “The reader may imagine how inexpressibly astonished Dr. Cox was at these words. He asked Mr. Weld if he had ever before seen the young man in the black robe, at whom Philip was looking with such a happy smile. Mr. Weld answered that he had never before seen him, but that his countenance was so indelibly impressed on his mind that he was certain he should know him at once anywhere. Dr. Cox then related to the afflicted father all the circumstances of his son’s death, which had taken place at the very hour in which he appeared to his father and sister. Mr. Weld went to the funeral of his son, and as he left the church, after the sad ceremony, looked round to see if any of the religious at all resembled the young man he had seen with Philip, but he could not trace the slightest likeness in any of them. About four months after, he and his family paid a visit to his brother, Mr. George Weld, at Seagram Hall, in Lancashire. One day he walked with his daughter Katherine to the neighbouring village of Chipping, and after attending a service at the church called on the priest. It was a little time before the rev. father was at leisure to come to them, and they amused themselves meantime by examining the prints hanging on the walls of the room. Suddenly Mr. Weld stopped before a picture which had no name, that you could see, written under it (as the frame covered the bottom), and exclaimed ‘That is the person whom I saw with Philip; I do not know whose likeness this print is, but I am certain that it was that person whom I saw with Philip.’ The priest entered the room a few moments afterwards, and was immediately questioned by Mr. Weld concerning the print. He answered that it was a print of St. Stanislaus Kostka, and supposed to be a very good likeness of the young saint.

    “Mr. Weld was much moved at hearing this; for St. Stanislaus was a Jesuit, who died when quite young, and Mr. Weld’s father having been a great benefactor to that Order, his family were supposed to be under the particular protection of the Jesuit saints; also, Philip had been led of late, by various circumstances, to particular devotion to St. Stanislaus. {ii-243} Moreover, St. Stanislaus is supposed to be the special advocate of drowned men, as is mentioned in his life. The rev. father instantly presented the picture to Mr. Weld, who, of course, received it with the greatest veneration, and kept it until his death. His wife valued it equally, and at her death it passed into the possession of the daughter [the narrator], who saw the apparition at the same time he did, and it is now in her possession.”

    In answer to some questions put by Mr. Ward, Miss Weld wrote on June 20th, 1883:—

    “I will repeat the questions you ask, to make the answers more clear.

    “‘Did you as well as your father, think the disappearance strange?’—No; I thought no more about it.

    “‘Did your father, before Dr. Cox spoke to him, look upon the apparition as significant of some mishap to his son?’—Yes; he thought much about it, and was very anxious for the arrival of the letters the next morning; but he did not speak of the matter until afterwards. He had frightened my mother so much on a former occasion that he had promised never to speak of such things again.”

    Miss Weld adds in another letter:—

    “When I saw Philip, I thought no more of it than one does in seeing a great and unexpected likeness in a stranger to some absent friend. The matter passed out of my mind so completely that I never felt a sensation of uneasiness. I did not remember the circumstance until the arrival of Dr. Cox, and the announcement of my brother’s death. I saw that two persons were walking with the young lad who so closely resembled my brother. He looked happy and smiling; but I neither remarked their countenance nor dress; consequently I did not recognise the print in the parlour of the priest.”

    In answer to an inquiry as to whether this was her only experience of a sensory hallucination, Miss Weld adds: “I never before or since the event have seen anything from the other world.”1 1See p. 48, note. The following version of the same incident, which we have received from a Fellow of the Royal College of Physicians, is useful as illustrating the slight inaccuracies which may creep into a narrative, without the least affecting the essential point:— “I was mentioning this [i.e., a similar case] to Baron French, or rather we were talking over the incidents connected with it, when he told me of a strange occurrence which happened at the school where he was, near Ware, in England, a Catholic college,—president, a Dr. Cox. There was a boy there of the name of Weld, a very well-known Catholic family. This boy was accidentally drowned. The father and mother were at the time at Southampton, and on the day in question were walking on the quay near the shipping. They suddenly saw the said boy approaching, and hurried to meet him, but immediately he appeared to fade away, so that they could see the masts of the ships, and through what had seemed to be his body. The next day, or the day following, Dr. Cox called on them, when Mr. Weld said, ‘I know why you are here, it is to tell me that my son is dead. I saw him yesterday, and knew then that he had departed.’”

    The apparition of St. Stanislaus is quite consistent with the telepathic hypothesis, since we can conceive that the idea of his favourite saint may have been actually present to the mind of the drowning boy; but we have no explanation of the third phantasmal figure. This, from its irrelevance, is an unlikely feature to have crept into {ii-244} the memory, if not really observed; but it also makes the hypothesis of mistaken identity less improbable than it would otherwise be. As against that hypothesis we have the fact that the figures were seen in daylight, only a few yards off; that their disappearance seems to have been strangely sudden; and that, if the narrator’s memory may be trusted as to Mr. Weld’s spontaneous recognition of the picture, the mistake on his part would have been a double one. Moreover it must be observed that even if the case was one of mistaken identity—of illusion and not hallucination—the coincidence remains to be accounted for. If we suppose—as according to the account I think we may—that the eyes of the two percipients were independently deluded, and that Mr. Weld’s delusion was not merely conjured up by his daughter’s remark, we cannot ignore the improbability of two persons making a mistake of the sort on the very afternoon that the relative whom they seem to see is drowned. How prodigious this improbability is may be realised from a simple computation. Let us suppose—surely a liberal estimate—that it is a common thing, which one may suppose to have happened to each of the percipients, to make in the course of life 50 equally remarkable mistakes of identity, in an equally good light and when equally near to the figure observed; and also that the probability that one particular relative of most familiar aspect will be the subject of the mistake on any one of these occasions amounts to  20—which is again an extravagant allowance. Let us further suppose that the adult life of each percipient amounted to 35 years, or 12,775 days. Then, for each percipient, the probability of making one of the mistakes of identity on the particular day that the subject of the mistake dies is 50  20 × 12775; and the probability of the supposed combination of coincident mistakes is  51102. In other words, the odds against the occurrence by accident of the incident above related are more than 26 millions to 1. If, therefore, the experiences were illusions, they may fairly be supposed to have been telepathic illusions (see pp. 62–3.)

    We owe the next account in the first instance to Mrs. Willink, of Lindale Parsonage, Grange-over-Sands. The three first-hand witnesses all appear to be persons of good sense and of some education. Mrs. Willink writes, on Sept. 9, 1884:—

    (350) “One night (Friday) my nurse, Jane, came to tell me that they had been startled by seeing a ghastly face at the kitchen window. The servants had been annoyed for some time previously by some young men {ii-245} coming to the kitchen window, and making a noise on the glass, and trying to look in. The flower bed under the window had been freshly dug up and tidied, and they were hoping the visits had ceased. The dog, whose kennel was close to the window, and who had been put on a long chain to keep away these visitors, began to how], and Helen (now Mrs. Robinson), who was sitting so as to see through the edge of the blind, looked up, and seeing a ghastly face, which she recognised as Mrs. Robinson’s, told the others, who got up and drew the blind on one side, and so saw the face distinctly. Their account was that it gradually faded away below the bottom of the window. Jane and Aggie then went to the door, but though the dog continued howling (as he always does when a death in the village takes place), they could see nothing.

    “I doubt the accuracy of the statement that the apparition looked at Helen rather than at the others; she sat where she could see through the space between the blind and the edge of the window, so naturally saw it first. Jane had never seen Mrs. Robinson, but some time after, on looking through a photograph-book in the village, she recognised the face, and was then told to whom it belonged. When she told me on the Friday evening of what they had seen, I rather pooh-poohed the story, as I found that the dog’s howling was beginning to make them always nervous; and it was not until after service on Sunday that I was told how Mrs. Robinson had been persuaded to go to Leeds to the hospital there, and to undergo an operation, under which she died on Friday afternoon, I think, between 2 and 3. The appearance would be between 8 and 9. Mrs. Robinson had been servant to the clergyman here before she married; she had been away from the village some time before her death; was always an invalid, but none of us knew of her being more ill than usual.

    “MARGARET WILLINK.”

    We learn from the clerk at Finsthwaite, where Mrs. Robinson was buried, that she died at the Leeds Infirmary on March 25th, 1882, and a neighbour thinks that the hour was between 8 and 9 in the morning. Friday was the 24th, not the 25th; and the coincidence was thus not so close as Mrs. Willink supposes; but the interval probably did not exceed 12 hours.

    Mary Jane Farrand says:—

    “It was a Friday evening, of the exact time I am not sure, but it was between half-past 8 and 9 o’clock. The other two maids, with myself, were sitting at supper in the kitchen, close to the window, when we all became conscious of being watched by a woman from the outside, whom the other two immediately recognised as a person whom they both knew as Mrs. Robinson. Before her marriage, she lived at the parsonage for some time as housemaid. She looked intently upon each one, and then turned her face quite to the cook, looking slightly reproachful, then pleadingly. They asked one of the other where she could be staying, and they said it was strange for her to be out (as it rained heavily) without her bonnet. One was just about to go and ask her in, when we saw a great change come over the face, and it looked like that of a corpse, then disappeared altogether. I never saw the person previously, or remember ever hearing of her, however indirectly.

    The following Sunday morning I heard that she was dead from Mrs. Willink. The cook, whom we called {ii-246} Nell, was married to John Robinson about two years afterwards. As we sat at the table I had such an impression of the face, eyes, and front of the hair as to be able to recognise the photograph a few months afterwards, without the least trouble, or being told.

    “MARY JANE FARRAND.”

    A. Nicholson (now Mrs. Capstick, of Silverdale, Carnforth,) writes to Mary Jane Farrand, on September 4th, 1884:—

    “Woodwell.

    “In answer to your letter about the face at the window, I cannot remember much about it, except that we were sitting at supper, and Nell happened to look up at the window, and said some one was looking in, then told us to come and look. It was like the face of a skeleton, and we looked, and it was a very thin face, with large staring eyes. We still thought it was some one till you and I went to the door, but could see nothing. Nell was in the kitchen, and it never moved, but was still there when we got back. It seemed to gradually fade out of sight. I don’t remember who passed the remark that it was like Mrs. Robinson.

    “A. NICHOLSON.”

    In conversation, Mrs. Capstick stated that she has never had any other experience of a hallucination.

    Mrs. Willink writes, on September 18th, 1884:—

    “In answer to your question as to when the servants told me it was Mrs. Robinson’s face they saw, as far as I recollect it was that same evening. Helen knew (as we all did) that Mrs. Robinson was ill, and had been so for years with an internal complaint, from which she never could recover; but she did not know that she was any worse than she had been before she left the village some months before.

    “They went out next morning to look for footmarks on the flower bed, which would have been disturbed by any one standing at the window, but there were no traces of any.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mary Jane Farrand writes, on September 24th, 1884:—

    “When I recognised Mrs. Robinson’s photograph I was staying at Arnside with Mrs. Willink’s children, and went to visit a person who had lived near Lindale and had not long been married, and she it was who when showing me the different things in her house, quite by chance took up her album, and showed me the photos of her friends, amongst them Mrs. Robinson. I cannot quite remember whether or not I told her that I recognised the face; for it seems so long ago to remember each fact, and I should not like to assert what I did not feel confident about, but you certainly may write to her to ask her.

    “Never before had I seen anything of the kind, although I had heard of similar events, but was greatly wanting in faith with regard to such things happening, and thought it but a fancy in others, until I saw Mrs. Robinson [i.e., the photograph].”

    She mentions, however, that she has had two subjective hallucinations, which fell within a few days of one another—one representing Mrs. Willink, and the other a fellow-servant.

    Mrs. Jackson Thompson, of Ashmeadow Lodge, Arnside, Grange-over-Sands, writes, in February, 1886:—

    {ii-247}

    “The only remark I remember Mary Jane Farrand making on the late Mrs. John Robinson’s photograph was that it resembled the face which appeared at the Lindale Parsonage kitchen window.

    “CHARLOTTE THOMPSON.”

    [The evidence of “Nell” (now Mrs. Robinson), the third witness, will be found in the “Additions and Corrections” at the beginning of this volume.[☼]]

    The next account is from Mrs. Bennett, of Edward Street, Stone.

    “March, 1882.

    (351) “My daughter, Annie, and I had been drinking tea with the late Mrs. Smith and Miss Moore, and talking about their brother Preston being very ill and not expected to recover, and were returning home in the evening, when between the little wicket which opens out of the Vicarage field and Mrs. Newbold’s house we met the identical man in face, form, and figure, dressed as he was always wont; slouched hat, old frock coat, open in front, knee-breeches and gaiters, with a long stick. He passed so near us that we shrank aside to make way for him. As soon as we got to Mrs. Newbold’s she exclaimed, ‘So Preston Moore is dead!’ when we both answered in a breath, ‘Oh, no, we have just seen him!’

    “We found, in fact, that he had died about half an hour before he appeared to us.

    “J. BENNETT.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Bennett adds, on Dec. 19, 1883:—

    “We cannot call to mind anyone at all resembling the individual in question; his appearance, dress and gait were utterly unlike anyone else residing in or about the neighbourhood.”

    We learn from the Rev. A. J. Wright, Vicar of Stone, that the death occurred on April 13th, 1860.

    The Rev. Samuel Plant writes to us from Weston Vicarage, Stafford:—

    “July 8th, 1885.

    “I know very well the lady who, with her daughter, saw the apparition of Moore on the day of his death, and I have every reason to believe that she would not deviate from the truth in any respect. I have several times heard her account of it.”

    Mrs. Sidgwick writes, on December 17, 1883:—

    “This afternoon Professor Sidgwick and I called on Mrs. Bennett. She told us the story as in her letter, and her daughter, afterwards called in, confirmed it. They do not remember when it happened, probably 12 or more years ago. She remembers distinctly, and so does her daughter, that it was in the summer, and that it was light enough to see things quite distinctly—though they are not sure of the hour.1 1This statement is not incompatible with the fact that the season was really the middle of April; but it will be seen that the “12 or more years” are really more than 23. They had been having tea with Mrs. Smith (Preston Moore’s sister, a farmer’s widow, retired and with means), and were on their way to call on Mrs. Newbold, now dead. About 3 yards from Mrs. Newbold’s gate they saw Preston Moore coming towards them; they came round a slight bend in the road, and saw him first (Mrs. Bennett said), about the distance across Edward Street from them. He and they were both walking on the road close to the {ii-248} causeway, and they got on to the causeway and let him pass. He did not greet them in any way, but though he did generally touch his hat, and say ‘Good-day,’ he did not then. His not doing so did not seem to them odd; the only thing that did was that a man who they had just heard was not expected to recover should be out at all. Mrs. Bennett has often wondered since that she did not turn her head to look after him, but she did not; and they do not remember saying anything to each other about him, during the few seconds that elapsed before they got to Mrs. Newbold’s door. It was a natural enough place to meet him. There is no doubt that they both saw him, and that neither doubted at the time that what they saw was Preston Moore in the flesh. They say he was a peculiar-looking man—very plain, and with an eye chronically inflamed; wore habitually a white hat on one side of his head, a loose shabby long coat, open down the front, and carried a long, hooked, heavy stick; and all these marks they seem to recognise him by. They took no particular interest in him, just knew him. There was something forbidding about him, and he was very odd; in fact I suppose mad at times. The people called him ‘moonstruck;’ his sister, Miss Moore, was odd too. He seems to have had a sort of interest in Mrs. Bennett, for once he brought her pansies, stolen from a neighbouring gentleman’s garden, and another time cauliflowers—equally illegitimately acquired. But he used to take stolen gifts to others in the same way. Both Mrs. and Miss Bennett disclaim being superstitious or nervous, and neither has had any other visual hallucination. Mrs. Bennett has had an auditory hallucination of music, and also what may have been a hallucination of raps and noises.”

    [In this case, we certainly cannot suppose that a purely subjective hallucination was independently and simultaneously caused in both percipients by their previous talk about the man, in whom they were not specially interested. The alternative is, therefore, between telepathy and mistaken identity. It was remarked in a former case that recollections as to details of appearance are often untrustworthy, as it is easy to imagine that one has distinctly seen some familiar figure, when in reality one has assumed its presence on the strength of the slightest and most general glance. But this criticism scarcely applies here. Preston Moore was the last person whom the percipients would at that moment have expected to meet out of doors; and they were, therefore, very unlikely to assume that the figure was he, without looking at him attentively.]

    The following case is from Mr. S. S. Falkinburg, of Uniontown, Ky., U.S.A., decorator and house painter.

    “Sept. 12th, 1884.

    (352) “The following circumstance is impressed upon my mind in a manner which will preclude its ever being forgotten by me or the members of my family interested. My little son, Arthur, who was then five years old, and the pet of his grandpapa, was playing on the floor, when I entered the house a quarter to 7 o’clock, Friday evening, July 11th, 1879. I was very tired, having been receiving and paying for staves all day, and it being an exceedingly sultry evening, I lay down by Artie on the carpet, and entered into conversation with my wife—not, however, in regard to my parents. Artie, as usually was the case, came and lay down with his little head upon my left arm, when all at once he exclaimed, ‘Papa! {ii-249} papa! Grandpa!’ I cast my eyes towards the ceiling, or opened my eyes, I am not sure which, when, between me and the joists (it was an old-fashioned log-cabin), I saw the face of my father as plainly as ever I saw him in my life.1 1For phantasms seen in positions which would in reality be impossible compare cases 203, 204, and 205. He appeared to me to be very pale, and looked sad, as I had seen him upon my last visit to him three months previous. I immediately spoke to my wife, who was sitting within a few feet of me, and said, ‘Clara, there is something wrong at home; father is either dead or very sick.’ She tried to persuade me that it was my imagination, but I could not help feeling that something was wrong. Being very tired, we soon after retired, and about 10 o’clock Artie woke me up repeating, ‘Papa, grandpa is here.’ I looked, and believe, if I remember right, got up, at any rate to get the child warm, as he complained of coldness,2 2See p. 37, note. and it was very sultry weather. Next morning I expressed my determination to go at once to Indianapolis. My wife made light of it and over-persuaded me, and I did not go until Monday morning, and upon arriving at home (my father’s), I found that he had been buried the day before, Sunday, July 13th.

    “Now comes the mysterious part to me. After I had told my mother and brother of my vision, or whatever it may have been, they told me the following:—

    “On the morning of the 11th July, the day of his death, he arose early and expressed himself as feeling unusually well, and ate a hearty breakfast. He took the Bible (he was a Methodist minister), and went and remained until near noon. He ate a hearty dinner, and went to the front gate, and, looking up and down the street, remarked that he could not, or at least would not be disappointed, some one was surely coming. During the afternoon and evening he seemed restless, and went to the gate, looking down street, frequently. At last, about time for supper, he mentioned my name, and expressed his conviction that God, in His own good time, would answer his prayers in my behalf, I being at that time very wild. Mother going into the kitchen to prepare supper, he followed her and continued talking to her about myself and family, and especially Arthur, my son. Supper being over, he moved his chair near the door, and was conversing about me at the time he died. The last words were about me, and were spoken, by mother’s clock, 14 minutes of 7. He did not fall, but just quit talking and was dead.

    “In answer to my inquiries, my son Arthur says he remembers the circumstances, and the impression he received upon that occasion is ineffaceable.

    “SAMUEL S. FALKINBURG.”

    We have procured a certificate of death from the Indianapolis Board of Health, which confirms the date given.

    Mrs. Falkinburg writes to us, on Sept. 12, 1884:—

    “In answer to your request, I will say that I cheerfully give my recollection of the circumstance to which you refer.

    “We were living in Brown County, Indiana, 50 miles south of Indianapolis, in the summer of 1879. My husband (Mr. S. S. Falkinburg) was in the employ of one John Ayers, buying staves.

    {ii-250}

    ‘On the evening of July 11th, about 6.30 o’clock, he came into the room where I was sitting, and lay down on the carpet with my little boy Arthur, complaining of being very tired and warm. Entering into conversation on some unimportant matter, Arthur went to him and lay down by his side. In a few moments my notice was attracted by hearing Arthur exclaim: ‘Oh, papa, grandpa, grandpa, papa,’ at the same time pointing with his little hand toward the ceiling. I looked in the direction he was pointing, but saw nothing. My husband, however, said: ‘Clara, there is something wrong at home; father is either dead or very sick.’ I tried to laugh him out of what I thought an idle fancy; but he insisted that he saw the face of his father looking at him from near the ceiling, and Arthur said, ‘Grandpa was come, for he saw him.’ That night we were awakened by Artie again calling his papa to see ‘grandpa.’

    “A short time after my husband started (Monday) to go to Indianapolis, I received a letter calling him to the burial of his father; and some time after, in conversation with his mother, it transpired that the time he and Artie saw the vision was within two or three minutes of the time his father died.

    “CLARA T. FALKINBURG.”

    Asked whether this was his sole experience of a visual hallucination, Mr. Falkinburg replied that it was. Occasionally, however, since that time, he has had auditory impressions suggestive of his father’s presence.

    Here it may perhaps be suggested that Mr. Falkinburg’s hallucination was due to the child’s remark. But I know of no evidence to support such a hypothesis. Where sensory hallucinations have been traceable to verbal suggestion, as I have already mentioned, (p. 188), there has either been a previous abnormal dominance of one person by another, or the effect has been worked up among a considerable number of people, in an atmosphere of emotion and excitement. Till evidence is brought, we must, I think, decline to credit the words of a child of five with such magic sway over its father’s mind as is exercised by a practised mesmerist over the “subject” whose will he has annulled, or as causes the visions of a hysterical fanatic to spread to her like-minded companions.

    The next case is from Mrs. Fairman, of 43, Clifton Hill, N.W. She has given us in confidence the names of the persons concerned, who are all dead. The first account sent to us was written on December 29, 1884; but I quote the following slightly fuller one, which was sent after a search had been made for the letter therein mentioned. The sentence between brackets is taken from the former account.

    “December 4th, 1885.

    (353) “I much regret that the search I have made through my sister’s letters has proved useless. You see, the letter relating to the circumstance was addressed to my mother, and has been destroyed long ago. In that letter, my sister related the circumstance of both herself and her husband {ii-251} seeing what he imagined to be his brother—the exact likeness to him being apparent—passing the breakfast-room window; so much so that he spontaneously jumped up to go to the hall to meet him, but on arriving did not see him. (They were at the time—as nearly as I can remember, in 1844—living in the Highlands, and he had parted from his brother, who was living in Nottinghamshire, on very unfriendly terms.) After a fruitless search in the grounds, he awaited the arrival of the post-bag, which contained a letter requesting him to start at once: his brother, whom he had not seen for 15 years, being in a dying state. He did so; and found on arrival that he died at the exact time he had seen him pass the window. It was on his immediate departure that Mrs. —— wrote home to us, and before she had received tidings from her husband of his brother’s death. He repeated this statement to me some few years after, and said how convinced he was at the time that his brother had arrived, and how kind he considered it that he should make the first advances towards a reconciliation.

    “CATHERINE A. FAIRMAN.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that the death took place on May 2, 1841, the cause being “effusion on the brain.”

    In answer to an inquiry whether she is certain that her sister saw the figure, Mrs. Fairman replies:—

    “I feel sure that my sister saw a figure pass the window at the same time as her husband did; bnt [sic] as she had never seen her brother-in-law, she could not say, ‘There’s Edward.’ I remember perfectly her letter at the time mentioning that she saw a someone go by.”

    [In conversation, Mrs. Fairman told me that she saw, immediately on its arrival, the account written to her mother by her sister on the day of the occurrence; and if this was so, her evidence is that of a person who was

    made aware of the percipient’s experience before the event with which it corresponded was known (Vol. I., p. 148). But after an interval of more than 40 years, no memory can be trusted as to details of this sort. Nor, taking the evidence as it stands, can the hypothesis of mistaken identity be absolutely excluded. Still a mistake of the kind is far more unlikely in a country place—where the aspect of persons who come to the house is usually familiar, and where the sudden disappearance of an approaching visitor would be very unlikely—than in a crowded street. See also above, pp. 62–3.]

    The next account is from the late Surgeon-Major Armand Leslie, and was first published in the Daily Telegraph. That newspaper, during the autumn of 1881, contained a good deal of correspondence of this sort; and Dr. Leslie was one of the few contributors who had the good sense and courage to sign his name, and thus to make his record available as evidence. We have ascertained from four different sources that he used to live at 5, Tavistock Place, W.C. He afterwards served through the Russo-Turkish war with the Turkish army; was one of the twelve doctors sent out to Egypt at the time of the cholera; was chief of the medical department of Baker’s staff; {ii-252} and was killed at the battle of Teb. Unfortunately, we failed to identify him till too late, and I can only quote the account as originally given. Confirmation might perhaps be obtained from his family, but our efforts to trace them have been, so far, unavailing. Not having communicated with the narrator, we cannot vouch for the bona fides of the account, the very startling incidents of which, and especially the detail of the goloshes, are suggestive of a hoax; and I therefore do not give the case an evidential number. On the other hand, it seems unlikely that a medical man of repute, even if he took the trouble to invent such a story, would allow his name to appear as the authority for it in a prominent newspaper. If the story was invented, its final sentence, which introduces the writer’s true place of residence, is a clever touch of realism, and the point made at the end of the second paragraph is a master-stroke.

    “October, 1881.

    “In the latter part of the summer of ’78, between half-past 3 and 4 in the morning, I was leisurely walking home from the house of a sick friend. A middle-aged woman, apparently a nurse, was slowly following, going in the same direction. We crossed Tavistock Square together, and emerged simultaneously into Tavistock Place. The streets and square were deserted, the morning bright and calm, my health excellent, nor did I suffer from anxiety or fatigue.

    “The following scene was now enacted: A man suddenly appeared, striding up Tavistock Place, coming towards me, and going in a direction opposite to mine. When first seen, he was standing exactly in front of my own door. Young, and ghastly pale, he was dressed in evening clothes, evidently made by a foreign tailor. Tall and slim, he walked with long measured strides, noiselessly, without a sound11As regards this point, see p. 68, note. a tall white hat, covered thickly with black crape, and an eye-glass, completed the costume of this strange form. The moonbeams,2 2The “moonbeams” and the “morning bright and calm” do not go well together; and I certainly shall not argue that a hoaxer would have been careful to avoid the discrepancy. falling on the corpse-like features, revealed a face well known to me—that of a friend and relative. The sole and only other person in the street, beyond myself and this being, was the woman already alluded to. She stopped abruptly, as if spellbound, then rushing towards the man, she gazed intently and with horror unmistakeable on his face, which was now upturned towards the heavens, and smiling ghastly. She indulged in her strange contemplation but during very few seconds, and with extraordinary and unexpected speed for her age and weight, she ran away with a terrific shriek and yells. This woman never have I seen or heard of since, and but for her presence I could have explained the incident—called it, say, subjection of the mental powers to the domination of physical reflex action—and the man’s presence would have been termed a false impression on the retina.

    “A week after the above event, news of this very friend’s death {ii-253} reached me. It had occurred on the morning in question. From the family I ascertained that, according to the rites of the Greek Church, and to the custom of the country he had resided in, he was buried in his evening clothes, made abroad by a foreign tailor, and, strange to say, he wore goloshes or indiarubber shoes over his boots, according also to the custom of the country he died in; these deaden completely the sound of the heaviest footstep. I never had seen my friend wear an eye-glass. He did so, however, whilst abroad, and began the practice some months before his death. When in England he lived in Tavistock Place, and occupied my rooms during my absence.

    “ARMAND LESLIE.”

    [Supposing this to be a genuine case, it is still highly probable that some of the detail of the apparition was read back into it, after the real facts were known.]

    The lady who sends us the following narrative occupies a position of great responsibility, and desires that her name may not be published; but it may be given to inquirers.

    “1883.

    (354) “When I was eight months old, my mother’s younger sister, Mercy Cox, came to reside with us, and to take charge of me. My father’s position at the Belgian Court, as portrait painter, obliged him to be much abroad, and I was left almost wholly to the care of my very beautiful aunt. The affection that subsisted between us amounted almost to idolatry, and my poor mother wept many bitter tears when she came home, to see how little I cared for anyone else. My aunt took cold, and for three years lingered in decline. I was a quick child, and could read well and even play prettily, so that I was her constant companion day and night. Our doctor, Mr. Field, of the Charter House, greatly disapproved of this close contact, and urged my parents to send me quite away. This was a difficult feat to accomplish, the bare mention of the thing throwing my aunt into faintings. At last Mr. Cumberland (the theatrical publisher) suggested that I should join his two daughters, Caroline, aged 16, and Lavinia, younger, at Mrs. Hewetson’s, the widow of a clergyman resident at Stourpaine, in Dorsetshire, who only took four young ladies. This was represented to my aunt as something so wonderfully nice and advantageous to me, that she consented to part with me. My portrait was painted, and placed by her bed, and I remember how constantly she talked to me about our separation. She knew she should be dead before the year of my absence would be ended. She talked to me of this, and of how soon I should forget her; but she vehemently protested that she would come to me there. Sometimes it was to be as an applewoman for me to buy fruit of, sometimes as a maid wanting a place, always she would know me, but I should not know her, till I cried and implored to know her.

    “I was but nine when they sent me away, and coach travelling was very slow in those days. Letters, too, were dear, and I very rarely had one. My parents had sickness and troubles, and they believed the reports that I was well and happy, but I was a very miserable, illtreated little girl. One morning, at break of day—it was New Year’s Day—I was sleeping beside Lavinia. We two shared one little white tester bed, with curtains, while Caroline—upon whom I looked with awe, she being 16, slept in {ii-254} another similar bed at the other end of a long narrow room, the beds being placed so that the feet faced each other, and two white curtains hung down at the sides of the head. This New Year’s morning, I was roughly waked by Lavinia shaking me and exclaiming, ‘Oh look there! there’s your aunt in bed with Caroline.’ Seeing two persons asleep in the bed, I jumped out, and ran to the right side of it. There lay my aunt, a little on her right side, fast asleep, with her mouth a little open. I recognised her worked night-gown and cap. I stood bewildered, with a childish sort of wonder as to when she could have come; it must have been after I went to bed at night. Lavinia’s cries awakened Caroline, who as soon as she could understand, caught the curtains on each side and pulled them together over her. I tore them open, but only Caroline lay there, almost fainting from fright. This lady, Miss Cumberland, afterwards became Mrs. Part, wife of a celebrated doctor at Camden Terrace, [and now deceased.]

    “I never talked of what had occurred, but one day, after I had long returned home, I said to my mother, ‘Do you know, mamma, I saw auntie when I was at school?’ This led to an explanation, but my mother, instead of commenting upon it, went and fetched her mother, saying to her, ‘Listen to what this child says.’ Young as I was, I saw they were greatly shocked, but they would tell me nothing except that when I was older I should know all. The day came when I learned that my dear aunt suffered dreadfully from the noise of St. Bride’s bells, ringing in the New Year. My father tried to get them stopped, but could not. Towards morning she became insensible; my mother and grandmother seated on either side of her, and holding her hands, she awoke and said to my mother, ‘Now I shall die happy, Anna, I have seen my dear child.’

    They were her last words.

    “D. E. W.”

    No general register of deaths was kept at the time of the incident here related; and we have exhausted every means to discover a notice of the death, without success. But we have procured a certificate of Mercy Cox’s burial, which took place on January 11, 1829. This is quite compatible with the statement that the death was on January 1 (though such an interval, even in winter, is no doubt unusual), as the lady was buried in a family vault, and probably a lead coffin had to be made. January 1 would be, at the very least, a day of very critical illness. As to the date of the apparition, the marked character of New Year’s Day decidedly favours the probability that Miss W.’s memory is correct.

    In answer to inquiries, Miss W. says:—

    “I was born in 1819. The death of my aunt took place in 1829. Though to my most intimate friends—as Sir Philip Crampton, the late Earl and Countesses (2) of Dunraven,1 1The present Lord Dunraven tells us that he does not remember to have heard his father mention the circumstance. I have often mentioned the event, (and to Judge Halliburton,) I think I never wrote it fully except for Lord Dunraven and his mother, in 1850, who were very desirous to publish it, but I declined. I think that a great reason I have always had for not talking of it was the awe with which it inspired my mother, and her strict commands that ‘I should not mention it to anybody.’ Then, too, I went to school and lost sight of Lavinia Cumberland, and I shrank from the comments of strangers.”

    {ii-255}

    In conversation Miss W. added that she had never experienced any other hallucination; also that the Cumberland girls had visited her home, and seen her aunt—which accounts for Lavinia’s recognition of the figure.

    [We learn, through a relative of Miss Lavinia Cumberland (now Mrs. Monarch, of 16, Regent’s Park Road, N.W.), that she herself does not recall the incident; but that she remembers several times hearing her sister, Mrs. Part, speak of a “ghost case” in which they had both been somehow concerned.]

    This case, depending on the narrator’s memory at 31 of what occurred when she was under 10, is not, of course, a strong one evidentially. But the very fact that the experience recorded is of so striking a kind makes it more probable that it was remembered than that it was unconsciously invented. The very odd detail of Lavinia’s being the first to see the figure seems peculiarly unlikely to have been wrongly imagined afterwards; for it is a feature that would have had no natural part in any sentimental idea of the child’s about her aunt’s visiting her, and could only tend to detract in her mind from the emotional significance of the visit. We have, moreover, the tolerably complete assurance that the incident deeply impressed our informant’s mother at the time; for this attitude of a third person, and the injunction of silence to which it led, are even more unlikely than the original experience to have been the product of the child’s fancy. It must, however, be observed that the second hallucination may have been due to Lavinia’s verbal suggestion; and that the minute details of the appearance (which could hardly have been so suggested) may have been subsequently imagined. It is possible, therefore, that the case, though telepathic, may not have been truly collective. It cannot with any certainty be reckoned as reciprocal, as there is no evidence that the aunt’s “seeing of her dear child” was more than a dream or a subjective impression (see p. 156).

    In Dr. Leslie’s case (supposing the account to be substantially true) one of the percipients was presumably a total stranger to the agent. In No. 354, the one of the two persons present who was least intimately connected with the agent was the first to see the phantasm; but equally in this as in the former case, I should regard her experience as dependent on the presence of the more nearly connected person (see § 7 below). In the next example there is a yet further step; and of the two persons present, one of whom was son, and the other a stranger, to the agent, the stranger alone saw the {ii-256} phantasm, though both seem to have shared in a singular auditory experience which they connected with it. The incident thus closely resembles that described in case 242, where the phantasm appeared not to the dying man’s sister, but to a servant who was with her. The narrative was copied by the present writer from a note-book of the Rev. J. A. Macdonald, formerly of Manchester, and now of Rhyl.

    (355) “On August 13th, 1879, I sailed to Hamburg with Captain Ayre, of the ss. ‘Berlin,’ of Goole, who related to me that, about 25 years before, he was staying with a friend named Hunt, at a small farmhouse at Arming Grange, about 2½ miles from Goole. On a summer evening, about 9 o’clock. Captain Ayre and his companion went to their bedroom, when they both heard a noise at the side of the house, and both went to the window to see what was the matter. The captain distinctly saw a man walking outside, but Hunt could see nothing there, though he had heard the tramp of feet as well as the captain. Being astonished that Hunt could not see the man, Captain Ayre proceeded to describe him. He was a man of short stature, with a stoop, and wore knee breeches, a red-fronted waistcoat with sleeves, and a little black hat. Hunt instantly identified the description as answering exactly to his own father. Captain Ayre assured me he had never seen Hunt’s father. After this the men went to bed, and both now heard a noise as if the end of the bedstead had been wrenched, which continued until about midnight, when Hunt’s brother arrived on horseback from Gilberdyke with the news of their father’s death, which occurred about three hours earlier that evening. The noises then ceased.”

    Mr. Macdonald adds:—

    “This was taken down by me in pencil from Captain Ayre’s own lips, and transcribed when I returned from the voyage. The pencil account was read over to Captain Ayre, and pronounced by him to be perfectly correct. I cross-examined him carefully on every point. He specially described the lonely position of the house, and the unlikelihood of any stranger moving about in the vicinity or creating a disturbance in the bedroom.

    “JAMES ALEX. MACDONALD.”

    This account was sent to Captain Ayre, who replied:—

    “SS. ‘Dresden,’ Goole.

    “November 4th, 1884.

    “I have carefully read over the narrative, as given by the Rev. Mr. Macdonald; but it is so accurate in every detail that I fail to be able to add anything thereto.

    “CHAS. AYRE.”

    [Our efforts to trace Mr. Hunt have been unsuccessful. Captain Ayre has not heard of him for some time.]

    In the next case the agent was not dying, but was in a somewhat alarming fainting-fit. We have had several other similar cases (e.g., Nos. 20 and 110); they recall what was said above (p. 26) as to the number of the death-cases where the mode of death has been drowning. The narrator is Mr. H. G. Barwell, of 33, Surrey Street, Norwich.

    {ii-257}

    “1883.

    (356) “During the last week of July, 1882, Mr. and Mrs. W. and family had settled themselves comfortably in a house they had hired at the Lizard, Cornwall; and a few days later Mr. Cox, an amateur artist from Liverpool, joined them. Mr. Barwell arranged to meet Mr. Earle, an artist residing in London (both of whose names are appended), on Monday, 7th August, 1882, dine with him and together take the night mail at Paddington, booking for Penryn, Cornwall, the station from whence conveyances take passengers to Helston, and thence to the Lizard, whither they were going to join Mr. W. and family, as on many former occasions.

    “Barwell and Earle therefore started according to arrangement by the 8.10 p.m. mail train from Paddington, on the evening of Bank Holiday, Monday, 7th August, 1882. They travelled all night; the train on arrival at Penryn was a little more than 15 minutes late, reaching there on Tuesday morning, 8th August, 1882, at 7.23 a.m. No other passengers alighted there from that train. They had some difficulty in getting a porter to convey their luggage to the omnibus standing at the station, the driver of which announced that if they could not come at once, he must start without them. Passengers were nothing to him, he had to take charge of and deliver the mail bags at various villages on his route. They roused up the porter and insisted on his attention; in the meantime their train had departed and another train, from Falmouth to London, ran into the station (due 7.24 a.m.) Their luggage was being placed on the omnibus; Earle had already climbed to his seat next the driver, and Barwell, having now seen all their luggage safely deposited on the vehicle, was climbing up next him, when Earle exclaimed: ‘Why, look there!’ And on Barwell looking up, he saw in the train, just leaving the station for London, their friend W. from the Lizard, waving his hand to them while eagerly stretching his head out of the window to ascertain, apparently, if they had arrived. They both cordially returned the salute and the train disappeared round a curve, W. still looking out of the window waving his hand.

    “The two friends now made various conjectures as to the why and wherefore of W.’s departure on the very morning of their arrival; they considered it very disappointing that he should thus be obliged to leave, on the day our friendly party was about to be reunited. Earle was greatly depressed about it, and wished to leave all further discussion on the subject until they should ascertain from Mrs. W. the cause for his leaving the Lizard just before their arrival. Amongst the surmises which they made for W. being in the train which came from Falmouth, and not from the Lizard where he was staying, was this; that he had probably received at the Lizard, on Monday, the 7th August, a telegram requiring his immediate attendance in London or elsewhere, and that to prevent a very early start by trap on Tuesday morning from the Lizard to catch the 7.30 a.m. train to London at Penryn, he had made use of a return Bank Holiday excursion steamer from Falmouth to the Lizard; sleeping at Falmouth, and starting by train from there at 7.15 a.m. for London, namely, the train they saw him in.

    “They arrived in due course at Helston, had breakfast, and sauntered about the old town til the next coach started for the Lizard at 11 o’clock a.m. On nearing the Lizard, they were anxiously on the look-out for the {ii-258} children of Mrs. W., to receive their usual hearty and sincere welcome on arrival of the coach, and to learn from them where their respective domiciles in the village had been chosen. The coach arrived, but none of the W. family were to be seen.

    “The luggage was taken off the coach and left on the village green in front of the hotel, till information could be obtained as to where rooms had been engaged. The two friends strolled away, but soon met W.’s two boys, who on being asked why their father had gone away, seemed somewhat surprised at the question, and replied that their father was lying ill at his lodgings, and that their mother was also at home and very anxious about him. The boys accompanied Earle and Barwell to their father’s house in the village, when Mrs. W. came out and greeted them cordially, telling them briefly that Mr. W. had had a serious fainting fit that morning, and that she was watching him with considerable anxiety.

    “Mr. Cox now came in from his morning’s work, and after the exchange of salutations with Earle and Barwell, related to them the following details of Mr. W.’s fainting fit: That he, Mr. W., and his two boys started from the Lizard village to Housel Cove to bathe, at 7 o’clock that morning, a distance a little over half a mile. When W. came out of the sea, and was leaning against a rock, in a sitting posture, he fainted quite away. Cox was dreadfully shocked and alarmed, for at one time he could discover no action of the heart, and he feared he might be dead or dying. He used all the means he could think of, and placed W. in a more recumbent position, which seemed a more favourable one, for pulsation was then discernible, and W. partially recovered, but was too weak to move for a long time. Mrs. W was fetched, and then breakfast was taken down to the Cove, and when vitality and strength had sufficiently returned to enable W. to climb the steep ascent with assistance, they started home.

    “The fainting of W. occurred at 7.30 a.m. at Housel Cove, the Lizard, at the precise time when Earle and Barwell saw W. waving his hand to them from the train at Penryn.

    “The question has been put to Mr. W. whether he thought of or saw Earle or Barwell, either just before or during his seizure, but he remembers nothing of the kind.

    “(Signed) “CHARLES EARLE, 9, Duke street, Portland Place, London.
    “H. G. BARWELL, Surrey Street, Norwich.
    “CHARLES H. COX, Shrewsbury Road, N., Birkenhead.”

    In reply to inquiries, Mr. Barwell says, “Both Earle and I have very good sight. My impression is that the person I saw looking from the train window wore a soft, flexible, round hat.” He can recall no other experience of hallucination, except one which occurred many years ago, at a time when he was not yet fully recovered from a severe fever.

    Mr. Cox writes, on January 2nd, 1885:—

    “I was at the Lizard, in Cornwall, when my friends, Earle and Barwell, saw (as they believed) the ‘double’ of my friend W., whom, at the time, I was instrumental in bringing round after his attack of illness. My part in the affair was simply resuscitating Mr. W. from a very serious condition.

    “C. H. COX.”

    {ii-259}

    [Here, again, mistaken identity must be recognised as a possibility; but there are several points which combine to make it improbable. The fact which the appearance forced on the minds of the two friends—namely, W.’s departure—was so little in accordance with their expectations that it distinctly surprised them; they were thus in a wholly different attitude from that (say) of awaiting a friend’s arrival, when the senses are on the alert for anything at all resembling him. Again, the figure seen seems to have given unmistakeable signs of friendly recognition; so that we should not only have to suppose that the percipients mistook someone for their friend, but that they mistook for him someone who was known to them, or at any rate to one of them—clearly a much more unlikely occurrence. It will be observed, moreover, that the difficulties of assuming a mistake as to identity are immensely increased where two persons with good sight would have had to share in it (see p. 244). Still, it is conceivable—though scarcely compatible with the account—that the first sign of recognition was given by Mr. Earle; and that a stranger, seeing this sign, returned it, either in joke, or imagining that the giver of it must be some one that he had known and ought to recognise.]

    I will conclude with a case which is probably the best-known specimen of the sort on record, and on that very account may naturally be mistrusted, as having “won its way to the mythical.” The following presentation of it is, however, very much more complete than any that has yet been published, and is of a better quality than is often procurable for so remote an incident. It is true that, of the two percipients, we have the evidence of one only at second-hand, and of the other at third-hand; but we have the firsthand evidence of a person who was informed of their experience immediately on its occurrence, and long before the news of the agent’s death arrived.

    (357) The following memorandum made by General Birch Reynardson, of the account given him by one of the percipients, was sent to us by Mr. Wm. Wynyard, of Northend House, Hursley, Winchester. He believed the original document to be in the library of Mr. Chas. Reynardson, of Holywell Hall, Stamford, who, however, has looked for it without success. A copy1 1This copy was enclosed in a letter to Colonel F. Clinton, of Clinton Ashley, Lymington, Hants. We have not actually inspected it; but Colonel Clinton’s daughter transcribed it for General E. B. Wynyard’s son, Mr. W. W. Wynyard, who kindly sent us the book in which he in turn had copied it. It is curious that General E. B. Wynyard seems never to have heard the narrative first-hand from his brother. was made on June 20, 1864, by Mr. Wynyard’s father. General E. B. Wynyard (a brother of George Wynyard, the co-percipient,) who says that the writer of the memorandum put it on paper as soon as he had an opportunity after the conversation recorded therein. General E. B. Wynyard has headed the paper:—

    “Memorandum of a conversation between the late General Birch Reynardson, and Colonel, afterwards Sir John, Sherbrooke.”

    “In the month of November, Sir John Sherbrooke and General Wynyard1 1Note by Mr. W. Wynyard. “Colonel W. and Colonel S., then serving in the 23rd [?33rd] Regiment as Captains. (?) Oct. 15th, 1785.” We learn from General Edward Wynyard, another son of General E. B. Wynyard, that George Wynyard died in 1809, as Lieut-Colonel. {ii-260} were sitting before dinner (between 5 and 6 o’clock) in their barrack-room at Sydney Cove, in America. It was duskish, and a candle placed on the table at a little distance. A figure, dressed in plain clothes and a good round hat2 2I cannot help thinking that this article of apparel may be the progenitor of the very suspicious hat of the Warren Hastings legend, criticised in Vol. i., p. 152. The two narratives have been probably often told in juxtaposition. on, passed gently between the above people and the fire. While passing, Sir J. Sherbrooke exclaimed, ‘God bless my soul, who’s that?’ Almost at the same moment Colonel W. said, ‘That’s my brother, John Wynyard,3 3General Edward Wynyard tells us that John Wynyard was a subaltern in the 3rd Guards. and I am quite certain he is dead.’ Colonel W. was much agitated, and cried and sobbed a great deal. Sir John said, ‘The fellow has got a devilish good hat, I wish I had it.’4 4 Note by the Rev. J. Birch Reynardson, son of the writer of the memorandum, and brother-in-law of Mr. W. Wynyard. “He told my father that he made this remark, as hats were not to be got there, and theirs were worn out.” They immediately got up (Sir John was on crutches, having broken his leg), took a candle, and went into the bedroom, into which the figure had entered: they searched the bed and every corner of the room to no effect; the windows were fastened up with mortar. Mr. Stuart, the paymaster of the regiment, noted the circumstance at the time. Sir John told me that Colonel W. for two or three days was a good deal distressed and uneasy, but remained most perfectly convinced of the death of his brother.

    “They received no communication from England for about five months, when a letter from Mr. Rush,5 5Note by Mr. W. Wynyard. “Surgeon of the Coldstream Guards.” the surgeon, announced the death of John Wynyard at the moment, as near as could be ascertained, when the figure appeared. In addition to this extraordinary circumstance, Sir John told me that two and a-half years afterwards he was walking with Lilly Wynyard6 6Note by Mr. W. Wynyard. “L. W. was brother of Colonel W., and died in the West Indies, Adjutant of the 20th Regiment.” in London, and seeing somebody on the other side of the way, he recognised, he thought, the person who had appeared to him and Colonel Wynyard in America. Lilly Wynyard said that the person he pointed out was a Mr. Eyre;7 7Note by Mr. W. Wynyard. “(?) Hay.” that he had always been considered so like John Wynyard that they were frequently mistaken for each other; and that money had actually been paid to this Mr. Eyre in mistake.”

    The following account appeared in Notes and Queries for July 2nd, 1859, in a letter signed “Eric.”

    “On the 23rd of October, 1823, a party of distinguished big-wigs were dining with the late Chief Justice Sewell, at his house on the esplanade in Quebec, when the story in question became a subject of conversation. Among the guests was Sir John Harvey, Adjutant-General of the forces in Canada, who stated that there was then in the garrison an officer who knew all the circumstances, and who, probably, would not object to answer a few queries about them. Sir John immediately wrote five queries, leaving a space opposite to each one for an answer, and sent them to Colonel Gore, who, if my memory serves me rightly, was at the head of {ii-261} either the Ordnance or the Royal Engineer department. The following is a copy of both the queries and the answers, which were returned to Sir John before he and the other guests had left the Chief Justice’s house:—

    “‘My dear Gore,

    “‘Do me the favour to answer the following:—

    Queries.

    “‘1. Was you with the 33rd Regiment when Captains Wynyard and Sherbrooke believed that they saw the apparition of the brother of the former officer pass through the room in which they were sitting?

    “‘2. Was you not one of the first persons who entered the room, and assisted in the search for the ghost?

    “‘3. Was you not the person who made a memorandum in writing of the circumstances, by which the singular fact of the death of Wynyard‘s brother, at or about the time when the apparition was seen, was established?

    “‘4. With the exception of Sir J. Sherbrooke, do you not consider yourself almost the only surviving evidence of this extraordinary occurrence?

    “‘5. When, where, and in what kind of building did it take place?

    ‘(Signed) J. HARVEY.

    “‘Thursday morning,

    “‘23rd October, 1823.’

    Answers.

    “‘1. Yes, I was. It occurred at Sydney, in the Island of Cape Breton, in the latter end of 1785 or 6, between 8 and 9 in the evening. We were then blocked up by the ice, and had no communication with any other part of the world.

    ‘R.G.

    “‘2. Yes. The ghost passed them as they were sitting before the fire at coffee, and went into G. Wynyard’s bed-closet, the window of which was putted (sic) down.1 1“Query, puttied down, to exclude the cold?”

    ‘R.G.

    “‘3. I did not make the memorandum in writing myself, but I suggested it the next day to Sherbrooke, and he made the memorandum. I remembered the date, and on the 6th June our first letters from England brought the account of John Wynyard’s death on the very night they saw his apparition.

    ‘R.G.

    “‘4. I believe all are dead, except Colonel Yorke, who then commanded the regiment, and is Deputy-Lieutenant of the Tower,—and I believe Jones Panton, then an ensign in the regiment.

    ‘R.G.

    “‘5. It was in the new barracks at Sydney, built the preceding summer, one of the first erections in the settlement.

    ‘(Signed)RALPH GORE.

    “‘Sherbrooke had never seen John Wynyard alive; but soon after returning to England, the following year, when walking in Bond Street with Wm. Wynyard, late D. A. General, and just after telling him the story of the ghost, [he] exclaimed “My God!” and pointed out a person—a gentleman—as [being] exactly like the apparition in person and dress. This gentleman was so like J. Wynyard as often to be spoken to for him, and affected to dress like him. I think his name was Hayman.

    “‘I have heard Wm. Wynyard mention the above circumstance, and declare that he then believed the story of the ghost.

    ‘(Signed)R.G.’

    “The above is taken from a copy made from the original queries and {ii-262} answers, and given to me, only a few weeks after the date affixed to the queries; and to it is added, in the handwriting of the copyist, the following:—

    “‘A true copy from the original. The queries are written in black ink in the handwriting of Sir John Harvey, Deputy Adjutant-General of British America, and signed by him; the answers are in red ink, written and signed by Colonel Gore. The original paper belongs to Chief Justice Sewell. Sir J. Sherbrooke was lately Governor-General of Lower Canada.1 1“From July, 1816, to July, 1818.” It is said that Sir John Sherbrooke could not bear to hear the subject spoken of.’

    “The copyist was a near relative of

    the Chief Justice, and died in 1832. He was one of my most intimate friends.”

    [There is a discrepancy between Colonel Gore’s and Sir J. Sherbrooke’s accounts, as to which of the Wynyard brothers accompanied Sir J. Sherbrooke in Bond Street. The detail as to the Bond Street incident following immediately on a narration of the story looks like an unfortunate addition, the only effect of which is to inspire distrust, probably quite undeserved, of the rest of the statement.]

    It is much to be regretted that the gentleman who sent this account to Notes and Queries did not sign his name. It is, however, highly improbable that Colonel Gore’s statements are forgeries; and we are justified, I think, in regarding them as genuine by the following account, received from a niece of his, Miss Langmead, of Belmont, Torre, Torquay.

    “September 3rd, 1883.

    “Colonel Gore, of the 33rd, married my mother’s sister, and he narrated the story to my mother and to my elder sister himself, most emphatically. I have heard it from them both, over and over again, and my sister wrote the account some years ago. She heard Colonel Gore tell it more than once, and always with strong feeling, which impressed every word on her memory. I have not got her paper now, but I knew it perfectly by heart. I have often heard my sister say that no one who heard Colonel Gore tell the story could doubt the powerful impression made on him at any rate.

    “There were other little particulars, such as the impossibility of hiding in the barrack rooms, which were two above and two below, and so slightly built that every sound was heard, but I have not enlarged more than I could help. The story has been printed with variations in many books of collected ghost-stories, but not always correctly. It is usually said that it was a twin brother who was met in Bond Street, but that was not the case.

    “It was in the time of the American war, and some of our troops were in winter quarters at Cape Breton. The weather was very severe and the harbour frozen over. The ships expected from England had not arrived, and the supplies had run short, especially the allowance of wine. Four officers, afterwards entitled General [mistake for Colonel] Wynyard, Sir John Sherbrooke, Sir Hildebrand Oakes, and Colonel Gore, of the 23rd [? 33rd] Regiment, were in barracks at the top of a steep ascent, guarded by a sentry below. They had dined together and then separated, two of them being engaged upstairs in looking over maps and plans of the seat {ii-263} of war. The other two, General Wynyard and Sir J. Sherbrooke, remained in the inner room.

    “Suddenly an exclamation from General Wynyard startled the two above, who ran downstairs, expecting that the ice had broken and the looked-for ships arrived. They found Sir J. Sherbrooke alone, standing amazed, and in answer to their eager inquiry as to what had happened, he said that a gentleman, a stranger to him, had come in at the door, looked fixedly at General W., and passed into the inner room. General W. exclaimd [sic] aloud, ‘Good God, my brother Jack!’ and followed him into the bedroom, from which there was no outlet. He presently returned, much agitated, having found no one. Colonel Gore took out his watch and marked the time, while another of the party ran down to the sentinel, who declared no person had passed. Sir J. Sherbrooke described the figure as dressed in a hunting costume, such as he had never seen, with a hunting-whip in his hand. Days went on, the ice broke up, news came from England to General W. of his brother’s death, who was killed in the hunting-field at the very time in which the figure appeared in the barrack-room. Papers also came out, containing the fashions, one being the hunting suit with a particularly shaped boot, such as the figure had worn. After the peace, and the troops had returned to England, Sir John Sherbrooke was walking through Bond Street with Colonel Gore, when he stopped and said, pointing to a man who was coming towards him, ‘There is the figure I saw at Cape Breton.’ Colonel Gore replied, ‘That man was called Jack Wynyard’s double, he was so very like him.’

    “Before Sir J. Sherbrooke’s death, long afterwards, he was asked by a friend what he then thought of the apparition at Cape Breton. He replied that he could not explain it, but that every detail was true.

    “M. F. L.”

    [Here the hunting-dress, and the corresponding detail about the hunting-field, may almost certainly be referred to a transformative process in Colonel Gore’s mind. The peculiar boot may probably be a degenerate representative of the spruce hat in Sir J. Sherbrooke’s account. It would further be a very natural mistake on the part of Colonel Gore’s niece to imagine that he was Sherbrooke’s companion in the walk in Bond Street.]

    Next come two items of evidence, for which George Wynyard, the co-percipient, was the original authority.

    General Edward Wynyard, of 5, Portman Street, W., writing to us on April 7, 1885, tells us that the incident was narrated to him by his aunt, Mrs. Wright, who “had often heard the story” from her brother, George Wynyard. He observes that her narrative corresponded in nearly every particular with the account given in Chambers’ Book of Days, Vol. II., p. 448. The said account (the authority for which is not given, save in so far that a relative of George Wynyard had pronounced it substantially true,) agrees in the essential points with Colonel Gore’s;1 1Miss Browne wrote to us on Jan. 18, 1884, from Farnham Castle, Surrey, to the effect that she too had heard the incident described by Mrs. Wright, and also by “General Sir George Nugent, who was in the garrison at the time” and that the details were very similar to those in Miss Langmead’s account. but differs in stating that the subsequent recognition took place when Sherbrooke was {ii-264} walking with two gentlemen, in Piccadilly, and that he actually accosted the gentleman, who told him that he was Wynyard’s twin-brother. These are precisely the sort of inaccuracies most likely to creep into a story in its passage from mouth to mouth.

    The Rev. H. Cary, of Tresham Vicarage, Chudleigh, wrote to our friend, the Rev. A. T. Fryer, on April 3, 1882:—

    “The story, as my mother, who heard it from Wynyard himself, used to tell it, was as follows:—General Sherbrooke and Mr. (or General) Wynyard were sitting together in a hut in Canada (or Nova Scotia or elsewhere in North America) when a figure entered the tent and passed through into an inner apartment, whence there was no means of exit except where they were sitting. Wynyard recognised the figure as that of his brother, but thought someone was playing practical jokes, as he knew his brother to be in England at the time. On searching the inner room the figure was found to have disappeared.

    “They had both seen the figure. The brother died at that time. Some years afterwards, the same two officers were walking together in London, when Sherbrooke saw a man on the opposite side of the street, and said, ‘Look, there is the man that we saw in the tent.’ Wynyard replied, ‘No, that is not my brother, but he is so like him that my brother was once arrested for debt in mistake for him.’”

    [Here again we have characteristic illustrations of the way in which narratives become modified in transmission. “The same two officers” is of course neater and easier to remember than “one of the same officers and a brother of the other”; and the “arrest for debt” seems to be an oddly inverted reminiscence of the detail mentioned by Sir J. Sherbrooke, that “money had been paid to one in mistake” for the other.]

    In conclusion, the following letter appeared in the Daily Telegraph of October 20, 1881:—

    “SIR,—In reference to the circumstances related as occurring in Sir John Sherbrooke’s tent, in North America, permit me to add that I heard an exactly similar account of it in Dublin about the year 1837, by General D’Aguilar, then on the staff, and who, I think, had been one of the occupants of the tent.1 1This does not appear in any other account. Complete information as to various details could only be obtained by a search in the archives of the War Office. It is hoped that in course of time this search may be authorised. Colonel ‘Wynyard’s’ name, who was on the Dublin staff at the time, was also mentioned.—Yours truly,

    “G. CRICHTON, M.D.”

    § 7. The cases of the preceding section, and of § 2, though not evidentially among the strongest in our collection, are sufficient, I think, to establish a strong presumption for the genuineness of this collective type of telepathic hallucination. But the establishment of facts, in “psychical” as in other departments of Nature, may far outstrip our power of satisfactorily accounting for them; and such account

    as I can render of these phenomena is here put forward rather as a suggestion or adumbration than as a final view.

    {ii-265}

    To begin with, it would, I think, be irrational not to recognise a special significance in the fact that in all the cases of § 6, and most of those of § 5, the several percipients were together: to that extent, at all events, conditions of place seem to enter vitally into the phenomena. But there is nothing in this that need drive us for a moment off idealistic or “psychical” ground. I have spoken often, throughout the book, of a rapport between the parties concerned in a psychical transference—meaning by the word simply some pre-existing psychical approximation which conditions the transference. The rapport has usually been that of kinship or affection. But I regard these collective cases as strongly indicative of a rapport of a different sort—consisting not in old-established sympathy, but in similarity of immediate mental occupation. I suspect that such a rapport might be induced by a common environment—by partnership in that particular piece of the “life of relation” within which the hallucination happens to fall. That is to say, I should regard the fact that B’s hallucination spreads to C, when B and C are in the same place, as possibly largely due to the fact that a very important part of the contents of B’s and C’s minds is—and has been for some hours, minutes, or moments preceding—identical. The local condition would be, not any physical presence or centre of influence in the circle of space outside them, but the community of scene, and of other objective impressions, in the two parallel currents of ideas which are their real two existences.1 1A similar explanation may be suggested for the fact that thought-transference experiments rarely succeed when agent and percipient are so far withdrawn from one another as to have quite different environments. This fact would otherwise seem explicable only by some hypothesis of “brain-waves” diminishing in strength with the increase of the distance between the parties—a hypothesis which has the disadvantage of being quite inapplicable to many of the facts of spontaneous telepathy (Vol. i., p. 112). It must be remembered that we have no à priori means of knowing what the mental conditions that favour telepathy are likely to be. And I venture to think that if, by some process of psychical chemistry, the elements and affinities of different minds at particular moments could be analysed and estimated, mere community of scene and of immediate sensory impression might count for more—might prove, that is, to involve a larger amount of real correspondence or identity—than the external and accidental character of such passing experience might have led us to expect.

    But this idea, if tenable, seems capable of being extended. If community of environment opens a channel of supersensuous communication between B and C, we come to conceive a greater fluidity (so to speak) in the directions of telepathic transference than the {ii-266} more usual cases of a distant agent and a single percipient could reveal. And this brings me to what I suspect to be a more correct account of the collective telepathic cases that have been passed in review.

    In the earlier part of this chapter, I consulted clearness by keeping separate the hypothesis (1) of joint and independent affection of B and C by A, and the hypothesis (2) of C’s affection by, B who alone is directly affected by A. Now looking back at these hypotheses in the light of the evidence, the objections (see § 2) to the assumption of independent psychical affection of B and C by A come back on us with only increased force. As long as telepathic hallucinations are rare, and lead by their rarity to the conclusion that they generally require not only an abnormal condition of the agent, but specific susceptibility in the percipient, nothing can make it seem otherwise than astonishing that two closely similar specimens of them, in connection with the same agent, should independently concern two percipients at the same moment. One might admit such an astonishing coincidence once or twice—I have suggested its application to a few cases in § 2 above;1 1In all of these, however, where the two percipients were near together and had been sharing the same life, I think it probable that the experiences were not truly independent. but it seems impossible to lay it down as a principle of explanation, by which any number of collective hallucinations may be accounted for. No view which shrinks from assuming a local and physical presence of A, and at the same time rejects every sort of direct transference between B and C, can avoid this difficulty; and the consideration seems to me of such weight as to exclude hypothesis (1) in the form stated. I feel absolutely driven to suppose that where C’s experience resembles B’s, it is in some direct way connected with B’s; this is the only alternative that I can see to admitting a physical basis to the percept. But this does not necessarily imply the adoption of hypothesis (2) in its crudest and most obvious form; the “direct way” need not, I conceive, be a transfer between B and C wholly unconnected with A—a transfer, that is to say, which must have equally taken place had B’s hallucination been purely subjective. Though the evidence in § 5 above inclines me strongly to the opinion that sensory hallucinations, as such, are transferable things, I do not believe this to be the complete explanation of the later telepathic cases. And I now venture to suggest that with slight modification the two hypotheses—of joint affection by A, and of direct transference between B and C {ii-267} —may be amalgamated; and that the amalgamation is really more probable than either hypothesis in its isolated form.

    Where A, the distant agent, is in rapport both with B and C, it is possible to suppose that B and C are jointly and independently impressed by A, though the particular form—the hallucination—in which they simultaneously embody their impression is still an effect of B’s mind on C’s, or of C’s on B’. The joint impression from A may be conceived as having in itself a tendency to facilitate this further effect—that is to say, psychical communication between B and C may find a readier and wider channel at the exceptional moments when they are attuned by a common telepathic influence than, e.g., when one of them is staring at a card and the other is endeavouring to guess it. But even for these cases, I think it so dangerous, in view of the apparent rarity of “psychical” affections, to assume any sort of independent psychical affection of different minds at the same moment, that I should prefer to regard A’s influence on C as derived through B. And this certainly commends itself as the process where C is a stranger to A, or not a person whom it would have seemed natural that A’s vicissitudes should in any way affect.1 1E.g., cases 169, 264, 279, 339, 348, 350, 353, 354, 357. In such cases I conceive that, while C’s experience depends on B’s presence or existence, and even probably on the form of B’s experience when the two are similar, yet A’s influence may really and truly extend to C; that in fact there is a rapport between A and C, established ad hoc by the rapport of both of them with B. B would be thus not the instigator, or not solely the instigator, but the channel, of C’s percipience—the assumption being that a mind in which B holds a prominent place, such as C’s, may be abnormally susceptible to an influence which abnormally impresses B. Especially would this conception relieve the difficulty of such extreme cases as Nos. 242 and 355, above; where B’s part in the occurrence was to all appearance suppressed, and C, a stranger to A, was the sole percipient.2 2See also case 307, where A’s bond, such as it was, was with B and not with C; and compare case 311. We can scarcely doubt that the presence of B, the near relative of the supposed agent, was a condition of C’s percipience; while at the same time it seems absurd to suppose that B infects C with a sensory hallucination which he himself does not experience.

    We seem driven, then, to regard B as a mere channel of influence; and that is a part which there is no absurdity in supposing to be played unconsciously. For {ii-268} the better established facts of telepathy have familiarised us with both unconscious reception and unconscious propagation of telepathic impulses; and however unexpected, it is at least quite conceivable that the two events should take place as part of a single process—which is all that the transmission of an impulse from A to C through the unwitting B implies.

    The above view, of rapport through community of mental occupation, may likewise afford some explanation of the otherwise puzzling cases where the telepathic influence exercised by A seems itself to have depended rather on local than on personal reasons; as in case 29 in Chap. V., where the agent’s form was seen by a person only slightly connected with her, in a spot in which she was known to have been considerably interested;1 1It is probable that a local explanation would apply to cases 239, 248, 313, 343, 350, 589. or in cases where the actual percipient had little or no connection with the agent, but was situated in a place where the agent might naturally conceive some other and nearly-connected person to be;2 2E.g., Nos. 192, 225, 660, as well as No. 242 just mentioned; and compare No. 307. or in cases where a dying person’s form is alleged to have been seen by strangers in that person’s old home;3 3 E.g., case 666. or in a converse case in Chap. III. of the Supplement, §3—Miss G.’s veridical dream of the death of a comparative stranger in her own old home. It is not necessary that two persons should know one another, for certain daily scenes and local impressions to be deeply stamped in common on their two minds; and in this way locality might constitute an ideal bond between A and B who are apart, as we conceived that it might do between B and C who are together.

    An even further extension could be given to this idea, if we admit the supposition that A’s own susceptibility may be quickened, in the way that was so strongly suggested by some of the reciprocal cases in the preceding chapter. I there pointed out (pp. 161–2 and 164) the indications afforded of a special sort of clairvoyance; telepathic, in the sense that it depends on B’s living presence in the scene which A perceives; but independent in the sense that B and his surroundings are perceived while B’s own state is not critical but normal—the abnormality of state being confined to A, whose extension of faculty in trance or at death makes him percipient of B, as well as the agent of B’s percipience. A view akin to this has been developed by Mr. Myers, in the Note that follows a few pages further on; and the {ii-269} temptation to apply it to the collective cases is considerable, since it enables us to conceive the scene, and the sense of being present there, as common to the minds of A, B, and C alike; and so far as such community is a favourable condition for telepathic affection, it would explain A’s power to affect the other two.1 1I do not think—herein differing from Mr. Myers—that the mere fact of A’s clairvoyant perception of the scene, even if established, would account for the similarity and simultaneity of the two resulting affections, so as to enable us to dispense with the hypothesis of a direct dependence of one of them on the other. Strong evidence seems needed, before we can assume the particular mental events involved in A’s clairvoyant perception to be more calculated than any other abnormal events of his experience—such as simply dying in his bed at home—to impose a particular hallucination on several minds at once. However much his clairvoyant perception of B and C and their surroundings may be supposed to facilitate his impressing them, why should the two independent impressions, which according to telepathic analogy might take many different forms, be projected by B and C in the same form? While therefore I can accept, for certain cases at any rate, Mr. Myers’ description of the appearance of A to B as proximately dependent on A’s “perception of his own presence” in, or his “psychical translation” to, the scene where his phantasm is observed—for this is practically identical with the suggestion made above (p. 162) that an “extension of A’s susceptibility in a certain direction has involved the power to act abnormally in the same direction”—I cannot go on to admit that it is “a subsidiary question,” depending on varying degrees of susceptibility to telepathic impressions, whether the phantasm is seen by B only, or by a whole group of persons. To do this would seem to me to be transferring to the terms “perception of presence” and “psychical translation” some of the connotation of physical presence and translation. Mr. Myers would obviate this objection by the further supposition that the aspect of A which B and C perceive is derived in detail from his mind and not theirs—which would no doubt be a convenient way of accounting for the similarity of their hallucinations. But in the first place, I fail to see any ground for connecting this supposition (as Mr. Myers connects it) with the previous hypothesis of A’s clairvoyant presence at the place where B and C are. The supposed derivation would clearly have to be from an unconscious or sub-conscious part of A’s mind; for there is no more reason for supposing his conscious thoughts to be concentrated on his own aspect when he is clairvoyantly perceiving a scene, than when he is consciously lying in bed and perceiving his normal surroundings in a normal way. And so far as any conscious occupation of the mind may be supposed to throw into abeyance any assumed mental activities of a more latent kind, one would expect that A’s interest in the friend or friends whom he is psychically visiting would be specially calculated to thrust into the background his sub-conscious sense of his own aspect; so that the difficulties (Chap. iii., §9, and Chap. xii., §8) which in any case are involved in the hypothesis that A’s mind transfers to B the detailed image of his aspect, are rather increased than relieved by supposing him clairvoyant at the time. And, in the second place, this hypothesis of detailed derivation from the agent’s mind, as applied to collective cases, seems to me in itself open to grave doubt. We have encountered, no doubt, an important group of cases (Chap. xii., §8) in which certain details of a phantasmal appearance did seem to be literally derived from the agent’s mind, and not simply projected by the percipient from his own resources. But those who admit the psychological continuity of dreams and hallucinations on which I have laid so much stress, and who have marked at every stage the ways in which the percipient’s mind seems independently to react upon and develop the telepathic impression, may incline to regard these literal representations as the exception rather than the rule; and may hesitate to extend the hypothesis of visual images transferred (so to speak) in a full-fledged condition, to cases where the percept included nothing that the percipient’s memory or imagination might not well have supplied. Moreover, in some of the collective cases themselves, the evidence of dissimilarity in the percepts seem sufficient to show that the percipient minds were no mere tabulæ rasæblank slates for a foreign image. But a much more important observation with respect to the “collective” evidence here presented is this—that (putting aside the second-hand record, No. 670, where the description of details cannot be safely relied on) in not a single case have any such special features of dress or aspect as must perforce be derived from the mind of the distant A been simultaneously perceived by B and C. It is only in case 653, and in the dubious narrative quoted on p. 252, that such features are alleged to have been perceived even by B; and there is no proof whatever that C on those occasions was aware of them. This, in my view, is just what was to be expected. For if it is indicated, as the general result of the telepathic evidence, that

    the most dominant form of agency and the most definite and detailed form of transfer are extreme rather than normal forms, it would scarcely be conceivable that in case after case a double exhibition of them should occur, and A’s subconscious sense of his own aspect, by two independent manifestations, be reflected in a faithful picture of him before the eyes of two persons at once. To some joint hallucinations, however, (e.g., cases 327, 328, 329, and perhaps 348, where A, the original of the phantasm, has been in a normal waking state at the time, such an explanation seems quite irrelevant; and its admissibility elsewhere must, I think, depend on our obtaining more proof than we yet have of A’s reciprocal percipience, in collective cases which are clearly due to his agency. The reciprocal type having seemed, on the evidence, to be a rare if not a doubtful one, we ought to be doubly cautious of making it the ground of explanation for further and more perplexing phenomena.

    {ii-270}

    And indeed any conjectural explanations of these more outlying telepathic phenomena have, I am well aware, an air of rashness and unsoundness. This may very likely be due to their being really rash and unsound; but it may also possibly be due to the fact that our view of the field before us is still very partial and dim. The duty of caution in all evidential matters does not exclude the duty of keeping the mind open to new conceptions on this threshold of new knowledge, and not allowing any hypothesis that has provisionally commended itself to become a rigid barrier, within which further facts must be forced or else disallowed. And if our central thesis stands—if “psychical” transferences from mind to mind be admitted as in rerum naturâin the nature of things—the rashness, I think, would be in attempting to set a limit to the possible implications of this admission. Its tendency, at any rate, is to give a tangible meaning to that solidarity of life which Idealism proclaims; to lead us to regard individual minds, not as isolated units, but as all in potential unity—as entering into a scheme whose relation to the telergic influence somewhat resembles that of the physical world to electricity. And in such a scheme we need not be surprised if the manifestations of action and affinity between the parts are as sudden and shifting, and to the superficial view as isolated, as in the physical world those of electrical relations between different pieces of matter. But a far larger basis of well-attested cases is, no doubt, needed before reflections of this sort can be profitably pursued; and I will not further run the risk of inverting the relation of speculation to evidence which it has been throughout my endeavour to maintain.

    {ii-271}

    CONCLUSION.

    § 1. IN bringing to a close the principal division of this work—the presentation of the case for spontaneous telepathy as supported by a considerable body of first-hand records—it will scarcely, I think, be necessary to attempt anything like a summary of the foregoing chapters. It is indeed impossible effectively to summarise facts the whole force of which lies in their cumulation. One point only I would once again emphasise—the one with which I started—to wit, that radical connection between experimental and spontaneous telepathy, the importance of which in my own view I may best express by saying that I am unable even to guess what effect the body of testimony to the latter class of cases would have on me, were I not convinced of the reality of the former. This being understood, so far as the evidential position of the subject admits of a brief connected statement, I have endeavoured to state it in the closing pages of the fourth chapter. Neither there nor subsequently have I extenuated the evidential shortcomings of many of the spontaneous cases; but for the evidence taken as a whole, it may be claimed that it resembles not so much a shifting shadow, which may be left to individual taste or temperament to interpret, as a solid mass seen in twilight, which it may be easy indeed to avoid stumbling over, but only by resolutely walking away from it. The temptation to walk away from it—to dismiss it with a hasty glance—will be very strong. The matter presented is from a literary point of view monotonously dull, from a scientific point of view confusingly inexact: the study of it in detail is hard work, while at the same time it is work which affords none of the stimulus of high intellectual activity. Yet it is only by detailed study that my colleagues and I have arrived at our own view; and so far are we from putting ourselves into antagonism to the sceptical attitude of Science, that we should regard any conclusion formed without such study as premature. On this still dubious territory, a {ii-272} number of direct and independent attestations, which would be utterly superfluous elsewhere, will be—or ought to be—demanded; and others will need, as we have done, to have the true nature and amount of the evidence far more distinctly brought home to them than is necessary in realms already mastered by specialists to whose dicta they may defer.

    But in point of fact, the dulness [sic] of the work in detail scarcely needs apology; for it would never be specially remarked except in connection with that totally unscientific view on which I commented at the very opening of the treatise. The whole subject of psychical influences has been mixed up in the public mind with ideas of the supernatural or uncanny—with nervous thrills and spurious excitements. When such associations are carefully excluded, the details of the inquiry cannot be expected to have more, and may perhaps have not much less, attraction than those of the recognised physical sciences. And so far as the unexciting character of the present collection—poor in thrills, but tolerably rich in verified dates—tends to make this sober view prevail, it will be a direct advantage. For, exactly like the physical sciences, the research has to go on, methodically, not sensationally; and it has only just begun to be methodised. The present instalment of facts, though probably solid enough to surfeit those who are not troubled by à priori difficulties, and to repel the mere seeker after marvels, cannot be expected to convince every reasonable searcher after truth; and no one (as I have remarked before) can fix the precise amount of testimony which a candid mind is bound to regard as adequate. And we accept this view of the position rather as an incentive than as a discouragement. For we are fortified by the belief that it is not so much the necessary material, as the combined effort to render it available, that has hitherto been lacking. Even the record now presented, as I have pointed out, is drawn from the comparatively small number of persons who have heard of our existence, and much of it from the limited circle of our own acquaintance. We are justified, therefore, in regarding the area hitherto explored as but a corner of a very much larger field, which may be gradually swept; and the very flaws in the present collection will have had their use, if they direct attention to the true standard of evidential requirements, and if through them future telepathic incidents stand a better chance of being caught at the critical moment, while the opportunities for investigation are complete.

    {ii-273}

    § 2. The commoner difficulties which hamper progress may, moreover, be expected largely to disappear, as time goes on. As the idea of Telepathy becomes understood, the difference will be more and more realised between facts which make for it and facts which do not; aid towards the establishment of some strong item of proof will not so often be refused on the ground that no proof is needed—that everybody has had presentiments fulfilled, or has occasionally guessed what his friend was thinking of; and efforts will be more profitably directed through the mere existence of a scheme into which the results may fall. And further, a rational public spirit in the matter may be trusted to develop. The reluctance to give any prominence to what are often legitimately regarded as very private experiences will gradually give way, when it is recognised that the significance of each item of evidence, even as matter for private contemplation, depends on the combination of many items; and among those who take this wider view, fewer will shrink from the direct attestation which alone can ensure the result that they profess to desire, and which they would readily give to any other sort of fact in heaven or earth that they truly believed in. As for the merely negative difficulties—the general grounds of objection to our work—we see them already diminishing from the mere spirit of the age. The set of that spirit is very observably towards a wider tolerance—a distrust of finalities and restrictions, by whatever party imposed, and a faith in free inquiry, wherever it may lead. Men are already ceasing to argue that the alleged facts did not

    happen because they could not happen; or that telepathy is perhaps not true, and, therefore, if true, is not important; or that the recognised paths of labour, along which steady progress is being made and may still be made to an unpredictable extent, are so various and abundant that it is mere trifling to desert them for a dubious track, where progress, even could it be supposed possible, would still be a useless anachronism.

    § 3. But though “psychical research” is certain in time to surmount ridicule and prejudice, and to clear for itself a firm path between easy credulity on the one side and easy incredulity on the other, the rate of its advance must depend on the amount of sympathy and support that it can command from the general mass of educated men and women. In no department should the democratic spirit of modern science find so free a scope: it is for the public here to be, not—as in anthropological researches—the passive material of investigation, but the active participators {ii-274} in it. We acknowledge with warm gratitude the amount of patient assistance that we have received—how patient and forbearing in many instances, none can judge who have not tried, as private individuals, to conduct a system of strict cross-examination on a wide scale. But unless this assistance is largely supplemented, our undertaking can scarcely hold its ground. Its interest must not for a moment be supposed to be of the merely curious sort, sufficiently illustrated in a loose batch of more or less surprising facts; indeed, so far as the facts excite surprise, it is a proof that the work is only beginning. If the natural system includes telepathy, Nature has certainly not exhausted herself in our few hundreds of instances: that these facts should be genuine would be almost inconceivable if she had not plenty more like them in reserve. And here is the practically interesting point; for, till the general fact is universally admitted, the several items of proof must ever tend to lose their effect as they recede further into the past. This peculiarity of the subject cannot be gainsaid, and must be boldly faced. For aught I can tell, the hundreds of instances may have to be made thousands. If the phenomena cannot be commanded at will, the stricter must be the search for them: if they are exceptionally transient and elusive, all the greater is the importance of strong contemporary evidence. The experimental work needs to be, and easily might be, enormously extended: for many a year to come the spontaneous phenomena must be as diligently watched for and recorded as if each case stood alone in its generation. And whatever the defects of the present attempt, so far as it supplies an impulse or lends an aid in either of these directions, it will not have failed in its object.

    {ii-275}

    *** I should be glad to extend my statistics of sensory hallucinations in general, by canvassing another known number of persons taken at random. (See Chap. XIII.) Readers who may feel disposed to help me in this matter, and who will write to 14, Dean’s Yard, S.W., will receive the necessary forms and instructions. But apart from a special census, I should be grateful for accounts of such phenomena from any persons who have themselves had experience of them. The assurance that they are not things to be troubled about, and are compatible with perfect bodily and mental health, may perhaps remove any disinclination that might be felt to recording instances. The names of informants will, of course, be held private.

    {ii-276} {ii-277}

    NOTE, BY MR. MYERS, ON A SUGGESTED MODE OF PSYCHICAL INTERACTION.

    § 1. IT is with some hesitation that I lay before the public the speculations contained in the following essay. They may seem, I fear, both over-bold and over-complex; and even the reader who follows them with a provisional adhesion will find that if he gains in width, he will lose in clearness of vision; while the conception of telepathy as a relatively-simple mode of colligating certain obscure phenomena will give place to a view in which the old problems loom larger than ever, though, perhaps, with some inter-relations made manifest which have not hitherto been observed.

    But in reply to the objection of rashness I must ask my readers to distinguish between results unanimously arrived at, on the strength of definite experiment and explicit testimony, by a group of painstaking persons, and the speculations of one of their number, to which the rest stand uncommitted, and which he offers tentatively, as the mere preliminaries of what may in time become a surer view. And to the objection of complexity I answer that my hypothesis is free at least from the one unpardonable sin of hypotheses: it is not certainly unverifiable,—at least it may prompt experiment and direct observation.

    I shall assume in the following pages that the reader has already mastered the general drift and purport of these volumes. And, perhaps, I can best introduce my own view by dwelling first on a difficulty in our recorded evidence which drove my own mind to seek for some wider solution.

    § 2. The reader, then, is aware that veridical phantasms—sounds or sights, that is to say, coincident with some death or crisis—have been treated in this work on the analogy of experimental thought-transference, as probably being in effect the externalisation of a telepathic impression,—the hallucinatory forms in which a feeling or idea transferred from the mind of a distant person embodies itself to the percipient’s senses. In dealing with the simpler forms of phantasmal sight, sound, or other impression, this analogy seemed to hold good; and we found, moreover, enough of {ii-278} parallelism between telepathic hallucinations and the apparently casual and meaningless hallucinations of sane persons to suggest that telepathic phantasms were at least shaped by the percipient’s mind, in the same manner as those delusive phantasms which the mind not only shapes, but presumably originates altogether.

    All this, however, referred to phantasms perceived by one person only. On such a theory one would hardly expect that a phantasm would ever be perceptible to several persons at once; but rather that strangers in the company of the percipient would neither hear nor see anything,—would not be involved, at any rate, by mere local proximity in that message between according minds.

    It was plain, however, that this question could not be answered à priori. It needed what had not hitherto been forthcoming, namely, a collection of observed instances large enough to allow of a tolerably wide induction. And the collection offered in these volumes—though it might with advantage be tenfold larger—does in fact offer some interesting statistical results which bear on this problem.

    In the first place, it is noticeable that the great majority of phantasms occur to a percipient who is alone. And this fact accords well with our view that the subsidence of ordinary stimuli facilitates the development of the telepathic impression.

    But when we come to the small residue of cases where several persons have been together when the phantasm occurred, we find a result equally unexpected and perplexing. For it will be found that in nearly two cases out of three the phantasm is perceived by all or most of the persons so situated that they would have perceived it had it been an objective reality. In about one case out of three it is perceived by one only of the persons present. And, as a further complication, when perceived by more persons than one, it is sometimes perceived more fully by some than by others;—both heard and seen, perhaps, by one, and only heard by another.

    § 3. Now this result seems at first sight equally inconsistent with the theory of the telepathic impulse as generating these hallucinations, and with the crude popular credence which attributes to “ghosts” some sort of tenuous materiality. For in the one case we might expect that the phantasm would rarely be perceptible to more than one person; in the other case that it would always be perceptible to all the persons present. The popular view—to take that first—lies so far outside the pale of any recognised scientific conceptions that strong evidence indeed would be needed to reconcile us to it. We are sometimes asked to believe that this body of ours—with its digestive system, &c., and all its traces of physical evolution—is interpenetrated with a “meta-organism” {ii-279} of identical shape and structure, and capable sometimes of detaching itself from the solid flesh and producing measurable effects on the material world. Now that material effects should be produced by something which (like our own will), is only cognisable by us on its psychical side is not in itself an absurd supposition, though we have little evidence which goes to support it. But this hypothesis of a connate molecular “meta-organism” is at once grotesque and entirely insufficient. For it is precisely against this form of the ghost-hypothesis that the difficulty as to the ghosts of clothes has overwhelming weight. The apparition that

    stands before us, on this theory, is an objective thing; it has grown with our friend’s growth, it is organic with his deathless vitality. Are, then, his dead habiliments alive also in the spirit? or how has the meta-organism accreted to itself a meta-coat and meta-trousers?

    § 4. But if we thus rule out of court the crudest explanation of a collectively-witnessed apparition, our next attempt must plainly be to explain it on the lines of telepathy, by extending in some way our hypothesis of a phantasmogenetic impulse conveyed directly from mind to mind. Now if A’s phantom is witnessed by B and C together—and witnessed, as we are assuming throughout, without intimation thereof from one to the other by look or word—then it might seem simplest to assume that a separate telepathic impression passed from A to B, and from A to C, and was externalised by each of the percipients as a phantom of his own shaping. It has been shown, however, in Chap. XVIII., that the recorded cases will not always admit of this hypothesis. C is sometimes a stranger to A, and it is almost impossible to suppose that, had it not been for B’s presence, he would have witnessed the phantom at all. In this difficulty, Mr. Gurney inclines to the view that in such a case the telepathic impression is primarily communicated from A to B, and gives rise to a hallucination in B’s mind; and that this hallucination is then telepathically communicated from B to the other person or persons present. And this explanation, if we can accept it, seems to have the advantage of introducing as little as possible of fresh hypothesis into the psychic field.

    § 5. I do not, however, think that the evidence warrants us in pushing our theory quite so far in this direction. I do not feel justified in assuming that a mere hallucination—telepathically originated in the mind of B, the primary percipient—will be thus readily communicable, by a fresh telepathic transfer, to the minds of other persons in local proximity. Hallucinations, however caused, are in themselves a tolerably distinct class of phenomena; and, since we know of several kinds that are not telepathic {ii-280} in origin, we shall do well to inquire whether these have shown themselves communicable from the halluciné to his neighbours, without speech or suggestion of any kind. And it so happens that a good deal of competent observation has already been directed to this point. Folie à deux—the communicability of insane delusions—has been for the last quarter of a century a favourite topic of medical discussion.1 1Besides some references given by Mr. Gurney, Vol. i., p. 458, see Brunet (Ann. Méd.-Psych., 1875, Vol. xiv., p. 337–357), and the specially interesting case of the Lochin family (Ann. Méd.-Psych., 1882, Vol. ii.), reported by Dr. Reverchon; “Les uns voient des fantômes, des chats noirs et blancs, des serpents; ils les montrent aux autres effarés.”Some of them see ghosts, black and white cats, and snakes; they point them out to the other affected persons. See also Dr. Savage’s “Cases of Contagiousness of Delusions” (Journal of Mental Science, 1880–1, Vol. xxvi., p. 563), and Dr. Kiernam (Journal of Nervous and Mental Disease, October, 1880), for the communication of ideas of grandeur in asylums. I omit many minor references. In Dr. Jaccoud’s Dict. encycl. des sciences médicales the reader is significantly referred from Folie à deux to Persécutions—-the character of the great majority of these cases being thus indicated. On the whole, Lasègue and Falret’s essay (Œuvres de Lasègue, Vol. i., p. 732) summarises the subject very completely. The latest work, Chpolianski’s Analogies entre la folie à deux et la suicide à deux, (Paris, 1885,) accords with what has been here said. Now in order that folie à deux should present a true parallel to the suggested infectiousness of telepathic hallucinations, which we are here discussing, it would be necessary to find cases where some vision or voice had been propagated from one mind to another without any verbal suggestion whatever. No such case, so far as I can find, is anywhere recorded; and no such case is reported to me by medical friends.2 2Dr. Lockhart Robertson has kindly made inquiry for me from some specialist friends; and neither he nor they are cognisant of any such case. Nor are the authorities at Bethlem; as, indeed, Dr. Savage’s essay, above referred to, plainly indicates. The nearest case is that of the Lochin family (see the first note below), but there the attack of hallucinations was plainly of toxic origin, and though it ran much the same course with each of the poisoned persons, there is even here no proof that any one of them caught a definite hallucination from his neighbour’s mind.

    § 6. It may, however, be suggested that medical writers, not being alive to the possibility of an unsuggested, or telepathic, infection, may have neglected to observe it, and that therefore some part of the infection for which they assume speech as of course the medium may in reality have taken place without speech, by telepathic transfer. To meet this point, let us consider what are the habitual conditions of the contagion du délire,3 3The word contagion reminds us of the old stories of second-sight, communicable by the touch of the seer (see p. 189, note). as the French somewhat loosely term it.

    According to Laségue and Falret (with whom the other authorities virtually concur), the person thus infected (if not already a lunatic) must be inferior in intelligence to the original lunatic, must generally be a woman or a child, and must live long with the lunatic, apart from external influences. Moreover, the character of the delusion must itself be more or {ii-281} less reasonable; it must rest on real facts in the past, or intelligible fears or hopes for the future. The idea that a legacy has accrued, the idea that neighbours are malignant, is gradually instilled into a sane mind by the constant repetition of an untrue, but not conspicuously-absurd assertion. But even where this delusion includes some sensory elements, I can find, as I have already said, no evidence that any hallucinatory sight or sound has ever been described independently by two persons as occurring at the same moment. If, then, with all the predisposition that close relationship can give, with all the dominance of the hallucination in the affected mind, not even one other person seems ever to be telepathically impressed thereby, we may hesitate to assume that a veridical hallucination should be capable of telepathic transference to several bystanders.

    Neither in duration nor in apparent intensity can the veridical hallucination claim to equal some of the morbid varieties. There are instances where the same illusory figure has persisted for months or years. Take, for instance, “Mr. Gabbage”—the persistent visionary tyrant of an unhappy American gentleman, who was, at any rate at first, in a state of undoubted sanity.1 1See M. Ribot’s comments on this case of M. Ball’s, Maladies de la Personnalité, p. 111. Constantly though he appeared, distinctly though he spoke, “Mr. Gabbage” was never seen or heard by anyone save the original sufferer.

    Again, it is probable that no other hallucinations can rival in sheer intensity those which sometimes accompany the onset of an epileptiform attack. When the patient rushes furious through the room, which he sees full of flames, striking at the imaginary demons who bar his passage, then surely, if ever, the phantasies of the tumultuous brain might be expected to imprint themselves on the bystander. But although the shock of witnessing an epileptic fit will sometimes bring on a similar fit in patients thereto disposed, there is, I believe, no evidence whatever that the specific hallucination of the first sufferer ever communicates itself either to stable or to unstable brains.

    Once more; there is a species of hallucination somewhat akin to telepathic hallucinations—nay, which is itself sometimes induced telepathically. I mean the hallucinations generated by the mesmeriser in the mind of his subject. Popular credence, as Mr. Gurney and I have elsewhere shown,

    2 2Proceedings of the S.P.R., Vol. iii., p. 416. has much exaggerated the mesmerist’s power of influencing his subject without verbal suggestion. But in a few cases—Mr. H. S. Thompson’s and Dr. Pierre Janet’s,3 3See the Additional Chapter at the end of this volume. In the strange and remote case of Councillor Wesermann (Vol. i., p. 102) it is not clear whether the distant “willer” was thinking at the time of both the persons to whom the phantasm of his creating appeared. for instance—an effect seems to have {ii-282} been produced on a subject at a distance without previous suggestion; an action prompted or a hallucination provoked. Now, in no one instance does it appear that the effect thus telepathically produced has extended itself from the immediate subject to any other person.

    § 7. The analogies of morbid and of mesmeric hallucination are, then, as it seems, decidedly against its communicability. But these analogies are not in themselves conclusive. Apart from the distinctively morbid hallucinations of madness or epilepsy—on which physicians have almost exclusively dwelt—there are occasional cases of isolated hallucinations occurring in the experience of sane and healthy persons. It may be said that these afford a closer parallel to our telepathic hallucinations. If it can be shown that these are communicable, there will be some presumption that our veridical phantoms may be propagated by psychical infection too.

    Now, Mr. Gurney has made a collection, far larger than had been previously attempted, of these casual hallucinations of the sane. His collection of nearly 600 cases of this kind (exclusive, of course, of the telepathic evidence in this book), when analysed with care, affords a basis of induction on which a few broad conclusions, at least, may safely be founded. All, however, that I mean to do here is to take one obvious empirical division. Some of these casual hallucinations resemble veridical hallucinations and some do not. In this latter class are included a number of purely fantastic or truncated visions of human or animal forms or faces, and visions of inanimate objects, patterns, &c. In the former class come visions of persons known or unknown, voices, lights, &c.

    Now it appears that the great majority of these casual hallucinations are witnessed by one person only, other persons, if present, perceiving nothing. But there are cases in which several persons have shared the impression, and some of these cases Mr. Gurney has set forth in Chap. XVIII. What lessons do they teach?

    The most important characteristic that I see in them is this. They all of them belong to that class of casual hallucinations which at any rate resemble the telepathic cases. There are no collective hallucinations of truncated forms, of definite inanimate objects, or of patterns. They all represent persons known or unknown, lights, or voices.

    I will defer for the moment the consideration of some of these figures or voices which are referred to dead persons. Taking those only which are conceivably, though not provably, referable to persons living or in the act of death, it seems to me that we have here just that kind of fringe of ambiguous cases which we should expect to find surrounding the cases where some distant agency is more clearly proved.

    For if such a phenomenon as telepathy, such a cause or agency as {ii-283} telergy, exists at all, we may surely suppose that it exists in many forms, and manifests itself in many operations, of which we have not at present any inkling whatever. While we may be able to reach a substantial agreement as to what phenomena may be regarded as almost certainly due to telepathy, we have no means at present of deciding positively what phenomena are not so due.

    This, therefore, is a case where the evidential and the theoretical treatment of our subject cannot be made precisely to coincide. Mr. Gurney’s primary object has been, and rightly, to treat the evidential case for telepathy with scrupulous fairness, to allow to chance-coincidence or to mere subjective hallucination every incident which cannot establish a strong claim to a supernormal character. So long as we are arguing the question whether telepathy exists or no, this rigid method is plainly needful. We must rest our argument on instances for which, taken cumulatively, any explanation except telepathy is conspicuously improbable.

    But supposing the evidential point established, and that it is now not the mere existence, but the nature and limits, of telepathy which we are seeking to determine, we shall need to scrutinize our narratives in a somewhat different way. We shall have to consider not only whether there is overwhelming probability that any given case is telepathic, but also whether there is sufficient probability to oblige us to keep that explanation in view, and to refrain from using the case in support of other theories. Thus (to make my meaning clearer by an analogy) if it were our business to prove the existence of volcanic islets, we should not be entitled to base that proof on such doubtful instances as the much-debated islets of St. Paul. But, the existence of volcanic islets once established, we must not hastily exclude this dubious case from our category, or we may find that we are committing ourselves to a far more questionable theory—that of a lost Atlantis. Now the cases cited by Mr. Gurney as probably mere subjective hallucinations shared by several persons are assuredly not cases from which any argument for the operation of distant agency could be drawn. But if such agency be once admitted as a vera causa,true cause it seems to me to be safer to ascribe these cases to its untraced and, so to say, casual operation, than to support by them a theory of collective hallucination which may easily be—and in other hands has been—pushed to a point at which it comes into real collision with ordinary experience, and needlessly confuses the canons of testimony.

    We must remember that these phantasms do not occur to please us, or to satisfy our expectations, but rather (so far as we can tell) in accordance with some law affecting the psychical energies of the dying person. We need not, therefore, assume that our phantasmal visitors will always be {ii-284} familiar or interesting figures. It is quite conceivable that persons may appear to us whom we have wholly forgotten; and in fact in some of the cases in this book the identification of the figure has only followed upon subsequent information and reflection. Again, if, as certain cases seem to indicate, locality goes for a great deal in attracting or manifesting the phantasm, then figures may appear to us which we have never seen, but which represent some dying person who is attached to the house in which we live. And suggestions such as these, though at present merely speculative, seem to me to form an explanation of Mr. Gurney’s cases less violent than that which calls on us to suppose that a mere casual subjective hallucination has a self-propagating power which hallucinations of an intenser and more lasting order do not appear to possess.

    § 8. Another class of cases which Mr. Gurney has advanced as illustrating the transferability of hallucinations consists of the occurrence to two or more persons of phantasms ostensibly connecting themselves with some person who is actually dead. I do not wish here to give any positive opinion as to the origin of such appearances. The question of phantasms of the dead introduces a whole series of evidential and metaphysical difficulties with which I am not here prepared to deal. But since we have expressly excluded such problems from the scope of this work, have expressly stated that our evidence is at present insufficient to guide us to a distinct opinion thereon, I cannot admit that any selection from these narratives can at present add force to the contention that purely illusory hallucinations, corresponding in no way to any reality outside the primary percipient, are readily communicable to the other persons present.

    Since, then, an inquiry so widely-reaching as Mr. Gurney’s collection of hallucinations has failed, in my view, to produce any clear cases of the communicability of illusory (or falsidical) hallucinations with which to supply the absence of any evidence thereof in previous records, I am driven to doubt whether such communicability can be safely assumed as a probable explanation of our cases where a veridical phantasm has been seen or heard by several persons at the same time.

    § 9. And having thus criticised my colleague’s suggestions, I feel bound to produce a theory of my own, which, though confessedly unproven, may have the advantage of directing attention towards what seems to me the nodusknotty point of our present inquiry, and of suggesting experiments which may help us to a truer solution. I begin by following a clue which suggests itself at a very early stage of the experimental investigation.

    Take the simplest possible case of thought-transference. A thinks of the word “cat” and B divines it. Now, here our habit is to call A the {ii-285} agent and B the percipient; terms which are practically the simplest, but which may have seemed to imply that all the activity involved in the phenomenon lay in A’s tension of thought in keeping “cat” before his mind, and that B’s rôle was a mere passive waiting for the telepathic impulse which carries the word or idea from A’s mind into his own. And as we extend our series from the trivial experimental instances to the massive spontaneous instances of telepathy, we find the exhibition of energy on the agent’s part—the receptive tranquillity on the percipient’s part—becoming more and more conspicuous. When A, for example, is dying in battle, and B is asleep and dreams that he sees A dying, the psychical activity of the one, the psychical passivity of the other, seem to reach their maximum.

    Let us try, however, to look a little deeper beneath the surface. When A thinks of cat and B guesses the word “out of A’s mind,” without the help of speech or gesture, then B, whether passive or not, is at any rate playing the part which requires the rarer qualifications. In a sense, no doubt, he is merely perceiving, but I need not say that perception itself is a form of activity. If we perceive more things than an oyster perceives, it is not because we are more passive than the oyster, but more active; because activities of our ancestors’ and our own have developed in us eyes which now discern distant objects with an effort so slight that we are scarcely aware of it. Similarly with the telepathic experiment. When B discerns the word cat, which most of us, with only his opportunities, could not discern by any amount of waiting and passivity, we must surely conclude that B is exercising some kind of capacity which we cannot exercise. This power, plainly, is not of what we term a voluntary kind; it is not guided by B’s normal or primary stream of consciousness. But (as I have tried elsewhere to show) there is reason to suppose that our normal consciousness represents no more than a slice of our whole being. We all know that there exist sub-conscious and unconscious operations of many kinds; both organic, as secretion, circulation, &c., which are in a sense below the operations to which our minds attend; and also mental, as the recall of names, the development of ideas, &c., which are on much the same level as the operations to which our minds attend, but which for various reasons remain in the background of our mental prospect. Well, besides these sub-conscious and unconscious operations, I believe that super-conscious operations also are going on within us; operations, that is to say, which transcend the limitations of ordinary faculties of cognition, and which yet remain—not below the threshold—but rather above the upper horizon of consciousness, and illumine our normal experience only in transient and clouded gleams.

    This is not the place to marshal the arguments which support this {ii-286} thesis. But the thesis itself seems almost implied in the very conception of thought-transference. For in thought-transference we have two psychical phenomena, connected by an unknown chain of causation, which is certainly supernormal in character, and which contains at least some unconscious links.

    § 10. Let us, then, pursue this notion of some supernormal activity on the percipient’s part. Let us treat it in the same way as we have treated the notion of the supernormal activity of the agent. We have credited the agent, A, in the “cat” experiment, with a certain power of impressing his thought on other minds. And we have proceeded to inquire how far—in voluntary experiment or in spontaneous emergence—this power can be found to go,—how complex the transmitted image may be. So far as voluntary experiment went, the answer has been somewhat doubtful, for self-transmissive projections of a hallucinatory image of oneself—such as those recorded in Vol. I., Chap. III.—have always, as it would seem, taken place during the agent’s trance or slumber. The spontaneous cases, on the other hand, have been very numerous; cases, that is to say, where A, undergoing some shock or crisis, acts psychically in such a manner as to impress his presence on the minds of distant men.

    Let us, then, ask similar questions with regard to the supernormal activity of the percipient. We have seen him thus far divining a word on which the agent’s thought was concentrated, guessing a card on which the agent’s eyes were fixed. Are there cases, experimental or spontaneous, where we find him doing more than this? sharing not a single idea only but a whole complex of ideas and perceptions in another man’s mind? or supernormally recognising an object on which no “agent’s” eyes are looking? The answer to these questions would involve the whole evidence for induced or spontaneous clairvoyance. For the word clairvoyance may be used to indicate many forms of supersensory perception; of which one is what we may call telepathic clairvoyance, where the clairvoyant seems to be seeing with the eyes, perceiving with the senses, recalling with the memory, of another person; and another is what we may call independent clairvoyance, where the clairvoyant seems to visit scenes, or to discern objects, without needing that those scenes or objects should form part of the perception or memory of any known mind.

    The topic of clairvoyance, though unavoidable in the present discussion, is open to serious objections from which telepathy, in our view, is free. For we have not ourselves succeeded in making any experiments which corroborate that induction of clairvoyance in sensitive subjects which many writers have alleged. And the light which our new knowledge {ii-287} of telepathy throws on that testimony must doubtless modify it greatly—must reduce the scattered testimony which exists for independent clairvoyance to a bulk much smaller than its advocates have claimed. But, nevertheless, speaking not for my colleagues but for myself, I do consider the evidence for clairvoyance, both telepathic and independent, both induced and spontaneous, to be adequate to justify belief;1 1In the present state of the subject, I hold that a writer avowing such belief is bound to show cause for his apparent credulity; and this I shall hope to do on the earliest practicable occasion. and, holding this view, I feel bound to take clairvoyance into account in any theoretic discussion of supernormal phenomena.

    § 11. And if we thus take into account the evidence for clairvoyance, we find a stream of new light let in on our conception of the modus operandi of telepathic perception. For it is a characteristic of the clairvoyant power that it is generally exercised when the normal powers of sensory percipience are in abeyance, during natural somnambulism, during morbid conditions of trance, or during the sleep-waking state induced by mesmeric passes. It seems as though this supersensory faculty assumed activity in an inverse ratio to the activities of common life.

    Nor is this the only instructive analogy which the records of clairvoyance suggest. The mesmeric process, which appears to be the most effective way of inducing the clairvoyant state, does not consist of a mere inhibition of ordinary psychical activities. Whatever may be its true nature, it involves, at any rate, a rapport between the operator and the subject, a specialised relation between two minds, which sometimes seems to serve as the starting-point for a supernormal percipience on the part of the mesmerised subject which presently transcends the scope or content of the interrogator’s mind altogether.

    Let us return, then, to the consideration of our veridical hallucinations, bearing in mind these two peculiarities of clairvoyant perception; its exercise in apparently inverse ratio to the activity of normal faculties, and its capacity for being stimulated or evoked by some kind of psychical influence directed towards the clairvoyant subject from another mind.

    § 12. And we shall, perhaps, first observe how much of illumination is thus cast upon a large and perplexing class of telepathic dreams, those, namely, in which

    B is made aware of A’s state, not as if by an entry of A’s phantom into his bedchamber, but as if by an excursion of his own into the room where A is actually dying.

    Dreams, as Mr. Gurney has amply explained, form only a very subsidiary part of the evidential case which we put forward. Taken alone, {ii-288} they could hardly prove telepathy; rather they are themselves shown to be telepathic by the analogies of the more cogent evidence drawn from waking hours. But though evidentially a minor branch of our subject, they are, nevertheless, among the most instructive of psychical phenomena. They show us phantasms in the making; they initiate us into sub-conscious processes of which waking hallucinations are, as it were, the final output or manufactured result.

    But when we come to scrutinize the details of veridical dreams we find that amongst many where fantastic elements are commingled with the true, as though a central conception were embodying itself in the imagery which it found readiest to hand, there are some dreams where the scene seems to be described without such admixture, and much as it might have appeared to a real spectator.

    Dr. A. K. Young’s dream (case 142) is closely analogous to a case of so-called “travelling clairvoyance.” Locality, personages, and actions seem to have been completely realised, and the violent blows delivered by Dr. Young as he lay asleep in bed are the precise parallel of the shivering, sweating, &c., frequently recorded of clairvoyants who are witnessing distant scenes of heat or cold. Noteworthy in the same sense is Mrs. Green’s dream (case 138), where it seems as though the link of kinship, though without personal acquaintance, had directed the sleeper’s clairvoyant vision to the scene of sudden death. In these cases it seems to me that to talk of the drowning women as the agents who affected Mrs. Green, the wounded tenant as the agent who affected Dr. A. K. Young, tends to obscure the real nature of the occurrence; the deeper view being that the so-called percipient was in fact the agent or active personage, too; and that the concurrent crisis of danger or death did but determine the direction, or the remembrance, of activities which the sleeper’s unconscious self was exercising in the abeyance of waking function.

    And if we follow up this hint, we shall note that in most cases where even a waking percipient is conscious of a distant scene, the sensation is accompanied by something like a momentary abstractedness, or even actual somnolence.1 1See, for instance, cases 24, 63, 109. In Canon Warburton’s case (No. 108) the sudden perception of a distant crisis, apparently occurring at that moment, wakes the sleeper from his doze  And if the various expressions used by the percipients of these clairvoyantly witnessed scenes, whether we have classed them as awake or asleep at the time, be compared together, we shall find that they agree in describing the experience as something unlike either dream-presence or waking presence in the suddenly-revealed locality, as giving a {ii-289} sense of a translation of the centre of consciousness, of a psychical excursion into a definite region of space.

    Such expressions need imply nothing more than the manner in which this sudden extension of the psychical purview represents itself in the forms of ordinary thought. But they may aid in putting us on the track of a question which is, in my view, of profound importance. Is there evidence of any percipience on the part of others which corresponds to the clairvoyant’s own sense of presence and action in the scene which is common to his mind and theirs? Readers of Chap. XVII. will have perceived that there is such evidence; and although the cases there given are not numerous, there are reasons (as I hope presently to show) why but a very small fraction of such experiences is ever likely to come to our knowledge.

    Meantime, we must observe that in these reciprocal cases the condition and sensations of the percipient, who thus becomes an agent also—the clairvoyant who is himself discerned as a phantom in the scene where he conceives himself to be—are precisely similar to the condition and sensations of the clairvoyant whose vision affects no second person. Our agent, too, is in a fit of abstraction, or dreaming, or plunged in stupor as death draws nigh, when he produces on others the impression correlative to the impression which is being produced on himself.

    § 13. Correspondently with clairvoyant perception there may be phantasmogenetic efficacy:—this, as it seems to me, is a sound induction from our recorded cases, and an induction which, if thoroughly grasped, will modify profoundly our comprehension and classification of the evidence before us. For, speaking broadly, our “phantasms of the living” will consequently tend to arrange themselves into two main classes, classes which are themselves linked in more ways than one; namely, the class in which the phantasm may be considered as the emergence or externalisation, in and by the percipient’s mind, of an impression transmitted from a distant agent, and the class in which the phantasm may be considered as corresponding to the conception in the mind of a clairvoyant percipient,—who is thus also an agent,—of his own presence and action in a scene which he shares with the persons who are corporeally present therein.

    § 14. And thus we have reached a point at which what seemed the unique difficulty involved in collective hallucinations is not indeed explained, but is seen as merely a special case which we can subsume under a higher generalisation. What I mean is this; that if the appearance, say, of Mr. Newnham to Mrs. Newnham (case 35) or of Mrs. Smith to her friend (case 306) is held proximately to depend on their own perception of their {ii-290} own presence in the scene where their phantasm is observed, it becomes then a subsidiary question whether only one, or some, or the whole group of the persons of whose consciousness that scene forms a part, perceive such phantasm or no. And this subsidiary question, again, resolves itself into a special case of the larger question which meets us throughout the whole inquiry,—the question as to the causes of varying idiosyncratic receptiveness of phantasmal impressions. There will be no need to assume, as Mr. Gurney is inclined to do, a direct infection of hallucination from one primary percipient to neighbouring minds. Still less shall we need to explain such cases as Nos. 242 and 355 by the strange hypothesis that an idea, partly or altogether latent and undeveloped in the mind of the primary percipient, did nevertheless propagate itself from thence and emerge into full externalisation for a person to whom the distant agent was wholly unknown. For we shall be able to conceive it as possible that all the persons in the room may be equally favourably situated for the discernment of that phantasmal correlate which represents or accompanies, in some way unknown to us, the clairvoyant percipience of the distant and dying man.

    § 15. At the cost of some cumbrousness of language, I have been careful to express my hypothesis in exclusively psychical—as opposed to physical—terms. I desire that the reader should clearly distinguish it from any view which implies a material or objective presence, of however tenuous a kind. I shall not, indeed, commit myself to the assertion that any such presence is impossible; or that there may not be some intermediate view between what seems to me the gross conception of a molecular metaorganism, already alluded to, and the purely psychical agency which is all that I postulate here. The line between the “material” and the “immaterial,” as these words are commonly used, means little more than the line between the phenomena which our senses or our instruments can detect or register, and the phenomena which they can not. And the whole problem of the relation of the psychical to the physical—of thought and will to space and matter—is forced upon our attention with startling vividness from the very beginning of this inquiry. At every step we find that familiar speculative difficulties assume a new reality; and that dilemmas which the metaphysician can evade, and the physicist ignore, present to the psychical researcher an imperative choice of one or the other horn.

    In the present discussion, however, such difficulties can still be postponed. I shall confine myself to pointing out that since some even of the phantasms which are perceived by more than one person escape the perception of one or more of the bystanders, they cannot be objective in {ii-291} any ordinary sense. And while they are regarded as entirely psychical incidents, the differentia of the view here advanced is still, I think, sufficiently plain. I treat the respective hallucinations of each member of the affected group as each and all directly generated by a conception in distant mind—a conception which presents itself to that mind as though its

    centre of activity were translated to the scene where the group are sitting, and which presents itself to each member of that group as though their hallucinations did not come to them incoherently or independently, but were diffused from a “radiant point,” or phantasmogenetic focus, corresponding with that region of space where the distant agent conceives himself to be exercising his supernormal perception.

    § 16. This view is at any rate definite enough to suggest certain experiments which might test its probability in comparison with the view which assumes one primary percipient and a transference of hallucination, as though by a second telepathic process, from that primary percipient to his neighbours in space.

    The most important experiment would be one which there is perhaps small chance of making; for it depends on the coolness and preparedness of several persons collectively witnessing a veridical hallucination. It might, for instance, have been carried out by Mrs. Elgee and Miss D. in the case (No. 348) which Mr. Gurney cites as one where “the flashing of the hallucination from one of the percipients to the other seems specially well illustrated, since the figure which appeared was one which the second percipient had never seen in the flesh.” In that case we have no independent account from Miss D., and the details are insufficient to show the relation between the hallucinations of the two persons. But let us assume, for the sake of argument, that a similar incident occurs to persons prepared to analyse it; that A’s phantom appears to B, who knows him, and also to C, who is in the room with B, but never saw A.

    I will arrange an account of the imaginary scene in two ways; first, so as to illustrate Mr. Gurney’s “flashing of the hallucination from one of the percipients to the other”; and, secondly, so as to illustrate my own view of the diffusion of the hallucination to both minds similarly, in a manner conditioned by the agent’s conception of himself as present in a scene in which the two percipients are sitting.

    (1) B sees the figure first, and thus develops the hallucinatory figure of A, clothing it with the dress in which he has most frequently seen A. C discerns the figure after B has done so, and either more vaguely or in the same garb in which B discerns it, or with peculiarities which may be traced to {ii-292} C’s own mind; at any rate, not introducing true points of resemblance to A, which have not been observed by B. Moreover, if B’s hallucination represents A as facing him, C’s hallucination takes a similar attitude, although C may be so placed with reference to the figure that, had it been A in propriâ personâ, C would have seen, not A’s full face, but his profile or back. There is no distinct agreement between B and C as to the point of space which the phantom seemed to occupy, or as to its successive movements, or the time and mode of its disappearance. Such details as these, if occurring in the manner here suggested, would favour the supposition that C’s hallucination was not the result of any direct transfer from A, but rather of a transfer from B of the hallucination to which B’s mind had given shape.

    (2) Now let us suppose that these little incidents occur in just the opposite manner. C perceives the phantom before B does, and perceives it with characteristic details of garb and appearance, some of which B fails to note. Moreover, when B and C are so placed that C would see the phantom’s back, and B the phantom’s face, were the phantom a real person in the place where B sees it, then they do see different aspects of the phantom accordingly. And they agree as to every detail of its garb, so far as observed, and as to its apparent position in space, its movements, and the mode of its disappearance. If the details of the hallucination were found to follow this type, there would seem to be strong reason for supposing that the impression on C’s mind was not (so to say) reflected from B’s, but that both alike corresponded to a more or less detailed, definite, and persistent conception on A’s own part of his presence and action in the scene where his friend and the stranger were sitting. In that case the manner or distinctness with which the phantom was discerned by B and C respectively would depend on their relative power of supernormal percipience,—their psychical permeability,—though it will still be presumable that B’s previous rapport with A, which has probably determined the direction which A’s clairvoyant perception has taken, may also predispose or enable B to discern the phantom on some occasions when C cannot do so. On the other hand, if C’s power of supernormal percipience greatly exceed B’s, C may discern the phantom, though of a stranger, when B fails to discern it, though of a friend, as in cases 242 and 355, above mentioned.

    § 17. The occasions on which such observations as these are possible are likely to be almost as rare as eclipses. But, in the meantime, we may, at any rate, practise (so to say) with smoked glass. We have now the means of actually producing hallucinations at will in certain subjects by hypnotic suggestion, and a careful arrangement of conditions may throw {ii-293} light on the modes of communicability of hallucination from one mind to another.

    I will take first the simplest case, and will suppose that I am communicating a hallucination to several hypnotised subjects by direct suggestion. I say to the first: “There is a playbill on the wall; write down the name of the play advertised, but do not show it to anyone.” He sees the imaginary playbill at my suggestion, and his own mind supplies the title of the play—say Hamlet. I simultaneously, or just afterwards, make the same suggestion to other subjects. Now if all of them see Hamlet advertised, the special form in which the first subject shaped his hallucination has probably influenced the rest. Even if they see Othello, Macbeth, &c., there has perhaps been a communication of the idea of Shakespeare. But if they see Our Boys, The Private Secretary, &c., then the specific form which the first subject’s hallucination assumed has not exercised a shaping power over the impulses to hallucination which I have communicated to the other subjects.

    Again, take a case of deferred hallucination, as when Professor Beaunis of Nancy told Mdlle. A., in the hypnotic trance, that she would see him call on her on January 1st at 10 a.m. Let a similar anticipatory idea be again impressed on Mdlle. A, and let it be provided that other persons, known to be susceptible, shall be in Mdlle. A’s company when the hallucination falls due. It can then be seen whether they “catch it from her,” so to say, by telepathic infection. Or if they fail to do so, the transference might be facilitated as follows. Mdlle. A might be led to expect Professor Beaunis’ visit in a special dress, carefully impressed on her. The others might simply be told that the Professor would call at the hour determined. It might then be seen whether the hallucination which had been suggested to them in a comparatively vague form were rendered definite by infection from Mdlle. A’s clearer perception of the phantasmal visitant, so that all alike saw him in the dress announced to Mdlle. A.

    The subjects on whom such experiments as these can be attempted with success are at present few in number, and almost exclusively French. But the methodical zeal with which a group of French physicians are now pursuing this form of research renders it likely that fresh light will soon be shed on the genesis and development of hallucinatory percepts. Such theorising, therefore, as I am here attempting need not be premature, if it serves to suggest experiment, and to guide observation.

    § 18. But those who have followed me thus far will find that a further reflection is here naturally suggested. If in cases of collective hallucination we have seen reason to conjecture that there has been, not a mere series of {ii-294} telepathic transferences of impression, but a presentation as a quasipercept to several minds of a distant agent’s conception of himself as present among them by a kind of psychical translation, then we can hardly suppose that this explanation is applicable to collective cases alone. The accident that some indifferent person shared with the primary friend the perception of the phantasm may enlighten us as to the mode in which that phantasm was generated, but cannot have itself determined that mode. Can we decide, then, for which of the apparitions seen by one person only our newly-suggested method of origination may most plausibly be invoked?

    Much, I think, might be learnt from reviewing the whole series of our phantasms, while keeping in view the analogy of the alleged cases of experimental clairvoyance in the same way as the analogy of experimental telepathy has been kept in view in the preceding chapters. But such a task must be postponed till the evidence for clairvoyance itself shall have been subjected to a searching analysis. All that I can attempt here is to draw attention to two problems, already repeatedly touched on by

    Mr. Gurney, but capable of being discussed with profit from several points of view. I speak of the apparent garb and symbolism of phantasms, and of their attraction to special localities.

    § 19. The question of the clothes of ghosts—or the ghosts of clothes—is one which presents the relation between the material and the immaterial under a specially grotesque aspect. Theories which attribute any kind of materiality to the “White Lady” or “Grey Lady” herself, are apt to get inextricably entangled in her shadowy muslin. And apart from any definite theorising, the frock-coat or the flowered dressing-gown of the “spiritual visitant,” has seemed to many minds to destroy his dignity and interest—to be painfully incongruous with pure existences and a noumenal world. On the other hand, I need hardly, at this point, explain that on the hypothesis advanced in this book, this very mundaneness of the apparition is precisely what was to be expected. For veridical hallucinations—like morbid hallucinations, though in a different sense—are the outcome of human minds; the form in which my friend’s phantasm presents itself to me has been stamped thereon either by my friend’s mind or my own. And it therefore would be strange if I phantasmally saw the dying man unclothed,—as I have never seen him in life; if he, in his last moments, pictured himself as he has never hitherto pictured himself in colloquy with his friends.

    But granting the almost unavoidable supposition that the phantom will appear clothed—and clothed in some such way as either agent’s or percipient’s mind can suggest—questions remain which are among the most {ii-295} important and the most difficult with which we have to deal. The clothes of apparitions are like the cartouches of Egyptian kings—they are hieroglyphs, in part seemingly arbitrary, in part obviously symbolical, which we must compare and decipher before we can arrange our processional figures by date and dynasty. For the most part these phantoms remain but for a moment, and are gone without speech or action before their astonished spectator has recovered from the shock of their approach. Sometimes their faces present some change or particularity, as of hair or beard, of pallor or injury, which in some degree identifies the moment of time, past or present, which that phantasmal visage tends to reproduce. But often such traces fail us. The witness gazes, not on some scarred and mangled form—Priamiden laniatum corpore toto Priam’s son, with body rent and torn [Vergil, Aeneid 6.494; trans. Theodore C. Williams, 1910]—but on the unchanged aspect of a familiar friend. For most observers such recognition is enough, as it is enough for the devout worshipper to recognise in a picture the Madonna’s face. Too soon the vision disappears—iterum crudelia retro Fata vocantonce again the unpitying fates recall me [Vergil, Georgicon 1.494; trans. J. B. Greenough, 1900]—and what is left is the shock of loss, the memory of consolation. It is from no want of sympathy with those primary emotions that we must urge on the readers of this book the imperative need, should occasion be offered to them, of a minuter and calmer observation. Every detail of the phantasmal appearance has some meaning; and the points which the spectator accepts as subordinate and unimpressive may contain clues sought elsewhere in vain. Thus—to come at once to my present purpose—it is usual for a witness to say “he appeared to me in the dress he habitually wore, and in which I knew him.” In one sense these two clauses mean the same thing. But which of them is the really effective one? If A’s phantom wears a black coat, is that because A wore a black coat, or because B was accustomed to see him in one? If A had taken to wearing a brown coat since B saw him in the flesh, would A’s phantom wear to B’s eyes a black coat or a brown? Or would the dress which A actually wore at the moment of death dominate, as it were, and supplant phantasmally the costumes of his ordinary days?

    Those who have followed the cases cited in this book, and Mr. Gurney’s comments thereon, will know that the answer to these questions is neither uniform nor clear. It is seldom that we can trust the percipient’s memory of the details of his vision, and even when these details have been carefully noted their lesson is not easy to decipher.

    We have, of course, as a starting point, the known fact that a man may have a purely subjective hallucination, and may clothe it in almost any fashion,—introducing items of dress which have never been consciously familiar to his mind. We may naturally begin, then, by assuming that, unless evidence to the contrary be forthcoming, it is from the percipient’s mind that the dress or other imagery of the phantom is {ii-296} drawn. Let us see whether there are any cases where this seems clearly indicated by the particulars of the dress itself.

    Suppose that the dying A appears to B, habited in hat and coat, though in point of fact he is in bed at the time. Must we not here say that B’s mind has furnished the setting of the figure, and that nothing beyond the mere impression of a personality comes from A himself?

    No; this deduction would be insecure. For it assumes that if the agent projects a developed phantom of himself,—a conception of himself, that is to say, which B’s mind externalises as a phantom,—he will necessarily project it as though clad in the garments which he is wearing at the time. But we have no grounds for assuming this. Just as B may imagine A as wearing a familiar greatcoat, so may A imagine himself as wearing that coat, whatever be his actual dress at the time.

    Suppose that we dream of calling on a friend. In most cases we dream of ourselves as in ordinary walking attire. It is only rarely that we dream of entering a drawing-room in tiefem négligé,nearly undressed as the Germans put it,—an obscure sense of one’s actual condition entering, with disastrous incoherence, into the feebly co-ordinated story of one’s dream.

    Now, if we are comparing these veridical hallucinations to objectified dreams, we must at least allow for the chance of the dream being the agent’s own; we must not assume that it is always—so to say—dreamt for him by the person to whom he appears. Whatever the agent’s actual dress at the time, all the cases where he appears merely in his usual costume must be set aside as neutral. We cannot press them to prove the origin of the figure in either the one or the other mind.

    Is there, then, any feature to which we can point as undoubtedly due to the workings of the percipient’s mind? anything in the associations of the dress? or in the special symbolism of the apparition? It is plain that associations attaching to A’s dress must be common to A as well as to B. Suppose that B saw the dying A habited in a coat which A wore at B’s wedding, or at some other epochal moment in B’s life. It must still be remembered that that same moment was epochal to A also, in so far as his relation to B was concerned, and that its conscious or unconscious memory may influence A’s conception of himself as bidding B a last farewell. Similarly, a man who recalls his acts of homage to Royalty vaguely feels himself in Court dress; a man who imagines himself talking to a hunting acquaintance has a slight sense—what is called a “phantom” sense—of being on horseback.

    And this ambiguity, I think, attaches to the few cases in which, as Mr. Gurney urges, the “ghosts of old clothes,” in which the phantom appears, indicate the percipient’s memory as the source of that investiture. {ii-297} In Colonel and Mrs. Bolland’s case (201), a scrutiny of the dates and facts given will show that we have no reason to regard Ramsay’s clothes as old,—as otherwise than still the suit in which he would he likely to imagine himself as calling on a former mistress. In case 200, a brother delirious in Australia, and fancying himself at home, appears to his sister on the lawn, “dressed as he usually was when he came home from London, not as he was when he left home, nor as he could be in Australia, nor as I had ever seen him when walking in the garden.” Surely all that this dress implied was the idea of a traveller’s home-coming, which was at any rate the dominant one in the brother’s ravings. Had it been his wonted garden costume, then to my mind the dress, though still

    ambiguous, would have looked more probably referable to the sister’s shaping imagination.

    In a third and fourth case, (No. 202, and p. 546, second note,)[☼] there is an admixture of unexplained grotesqueness, (the lady in a carriage, the boy “enclosed, as it were, in a dark cellar”), which seems to remove these cases into the category next to be considered, namely, where the phantasmal figure is accompanied by symbolism, whose origin we have to ascribe to one or the other mind. Such symbolism, as Mr. Gurney has pointed out, is usually referable to some “mental habit or tradition,” which is probably common to both the minds concerned. One can, of course, imagine a case where the symbolism should be such as the percipient’s mind alone would be likely to think of; as if, for instance, the “thousands of angels as tight as they could be packed,” which (in case 207) are seen surrounding a departed Christian friend, had formed the symbolic escort of a pronounced Agnostic.

    § 20. But in default of such narratives as this, the cases where the influence of the percipient’s idiosyncrasy seems most marked are those where the same percipient has a recurrent symbolical dream, coincident on each occasion with a death or other marked occurrence. We have a few such cases, but in the most remarkable of them (No. 131) the form of the dream is not exactly idiosyncratic, but rather takes on a form with which students of folk-lore are already familiar. The traditions of folk-lore, it may be remarked, form a kind of endemic symbolism, in which both morbid and veridical hallucinations tend to clothe themselves. In some cases we have found a community of Celtic fishermen, or the like, so deeply impregnated with traditions of this kind that we cannot accept their accounts of corpse-candles, &c., though supported by apparent coincidences of fact, as of real evidential value. We are obliged, that is to say, to treat such a community as subject to casual hallucinations, which detract from the importance of such coincidences with objective fact as do from time to time occur. It is {ii-298} only in some of the remoter regions of Wales and Scotland that we have found superstitions of this sort active and definite. But the tendency to the recurrence of some special symbolism—symbolism of which the percipient may never remember to have heard—among the dreams of educated persons, reminds us sometimes of the sporadic endemicity of certain traditions of folk-lore, of which this very tendency may be itself the proximate cause.

    In our present collection, however, we have included very little of such symbolism, and to what there is we can assign no certain origin in agent’s or percipient’s mind.

    § 21. On the whole, then, it seems that we have few indications in the dress or other surroundings of fully-developed veridical phantoms which point conclusively to an origin in the percipient’s mind. Are there instances, on the other hand, which yield the reverse indication? that is, where the dress or imagery seems manifestly traceable to the mind of the agent himself?

    Such indication may conceivably be given in two main ways. The agent’s dress or aspect at the moment may be phantasmally reproduced; or there may be symbolism, not vague or traditional in character, but plainly adapted to communicate some information known to the agent alone.

    Of the first of these classes the reader will have observed a good many examples. There are, first of all, the phantoms in night-dress. In one or two cases (e.g., No. 563,) these are apparitions of persons whom the percipient knows to be dying, and the white dress might, therefore, be suggested by the percipient’s mind. But in other cases (see especially No. 214) there is no expectation of the agent’s death, and the dress astonishes the percipient by its incongruity.

    Still more remarkable are the cases where the dying man appears in a dress which he is actually wearing at the moment, although it is not such as is usually associated with death-beds. The case of Dr. Bowstead (No. 212), commented on by Mr. Gurney, may serve as a type of this class. In such a case as that (to anyone who believes that more than mere chance is involved), it must surely seem more probable that the dress of the phantom was the creation of the dying man’s mind rather than of the mind of the boy to whom that phantom appeared. And it is observable that while such evidence as points to the percipient’s part in shaping these figures is indirect and inferential, the evidence which points to their full-blown projection from the agent’s mind is often as direct and unmistakeable as any evidence on such a point can be expected to be. {ii-299}

    § 22. Next as regards the symbolism which accompanies the figure. The commonest case of symbolism—if such it is to be called—consists in the wet clothes of the apparition of a drowned man. There is possibly something in death by asphyxiation which (as it seems to revive past memories with unusual vividness) predisposes also to telepathic action. At any rate, we have a good many of such cases, and there seems almost always to be some specific indication of the manner of death. “Dripping with water,” “his hair wet,” “pale, sad, and wet,” “looking half-drowned,” such are the phrases which recur. The distinctive mark here is very simple—it may be said to be nothing more than a translation into visibility of the idea “He is drowning.” We might, therefore, suppose that it had perhaps originated in the percipient’s mind. But this view is rendered less plausible by the cases where the apparition presents more detailed marks of accident, change, or disease, as the wound on the chest in case 210, the trembling and pallor in case 527, the grey hair in case 194, and the complex and partly symbolical aspect of the phantom in case 25. It is worth remarking that “N. J. S.” (case 28), who looked carefully at the details of his apparition, is of opinion that the walking-stick which his friend held (but which “N. J. S.” never remembered to have seen him using) was symbolical, and meant to imply departure and a farewell. The case (No. 514) of the lady seen with a lock of hair cut off and a “peculiar light upon her,” presents a somewhat similar mixture of true reproduction and symbolism; and the extraordinary narrative of Sengireef (No. 449), which throughout resembles an extravagant dream, shows that the phantom presented some details (of beard, &c.) which were true and unknown to the percipient. My view in that instance is that the dream in reality was not Madame Aksakoff’s, but Sengireef’s; that its insane strangeness was the reflection of the confused clairvoyance of a delirious monomaniac. With this last case I should compare No. 349: the difference being that here, instead of the sombre wildness of the fanatic, we have the devout aspiration of the Catholic boy. I should explain, that is to say, the figure of St. Stanislaus as the reflected embodiment of a dying dream.

    I have said enough, perhaps, to enable the reader to form his own judgment on this point from the cases recorded in these volumes. On the one hand, if he accepts our general argument as to the connection of purely subjective and veridical hallucinations, he will recognise that there is a certain à priori likelihood that the details of the hallucination will be found to emanate from the percipient’s mind. And he may be disposed to follow Mr. Gurney in classing dubious cases by this presumption; in ranking as exceptional the narratives where the details seem plainly derived from the mind of the agent. If, on the other hand, he views the cases which I have mentioned (and many others which resemble them) in {ii-300} the light in which I have tried to place them, he may recognise that when the apparition does present any distinct details, these are almost always such as the agent’s mind might most naturally have supplied; and that this fact suggests a doubt as to whether there may not be something more than a simple telepathic impulse involved;—whether the obscurer agency of clairvoyance must not here be invoked;—an analogy suggesting that certain modes of supernormal percipience and self-realisation in a distant scene may produce upon the persons placed in that scene an impression as of the actual presence of the clairvoyant among them, in a manner corresponding to his own momentary conception of himself.

    § 23. Connected, in a certain way, with the symbolism of which we have been speaking, is another point of interest in these phantasmal appearances. I mean the difficulty which is sometimes felt in recognising them.

    To begin with, it is no doubt possible to suppose that the percipient’s mind builds up the hallucination, so to say, from some unconscious stratum, so that the conscious self does not at the first moment understand the figure

    presented. This would be a form of gradual development of the quasi-percept which could be paralleled both from ordinary dreams and from automatic writing. I cannot, indeed, find that purely subjective hallucinations ever develop themselves in this way. Yet I should myself see no real difficulty in applying this explanation even to cases where the recognition wholly fails at the time, and is only effected afterwards by conscious reflection. Such a case would resemble the anagrams which an automatic writer will sometimes commit to paper,1 1See Proceedings, S.P.R., Vol. ii., p. 226, &c. without understanding at the time what are the words which his unconscious self has thus concealed in a meaningless group of letters.

    But, nevertheless, some of the recorded particulars seem to point to the simpler explanation—namely, that the phantom’s details were developed independently of the percipient’s mind, and that the figure merely failed in making itself known to him. Sometimes, for example, the percipient looks attentively at the figure, but mistakes it for some one who resembles the person whom the figure is afterwards found to represent.2 2See cases 170 and 171. Sometimes the phantom which the percipient fails to recognise represents a person whom he might equally have failed to recognise in the flesh.3 3See cases 189 and 241. Sometimes a call is repeated, as if in insistant appeal.4 4See especially case 508. And there are a few cases,—we could not expect many,—where a percipient has seen a figure wholly unknown to him, but which he has afterwards been able to identify by circumstantial evidence. Such are cases 544 and 215. Under {ii-301} this category, too, comes the singular apparition detailed in case 30, whatever explanation we may prefer to give to it.

    Cases like these incline me to think that we are still in danger of an old error in a modified form,—the error of attributing too much importance to the person who sees the phantom, because his account of the matter is the only one which we can get. We are, indeed, no longer affected by the crude emotional form of this mistake,—as when the percipient considers the apparition to be a breach of natural laws permitted expressly in favour of himself. But our own conception of the apparition as the result of a telepathic transference of impression from the one to the other mind is apt, I think, to obscure the possibility of generative causes quite apart from any pre-existing rapport between the two persons.

    § 24. Thus, to proceed to the next point which I had selected for notice, it seems to me that the attraction which determines the phantasmal presence is sometimes local rather than personal. This apparent influence of a certain locality may be observed in several different stages. In some cases the phantasmal visitor appears to an acquaintance with whom he has some slight link, and who is also in a spot to which the dying man is attached. Here the telepathic impulse may have been facilitated by the familiar locality. But in a few cases, as already mentioned, the dying man appears to persons with whom he is in no way acquainted. And I believe that in every clear instance of this kind there has been a local attraction, a reason which draws the dying person to that house or field, irrespective of the living persons who may be there at the moment.

    Case 666 is a good example of what I mean.1 1See also case 29, where the phantom would appear to have been more probably interested in a tomb round which the dying person’s eccentric thoughts had so often revolved, than in the ex-gardener who chanced to pass through the familiar churchyard; and case 211, where the dying man seems to have been wishing to see Mr. L., in whose drawin-groom [sic] the phantom appeared, not Miss L., who chanced to be present there. Case 192 is similar. But at the same time it warns me to press my argument no further. For just as in certain dreams, already mentioned, we discerned the point of contact between thought-transference and clairvoyance, so in this appearance, (as it may seem to have been,) of a dying person to the casual inhabitants of her former home we have the point of contact between the topic of this work and the evidence which bears on the haunting of particular spots. To the clairvoyance, when thus confronted with it, I felt able to express a distinct adhesion. But as to the haunting I have no equally clear opinion.

    Now it is probable that what appears to us as local attraction may sometimes be a mere phase of psychical rapport. To explain my meaning, {ii-302} let us assume that all minds whatsoever are telepathically connected, in such a manner that the existence of any given conception in any mind throws that mind into connection with every other mind in which that conception exists at the moment. Let us further suppose that at the hour of death this faint potential rapport is quickened in the same way as the more permanent and individual forms of rapport with which we have mainly had to deal. Then when a man dies et dulcis moriens reminiscitur Argos, and dreaming of dear Argos as he died [Vergil, Aeneid 10.782; trans. Theodore C. Williams, 1910] this remembrance of his early home may bring him into telepathic relation with the stranger now living there, and that stranger may discern the dying man’s phantom merely because the two minds are simultaneously occupied with an identical conception.

    This view, which is practically held by Mr. Gurney, seems to me to express what is probably some part of the truth. I conceive that, if telepathy be a fact, something of diffused telepathic percolation is probably always taking place. This at least is what the analogy of the limitless and continuous action of physical forces would suggest. If I lift my little finger I affect, like Zeno’s sage, the whole universe by my act. I apply a vis a tergo force acting from behind to atoms which, for aught I know, may send my push rolling on to the Pleiades. Or again, the heat, part of which I can by an effort concentrate on an apple in my hand, is in fact radiating continuously from all my organism, and fastest in the direction of readiest conduction. And similarly it is not unreasonable to suppose that the same telergy which is directed in a moment of crisis towards a man’s dearest friend, may be radiating from him always towards all other minds, and chiefly towards the minds which have most in common with his own.

    Yet it seems to me that this is not enough wholly to explain our cases of local attraction. Before we can assume that any perceptible telepathic impact can follow the lines of so transitory and contingent a rapport as that implied, for instance, by Mr. Bard’s presence in Hinxton Churchyard, in case 29, we ought, I think, to have some case where a phantom has appeared to B without previous acquaintance, on the ground of some community of ideas and interest between the two, unconnected with any special locality. Now, so far as I know, there is not, among our cases recognised as telepathic, a single incident of this kind.

    § 25. Here, then, we are again met by this perplexing problem of the relation of psychical operations to space; and although, as already said, I shall avoid any attempt at its discussion in this work, the reader will probably recognise that some such hypothesis as that of an independent clairvoyant perception of the dying man’s, reflected in a correspondingly-localised hallucination for other minds, is strongly suggested by such narratives as these.

    {ii-303}

    There is, however, an obvious difficulty in this view which must be discussed before we go further. I have spoken repeatedly of acts of clairvoyant percipience on the dying man’s part, corresponding to the location and movement of the apparition which the distant friend discerns. But where is the evidence of this clairvoyant percipience? Ought we not to have the dying man’s testimony that he saw his friend as well as the friend’s testimony that he saw the dying man? Ought not the mass of our cases, in this view, to be reciprocal? and is

    not that type, in fact, of very rare occurrence in our collection?

    The difficulty seems formidable; but there is, I think, a sufficient and an instructive reply. To put it in a sentence, the recollection of an act of clairvoyance is itself an occurrence as rare as is the perception of an apparition; it involves the same difficult translation of a quasi-percept from the supernormal to the normal consciousness. The very act of clairvoyance presupposes a psychical condition as far removed as may be from the stream of every-day sensation. The clairvoyance alleged to have been induced by direct experiment, as by mesmeric passes and the like, seems hardly ever to have been remembered by the subject on waking. So also the clairvoyance, on a smaller scale and more resembling hyperæsthesia, which has shown itself in certain cases of spontaneous somnambulism, seems rarely to persist into the normal memory. And, speaking generally, all supernormal operation (so far as we can at present tell) tends to form a secondary memory of its own, alternating with, or apart from, the memory of common life.

    In order, then, that a “reciprocal” case may occur—a case in which A remembers to have had a clairvoyant perception of B and B’s environment, while B also has perceived A’s phantasm at approximately the same time—two chances have to concur, two difficulties to be surmounted,—the difficulty on A’s part of recollecting his clairvoyant percipience, and the difficulty on B’s part of externalising into memorable distinctness the corresponding impression conveyed to him. And we may expect that it will be hard to get a complete or stable account of so hazardous a transmission as this,—a kind of signalling between boats one of which expects no signal, and which come in sight of each other only when they both chance to be riding for a moment on the crest of a wave.

    § 26. Nay, more; in most cases the signalling boat can only produce a momentary flash, and sinks to the bottom directly after. In other words the agent dies; and if indeed he has enjoyed a clairvoyant percipience of B (who saw his phantom), he at any rate cannot return and tell us. The great bulk of what might have been evidence to the reciprocality of supernormal percipience is thus destroyed at a blow.

    {ii-304}

    Not even here, however, need we abandon all hope of getting at some fragments of evidence. The last words, the last gestures of dying men, which have been noted so eagerly by many a religious, and many a self-seeking bystander, may have for us an interest unconnected either with their form of creed or with their testamentary dispositions. Nothing; perhaps, has been so little looked for at death-beds as the special indications which we desire,—indications not of a first perception of another world, but of a last of this. Yet there are scattered tokens of some such supernormal percipience on the part of dying men, which carry us from mere vague expressions to distinct statements as to the distant person who has been clairvoyantly seen. Thus in case 309 the dying woman’s statement is merely to be noted in connection with others of more weight. Case 296 must either be dismissed as a mere coincidence, of a very extraordinary kind, or accepted as an almost typical instance of what might, on my hypothesis, be expected to occur. Case 303 points in the same direction. Case 683, though well attested, is one whose bizarrerie may disincline the reader to attach to it the weight which I think that it ought to carry. On looking closer the reader will see that there are other features in that account besides mere grotesqueness; features which are very unlikely to depend upon any failure, or any embellishment, of memory. And if, as I am disposed to believe, what is there implied did actually occur, few words of men momentarily recalled from death have had a stranger significance.

    Then we come to cases where there is a distinct statement of the dying person’s. In this connection, case 354 seems to me important. It is remote, no doubt; but Miss W. has herself told me, with an earnestness that I cannot doubt, that it was, in a sense, the turning incident of her life, having excited a very marked influence on her character. Then there is case 612, and the parallel example given in the note on that case. Now I do not say that it is impossible that any one of these cases may have been merely subjective on the one part, though veridical on the other; so that Miss W’s. dying aunt, for instance, only fancied that she saw her niece, while the niece did actually behold a phantom of her aunt at a corresponding time. But I doubt whether many minds will rest at this point precisely. Those who believe in the reality of the one experience will probably believe in the reality of the other; remembering that a dying person’s object is not to collect evidence, and that it must be a mere chance whether he mentions any incident which can vouch to others for the genuineness of his clairvoyant perception.

    I will conclude this section with a narrative whose accuracy there is no reason to doubt, though, on the other hand, it contains no complete proof of anything beyond a mere subjective hallucination. It finds therefore, no {ii-305} place in our array of evidence; but it will have an interest to those who have followed the present argument, as illustrating an occurrence which, in my view, must probably often take place, though it can seldom leave any record behind it. For here we have an account of that side only of the reciprocal incident which is usually lost to human knowledge altogether;—I mean of the supernormal percipience of a man in the very article of death; while there is no record of any corresponding sound or vision as experienced by those to whom he seemed to pay his visit of farewell.

    Dr. Ormsby writes as follows from Murphysborough, Illinois.

    “April 22nd, 1884.

    “I received my degree from Rush Medical College, Chicago, Ill., at the close of the session 1857–8, and having said so much will proceed to give you as clear and complete a statement of the occurrence to which you allude as I can. Early in February, 1862, the 18th Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, of which I was Assistant-Surgeon, was ordered from Cairo to join in the attack on Fort Henry. The surgeon went with the regiment, and left me with the sick in the Regimental Hospital—about 30—among whom was Albert Adams, sergeant-major of the regiment. He was an intelligent and estimable young man, who had recently been in attendance, and I think graduated at a Literary College. I had removed young Adams from the hospital proper to a room in a private house—one that had been quite large—but a smaller room had been partitioned off at one end with a board partition, which was, I think, canvassed and papered; and in the smaller room so partitioned off was my wife, who is now, besides myself, the only person who heard the speaking whose whereabouts I know. Seeing the young man would die, I had telegraphed, and his father came at 4 or 5 p.m. During all the afternoon he could only speak in whispers, and at 11 p.m. he to all appearance died. I was standing beside his father by the bed, and when we thought him dead the old man put forth his hand and closed the mouth of the corpse (?), and I, thinking he might faint in the keenness of his grief, said ‘Don’t do that! perhaps he will breathe again,’ and immediately led him to a chair in the back part of the room, and returned, intending to bind up the fallen jaw and close the eyes myself. As I reached the bedside the supposed dead man looked suddenly up in my face and said, ‘Doctor, what day of the month is it?’ I told him the day of the month, and he answered, ‘That is the day I died.’ His father had sprung to the bedside, and turning his eyes on him, he said, ‘Father, our boys have taken Fort Henry, and Charlie’ (his brother) ‘isn’t hurt. I’ve seen mother and the children, and they are well.’ He then gave quite {ii-306} comprehensive directions regarding his funeral, speaking of the corpse as ‘my body,’ and occupying, I should think, as much as five minutes. He then turned towards me, and again said, “Doctor, what day of the month is it?’ and when I answered him as before, he again repeated, ‘That’s the day I died,’ and instantly was dead. His tones were quite full and distinct, and so loud as to be readily heard in the adjoining room, and were so heard by Mrs. Ormsby. Now, this is very remarkable, but perhaps little more so than the fact (which is true) that I have forgotten the day of the month on which it occurred.

    “(Signed) “O. B. ORMSBY, M.D.”

    In reply to some questions referring to a briefer account first given, Dr. Ormsby writes on December 28th, 1883:—

    “The fort was taken and the brother uninjured, as I learned when a few days afterward I went forward to the regiment. I never learned whether or not that which was said of the family was correct. The name of the soldier was Albert Adams, a young man of unexceptionable moral character and good education. He was then sergeant-major of his

    regiment. I understand that his father has been dead several years. I do not now recollect what other parties were present in the room besides myself and the young man’s father, though there were several, but as we were almost strangers to each other, and soon separated, I could not expect to be able to trace them. The young man occupied a room, not in the hospital proper, which was crowded, but in a private dwelling where he could have the entire room. The next room, communicating with this by a door, I occupied as a sleeping room, and my wife, who was then on a visit, was in that room, with the door closed. I have just asked her whether she heard the words of the dying soldier, and she answers that she did, informing me that the partition between the rooms was of boards, papered, and that young Adams, instead of saying ‘Our forces,’ &c., said ‘Our boys.’ I learned nothing of any wraith or appearance to anyone.

    “(Signed) “O. B. ORMSBY, M.D.”

    § 27. But apart from these cases where the evidence is barred by death, there are many others, as I have already implied, where the agent-percipient—the man whose clairvoyant perception has given rise to a corresponding hallucination in other minds—seems to be unable to recount his side of the experience simply because in his normal state he has forgotten it. In our rare narratives of a voluntary self-projection, this seems to have been the case on each occasion. The friend of the Rev. W. S. Moses, who appeared to him, (case 13,) had no recollection of the fact, but an unaccustomed headache may have been a trace of some forgotten psychical effort. In Mr. S. H. B.’s cases (Nos. 14, 15, and 16,) the {ii-307} projection of the phantom was unremembered, and could only be effected during slumber, or if it was attempted during waking hours, the concentration of mind which was needed seemed to induce slumber.1 1See case 215 (Vol. i., p. 567), where Mrs. W.’s “trance-state” was semi-voluntary.

    § 28. Passing from these voluntary cases to the spontaneous cases, I would ask the reader’s attention, for instance, to case 100. From an evidential point of view, I agree with Mr. Gurney that, while regarding the case as a well-marked dream of telepathic origin, we cannot press the details—the memory of the hotel-passages and of Lieutenant O.’s bed-chamber. What entitles the narrative to a place in this book is the striking time-coincidence—not the details, which might have been “read back” into the half-recollected vision. But, on the other hand, if the incident were telepathic at all, there must have been some modus operandi; Mr. Allbree’s dream must have had some sort of content; Lieutenant O.’s psychical appeal must have taken effect in some particular way. And if any hypothesis at all is to be formed on the matter, are not the recorded facts best met by the hypothesis that Lieutenant O.’s crisis evoked a clairvoyant percipience in Mr. Allbree just as the mesmeriser is said to evoke it in the sleep-waking subject? and that Mr. Allbree seemed to himself to pass through the surroundings and into the presence of his friend? and that on waking the memory of all this was gone from him, though it was afterwards revived by the bodily sight of the scene which he had already supernormally discerned?

    Let us see, however, what kind of probability is given to this view by the records of cases where something of the invaded scene has remained in the recollection of the invader. I am forced, for clearness’ sake, to use this new metaphorical term, since the words agent and percipient are no longer sufficiently distinctive, the agent in these cases being, in my view, the primary percipient also. The metaphor of invasion may be justified by the fact that in these reciprocal cases A and B always agree as to the scene where the apparition occurred. It is never (with one or two dubious exceptions) the case that A thinks that he discerned B in B’s house, while B thinks that he, on his part, was transported to A’s house and saw A there. On the contrary, if A fixes the scene as in B’s house, there does B fix it too, a fact which is just what the present hypothesis would lead us to expect. This apparent localisation in one or the other entourage is all that my metaphor of invasion is here intended to suggest.

    Let us briefly consider the amount of subsequent memory shown in a few instances by a waking, a sleeping, and an entranced invader.

    §29. First, as regards the cases of invasion by a waking agent. These, {ii-308} in my view, are likely to be scanty and incomplete. I conceive that it is seldom that the sense of transference to a distant locality can be strong enough in waking life to give rise to the correspondent impression in other minds. And in this group it seems to me natural to find the confused or inchoate reciprocity—if such indeed it were—of case 304. But we have also case 307, where Mr. L. seems to have fallen into a deep reverie resembling Mr. S. H. B.’s (Nos. 14, 15, and 16), though in Mr. S. H. B.’s case the reverie passed on into sleep. Case 617, again, perhaps supplies a kind of faint or transitional instance, which may indicate the way in which the occupation of two persons with the idea of each other may pass into something like a reciprocal hallucination.

    Here too, if anywhere, must be placed the anomalous case No. 642—recalling, on the one hand, the most recent experiments of the communication of hallucinations to hypnotised subjects; on the other hand, the old accounts of so-called “obsession.”

    § 30. More numerous are the cases where a sleeping person’s clairvoyant vision of a distant scene has evoked a corresponding impression of his own presence in the minds of persons situated in that scene, and has also persisted into his own waking memory. Two striking cases have been quoted, Nos. 35 and 306. In these cases not only is the dream (so to say) acted out, but the clairvoyant retains a memory of actual circumstances, of the true positions and actions of the persons clairvoyantly discerned. In some other cases,—Nos. 94 and 301,—the incidents, as recollected on both sides, are dreamlike, but the locality of the visionary incident is agreed on by both persons concerned. We seem, therefore, to have here another transitional case, a transition between mere simultaneous dreams and the kind of clairvoyant invasion with which I am now concerned. Again, case 271, which touches the very nadir of triviality, seems to me on that account all the more instructive. I cannot think that a mere dream on Mr. Pike’s part that he was calling for hot water,—a condition as far removed from “death or crisis” as can well be conceived,—would so strongly have affected the servant in his distant home. I conceive that the efficacy of the dream depended on his conception of himself as actually standing at his bedroom door; so that this, too, was a case of clairvoyant invasion, though the scene invaded was so commonplace that it left with the dreamer no memory of anything otherwise unknown. And this example, in its turn, may throw light on some less-developed clairvoyant dreams,—as for instance case 412,—where the dreamer’s invasion was not manifested by any phantasmal sight or sound, though the trivial scene was recollected on awakening

    {ii-309}

    § 31. Still more propitious, in my view, to this mode of psychical interaction is a state of trance, or even of delirium, on the part of the percipient-agent, though here the profoundly abnormal state must usually preclude all recollection. Specially instructive in this connection is case 308, where the boy whose call was heard in the place where he feverishly conceived himself to be,—or at least in the field of his clairvoyant perception,—was afterwards entirely oblivious of that momentary rapport with his distant sister and friend. It is observable that the evidential value of this case depends on the accident that a watcher was present with the boy, and noted the almost automatic exclamation which his sudden vision evoked. Had there been no one thus present with him, the call of “Connie! Margaret!” would have ranked as a well-marked collective hallucination of a purely subjective kind. To this class also belong Mr. Cromwell Varley’s singular narratives (Nos. 84 and 305), which again, bring us round to the cases where the clairvoyant invasion is apparently facilitated by the hour of dissolution itself.

    Lastly, while these pages are passing through the press, we have received a striking case where memory of what was perceived in the hypnotic trance persisted into normal consciousness;—namely, Mr. Cleaver’s narrative (case 685, in the Additional Chapter) of his attempts first to see, and then to be seen by a distant friend. The sequence of incidents is curiously concordant with the theory which has been expressed above. First, the steady gaze of the friend who operated threw Mr. Cleave into unconsciousness. Then a new consciousness showed him the face of the distant lady, “which gradually became plainer and plainer until I seemed to be in another room altogether, and could detail minutely all the surroundings.”

    This process was several times repeated: and he at last succeeded, (as he, at least, conceives the occurrence,) “in making himself seen by” the lady in question. Twice she saw him; and on the second occasion, at least, he perceived that she saw him, and noted where she was, and in what company.1 1The boy who was with her seems to have seen nothing; but this fact is quite consistent with my view. (See p. 290.) Now there will probably be some readers who, even after all the evidence which these volumes contain, will set aside Mr. Cleave’s narrative as merely incredible. But among those who are by this time prepared to accept it as an honest and careful record of fact and impression, few, I think, will argue that Mr. Cleave’s own impressions were purely subjective, though the lady’s were veridical;—that she genuinely saw his phantasm in the place from which he imagined himself to be looking at her, while yet this imagination of his was merely fanciful, and his supposed perception of her amid her actual surroundings of the moment, a {ii-310} mere chance coincidence. Rather they will hold that he saw her before she saw him; that it was because his centre of observation was in some sense transferred to the Wandsworth dining-room that she saw his phantasm standing in that dining-room;—that, in short, as I have already expressed it, “correspondently with clairvoyant perception there was phantasmogenetic efficacy.”

    § 32. I do not propose to enter here into a detailed criticism of the mass of narratives which this book contains. Many of them, I think, need, for the purpose of any instructive analysis, an experience of these phenomena far wider than we as yet possess. But I have said, perhaps, enough to enable the reader to detect for himself, in many other cases, indications of some such clairvoyant invasion as I have endeavoured to describe. The cases which I have selected for notice have some of them been of strange and aberrant types; but I wished to show that the scheme of psychical interaction here suggested does at any rate offer an appropriate niche to nearly every well-attested phenomenon which our collection includes. It may at least be useful to have, as it were, a Linnæan system under which all our cases can be conveniently docketed, even though we may as yet be far enough from discerning their “natural order” or truest affinity.

    For clearness’ sake, I will briefly trace the steps by which, as I conceive the matter, our veridical phantasms gradually approach that reciprocal character which forms their complete or ultimate form.

    First come the numerous cases which are too faintly defined for specification—cases where the impression transferred retains a frankly psychical character, where neither is a distant scene supernormally discerned, nor does anyone amid his ordinary surroundings discern a phantasmal visitant. There is here no illusion of space-relations,—merely an emotional or ideational affection of the percipient’s consciousness. In most of these cases all that we can say is that some telepathic action has taken place. And the terms agent and percipient serve to express all that we know of the process; namely, that on one side there is either death, or some crisis, or at least some concentration of thought; while on the other side something is felt or perceived which corresponds in some way with the agent’s unusual agitation.

    But now let us go on to cases which have reached a further stage of development. After passing through certain intermediate stages,—visions in the mind’s eye, &c.,—we arrive at cases where a spatial element is apparently introduced; that is to say, the phenomenon, whatever it is, bears reference to a special scene; and when this scene is well-defined, and the two or more persons concerned retain a memory of the incident, it {ii-311} is found that they all agree as to what the scene was. It is rarely, however, that a reciprocity of impression can be satisfactorily attested; one or the other side of that phenomenon is usually aborted or absent. And according as the one or the other side emerges into normal consciousness, we regard the incident as belonging to one of two main classes; it may be a perception of the scene by a distant person, or it may be the perception of a distant person as forming a part of that scene.

    And as the terms agent and percipient now become inadequate, I am forced to use an avowed metaphor, and to speak of the person who discerns the distant scene as the clairvoyant invader, whose figure is sometimes discerned in the invaded scene. Now the clairvoyant invader must be regarded as primarily a percipient; for his first function, so to say, is to discern the distant scene. But this discernment of his may fail to subsist into his waking or normal memory, or instant death may intercept his recital thereof, so that there may be no evidence to show that he was clairvoyant at all. And, on the other hand, since his clairvoyant perception is sometimes accompanied with a corresponding phantasmogenetic efficacy,—since his supernormal invasion of the scene may generate in the denizens of that scene a hallucinatory perception of a supernormal invader,—we have cases in which this invader, (though on my theory primarily a percipient,) appears in our evidence purely as an agent: so that A dies and A’s phantom appears to B, and A is set down simply as an agent, and B is set down as the only percipient concerned. But in such cases I hold that A is quite as truly a percipient as B is; but that the shifting of the threshold of consciousness which accompanied his perception,—whether that shift were from waking to sleep-waking or from life to death,—prevents him, even if his consciousness is shifted back again, from recalling or recording that perception as a link in his chain of normal memories.

    § 33. Now let us turn our attention for a moment to the other person concerned in the phenomenon; to the denizen, that is to say, of the invaded scene. He is (it is plain) frequently a percipient; unless he perceived the phantasmal invader we should often be ignorant that any invasion had taken place. But is he ever to be considered as an agent too? Yes, I hold that in certain cases he is an agent in somewhat the same sense as a mesmerist is an agent when he induces clairvoyance in a subject. In that case I hold that a certain influence (I know not what) from the mesmerist evokes or disengages in the subject a pre-existent but non-manifest capacity of supernormal percipience, which first places that subject in rapport with the ideas or sensations of the mesmerist himself (as in experiments of our own, and other cases, to be found especially in Supplement, Chap. I.), but {ii-312} which ultimately, in some few well-attested cases, does actually extend the subject’s percipience beyond the range either of his own or of his mesmeriser’s normal powers of sense. And somewhat similarly, I hold that if a man is dying or deeply agitated, and his friend, gifted with much latent capacity of supernormal percipience, is asleep at a distance, then some influence from the dying man may evoke or direct that percipience in the friend, so that he becomes cognisant first, perhaps, of the deathbed scene as realised by the dying man himself, but ultimately of that scene as it might be realised by an independent entrant, including casual denizens unnoticed by the dying man, but who may perhaps, on their part, discern the friend’s phantasmal invasion, and thus be percipients without being agents (as in case 30); while perhaps the dying man, who is in reality the determining cause of that phantasmal invasion, may attain to no perception of it whatever.

    § 34. “But,” someone will say, “are you not here introducing a cross-division? You have spoken hitherto of A as enabled by his own death to make a clairvoyant invasion of the scene where B sits in a normal condition. You now speak of A as enabled by B’s death to make a similar invasion of the scene where B lies dying. You are thus classing the dying man alternately as the invader and as the invaded; and yet surely he who is undergoing this profoundest of all crises ought always to be ranged on the same side in whatsoever psychical interaction you are assuming; there cannot be other psychical conditions more marked and determinant than his.” I have led up to a statement of this difficulty because I believe that the answer, if we ever attain to more than a glimpse of it, will involve that true principle of classification which we are still seeking. And as a hint towards such reply I will repeat what has been already suggested, namely, that the right way of regarding these startling incidents is not as isolated psychical operations, but rather as emergent manifestations of psychical operations which are continuous, though latent; and which belong, not so much to the self of which we are habitually conscious, as to a hidden chain of mentation, which, for aught we know, may comprise a continuity of supernormal percipience or activity. When therefore, B is dying and A has a clairvoyant dream, as of presence at the deathbed, the relation between B and A with which we have to deal is not the mere external relation between agony on the one side and repose on the other. It is a relation between that specific supernormal activity which accompanies death and that specific supernormal activity which accompanies slumber. And though the death is still the prime factor in the resultant interactions, we cannot say à priori what the scene of interaction in any given case will be;—whether {ii-313} there will be an invasion by the dying man of the sleeper’s chamber, or by the sleeper of the dying man’s.

    I will illustrate my meaning by a modification of an analogy which I have elsewhere employed. I compare our conscious existence to a barge floating down the Arve, where it flows side by side, but as yet unmingled with the Rhone; the water round our keel is habitually turbid and opaque, but occasionally an inequality of river-bed, a clash of currents, swings us for a moment into the more pellucid Rhone. The Rhone—our unconscious self—flows on as continuously as the Arve, but the barge enters it only by moments, and those moments may be determined by changes in the Rhone’s bed as well as in the Arve’s. For the most part, the reef which raises breakers in the one stream will raise them in the other also; and imminent death, for instance, may jerk us into clairvoyance by a shock communicated at once to our conscious and to our unconscious being. But there may also be crises which involve not so much a confusion of the normal life as an expansion or liberation of the supernormal; and when we become clairvoyant in deep sleep or the mesmeric trance this is because the turbid waters are running in a narrower channel, and the barge sways into the broadening current of the pellucid stream. Again, there may be crises which are merely dissociative or disintegrant; where the barge poises on the very boundary line between the two currents, and both streams of personality are manifested at once. It is thus that I explain Mrs. Newnham’s case (Vol. I., p. 63–9), where the intelligence which wrote the replies to unseen questions would seem to have consisted of an unconscious current of Mrs. Newnham’s own existence, exercising supernormal percipience, but dreamlike and incomplete in co-ordinating power. And with Mrs. Newnham’s case I should compare certain cases which bear, indeed, no plain resemblance thereto, and which Mr. Gurney has treated as almost obviously morbid and delusive,—cases where the “double of a living person has been seen together with that person himself. Take the most bizarre of these cases, that of Mrs. Hall, (No. 333,) where, as a lady sits at table with three friends, her phantom semblance is seen by herself and by all present, standing at the end of the sideboard. Now the analogy between Mrs. Newnham and Mrs. Hall seems to me to be this; that in the compound personality of each of them the “critical point” of dissociation was reached (so to say) at a very low temperature.1 1 I should explain in the same way cases 327, 328, 329, 348. Note that the girl seen in case 329 had previously been phantasmally seen, (like Mrs. Stone,) in the same apparently casual way. In Mrs. Newnham’s case, her unconscious self exercised supernormal percipience, and manifested itself by controlling her motor system, while her conscious self maintained its ordinary way. In Mrs. Hall’s case, her unconscious self, assuming a too facile independence, and possibly exercising a {ii-314} supernormal percipience, manifested itself by its phantasmogenetic efficacy while her conscious self was unaware of any inward excitement or “shearing stress.” I venture, however, to surmise that had Mrs. Hall been thrown into a mesmeric trance directly after her “double” had shown itself, she might have remembered contemplating the room as though from the position which the “double” appeared to occupy.

    § 35. There is thus a point of view from which these “apparitions of the double” represent the most developed type to which our veridical phantasms can attain. But in the process of development their veridicality, so to say, has become a quite subsidiary thing. Mrs. Stone’s double1 1See p. 85. Observe that in one of Mrs. Stone’s cases her consciousness seemed for the moment to become external to her ordinary self,—the barge, floating on the dividing line between the two currents, swayed momentarily into the Rhone. was, I believe, veridical, in the sense that it announced the fact of an exceptionally easy dissociation between the currents of her being. But this was not a fact of evidential value—it was not supported, as our cases in general are, by any coincidence with an external and objective incident.

    Our preferable type, therefore, of a fully-developed veridical hallucination,—the “perfect flower” to which we may, for clearness’ sake, suppose that so many rudimentary or partially-aborted psychical efflorescences are tending to conform themselves,—will be a complete case of reciprocal percipience, where the dying A clairvoyantly perceives B in B’s entourage, and narrates that experience, while at the same time B discerns A’s phantasmal figure in a place corresponding to that from which A conceives himself to be exercising his supernormal vision. In such a type as this, I conceive, the phenomena which we investigate separately under the titles of thought-transference, clairvoyance, apparitions, mix and meet; and though their very juxtaposition suggests fresh difficulties, these, as I claim, are not imported by any theorising of mine, but are inherent in all attempts to correlate things psychical with physical things. As regards the relation of this clairvoyant perception, this phantasmogenetic energy, to space and matter, the theory here advanced leaves us entirely uncommitted. This book, indeed, contains no evidence of any real or registrable action of psychical energy on molecular matter; and much evidence that an apparent action on matter may turn out to be of a quite hallucinatory kind. And as regards space we are left equally at liberty to suppose that the psychical energy here attributed to our own being, or to a part of our own being, operates in ordinary three-dimensional space, or in four-dimensional space (if that exists), or that it does not really operate in space at all, though its effects be necessarily apprehended as in space by the normal consciousness.

    § 36. Such emphatic expressions of ignorance as these must go hand in {ii-315} hand with any attempt at positive theorising. Our endeavour must be to give to our strange and scattered phenomena enough of coherence and co-ordination to enable the reader’s mind to grasp them and work upon them, while we expressly avoid any such self-committal to any one hypothesis as may constrain rather than guide inquiry. In so new a subject, if the need of this resolute open-mindedness be recognised from the first, there should be little difficulty in maintaining it. The mere popular prepossessions which encumber the outset of our inquiry may readily be swept aside; and we must then watch that no dogmatic statement, unprovable by the evidence, be raised into authority in their room. Thus the writers who speak of a “force neurique rayonnante,” of “brain-waves,” of “ondulationnisme,” of a “mentiferous ether,” as if these were more

    than purely metaphorical expressions, seem to me to be falling into the same error which has encumbered hypnotic experiment with the question-begging terms of “animal magnetism” and “electro-biology.” Let us use every analogy which helps us, but let us recognise that nothing has been discovered which shows that thought-transference has anything to do with ether or with vibrations. Everything in the universe may be reducible to vibrations, for aught we know; but until some definite experiment, as of reflection, interference, or the like, can be brought forward to connect telepathy with ether-waves, it is surely safer to avoid using that analogy in a way which suggests that it has a prior right over many others which might be proposed.

    For our own part, though obliged by the very structure of language to make frequent use of terms which are primarily of physical import, we have kept as much as possible to the simplest, and have spoken of the telepathic impulse or impact for sheer lack of expressions more abstract still. We have varied the metaphor by suggesting that the brief energy of the psychical element in man which seems to accompany physical dissolution recalled the momentary energy of combination possessed, say, by “nascent hydrogen,” hydrogen just released from union with some other element. Electrical action, too—itself so unexplained—has furnished us with several parallels, and Mr. Gurney (p. 270) has especially pointed to its latent pervasiveness, its seemingly accidental manifestations.

    And yet again, the views suggested in this paper lead us on to a novel range of analogy. The conception of a percipient reciprocity, the hints which have seemed to come to us of the perpetual but unmanifested operation of an unconscious element in our own being;—these notions lift us above the conception of mere mechanical interforces, and suggest a more vital communication. In the relation of the cell to the complex organism,—in the relation of the diffused and multiplex “colonial consciousness” of the sponge or the hydrozoon to the concentrated consciousness {ii-316} of man;—here, it may be, are analogies which have a psychical counterpart behind the scenes of sense. When from these dim and incoordinated beginnings the individuation of the human animal has risen complete; when the hierarchy of his nervous centres has led up to highest centres which represent and govern his entire organism at once;—then we are accustomed to start, as it were, afresh, and to conceive his hardly-won unity as an elemental unit in a larger integration. We speak of him as a ζῶον πολιτικόν, as a “member of the body politic,” as a component item in that Leviathan whose monstrous semblance, in Hobbes’ frontispiece, is packed together from a myriad visages of men. But the growth of the social organism is rather a psychical than a physical thing. It may take outward form in railway or telegraph, but its vitality lies in the inter-connection of cognate minds, in the differentiations and integrations of the thought and emotion of speaking men. A common interest, a common passion, is the vein or nerve which interlinks and modifies the monotonous isolation of individual lives. Is it not, then, conceivable that in these direct telepathic transferences between mind and mind—these associations which seem to effect themselves beyond our threshold of consciousness, and only to startle us by their occasional intrusion into the field of sense—we may be gaining a first glimpse of a process of psychical evolution, as true and actual as any in the physical world? of some incipient organic solidarity between the psychical units which we call man and man? Perhaps beneath the body politic a soul politic is integrating itself unseen;— totamque infusa per artus
    Mens agitat molem, et magno se corpore miscet.
    [Translation]one common soul / Inspires and feeds, and animates the whole. [Vergil, Aeneid 6.726–27; trans. John Dryden]
    Let this analogy take its place with the rest. It is too soon, indeed, to detect the law of these operations, but not too soon to affirm confidently that these operations obey their certain law; it is too soon to discern in this inextricabilis errorlabyrinthine maze [Vergil, Aeneid 6.27; trans. Theo. Williams, 1910] the path by which Evolution seeks its goal, but not too soon to be assured that it is the principle of Evolution itself which, like Dædalus, cœca regens filo vestigia, guiding blind steps with a thread [Vergil, Aeneid 6.30]; "cœca" should be "cæca" will in its own time unlock the labyrinth which its own magic force has made; will conduct us from physical to psychical, perhaps from terrene to transcendent things.

    F. W. H. M.

    {ii-317} {ii-318} {ii-319}

    SUPPLEMENT.

    *** The Supplement does not include the Additional Chapter at the end of the volume, which is to be regarded as belonging to the main body of the work.

    {ii-320} {ii-321}

    SUPPLEMENT.

    INTRODUCTION.

    § 1. THE supplementary evidence now to be presented, like the larger body of the work, consists of two parts, pertaining respectively to experimental and to spontaneous telepathy.

    The experimental cases, which will be given in the first chapter, are all connected with a more or less abnormal state of the percipient; and they belong for the most part to the transitional class,1 1To such cases I have attached numbers, they being parallel to the cases in Vol. i., Chap. iii., where the numbering of examples began. The cases where the percipient was (certainly or possibly) aware of being the subject of an experiment, are given without numbers—not as an indication of evidential inferiority, but because of practical difficulties, a whole series of experiments having often been made on a single occasion. where the mind of the agent is fixed on the sensation or idea which he desires to transfer, but the percipient is not aware that any experiment is being tried. Some of the cases are even spontaneous, in so far as the agent himself was not at the moment concentrating his attention on the effect to be produced; but they are experimental in the sense that they have belonged to a course of hypnotic treatment, deliberately pursued during a considerable period.

    The subsequent chapters will be devoted to spontaneous phenomena, belonging to the various groups which have been already passed in review. And in relation to this branch of the subject, I must ask the reader throughout to bear in mind what the Supplement professes, or rather what it does not profess, to be.

    § 2. It does not constitute a case on which we should have felt that the reality of telepathy could be safely based.

    It includes, in the first place, a large number of first-hand narratives where, for various reasons, the chance of error in some vital point seems less improbable than in those hitherto quoted. A detailed preliminary survey of these various reasons is scarcely necessary; the reader of the 4th chapter of the preceding volume will readily picture them, and they will be abundantly noted in connection with the testimony to which they apply. The chief points are {ii-322} naturally those which introduce a doubt as to the closeness of the alleged coincidence, or as to the unique or highly exceptional character of the percipient’s impression.

    In the second place, a large number of the included narratives are second-hand. They are of a good type, no doubt; being received not from persons who have only casually heard the first-hand account without any opportunities of judging of its correctness, but from persons for the most part intimately connected with the original witness, and well assured at any rate of his conviction as to the truth of what he told, and of the impression which the experience had made on him.1 1As an illustration of the difference, see Colonel V.’s case below, Chap. V., §3, and the note thereon. Of the majority of these narratives, we think that the fair conclusion would be that, though possibly or probably inaccurate in minor points, they faithfully present the

    essential point which bears on the telepathic theory. But I cannot make the justice of this view evident; no such defence of it can be given as was attempted in Chapter IV. of the first volume, in respect of the first-hand testimony. It is an instinct, rather than a logically-grounded opinion—and is, in fact, the slowly-formed result of a very large amount of labour in the sifting and comparing of records, and in the examination of witnesses. But though the view cannot be proved correct, I may remind the reader that we who hold it have had exceptional opportunities of appreciating to the full the dangers which truth runs in passing from mouth to mouth; that we believe we do appreciate those dangers to the full; and that signs of this have not been lacking in the course of the work. And it may, I think, be taken as a further sign of such appreciation that we feel ourselves unable to regard the immense number of bonâ fide records that remain to be presented, as amounting to any sort of independent proof of our case.

    § 3. But in saying that our case could not be properly regarded as proved by the Supplement alone, I am far from saying that it is not supported. If the existence of spontaneous telepathy were a certainty, many of the experiences which follow might almost certainly be referred to it; and in proportion as the existence of spontaneous telepathy is probable, may they with probability be referred to it. The bonâ fide evidence for them exists, and has to be accounted for; and to us it seems just of the sort that we should expect to find, and exhibits just the sort of shortcomings that we should expect to find, on the hypothesis that telepathy is really a fact in Nature. This statement {ii-323} will of course not have any weight with those who differ from us, on à priori grounds, from the very outset. Such persons may, and indeed almost must, affirm that the far stronger body of evidence which has been already passed in review is just what they would expect to find, on the hypothesis that telepathy is not a fact in Nature. Their position here would perhaps be stronger if they had actually made this affirmation before the body of evidence was there. It at any rate does not seem certain that those who have dogmatically asserted that there are no sober first-hand accounts of, e.g., apparitions at death from educated and unhysterical witnesses—or that there are not more than the very few which the doctrine of chances will at once account for—would have been ready, when our inquiry was taken up, to contradict themselves by predicting that many scores of such accounts could be had for the asking. But however that may be, my remarks are addressed only to those who would admit that the evidence already presented constitutes at least a solid argument for the reality of spontaneous telepathy. And these persons will probably agree, if a considerable number of cases are so attested that the rejection of the telepathic explanation of them would involve great improbabilities, that then (1) it is natural that a considerable number of cases should also be so attested that the rejection of the telepathic explanation of them would involve less, but still considerable, improbabilities; (2) the more completely evidenced cases establish a presumption that some, at any rate, of the less completely evidenced cases are genuine; and (3) the general objection to the reality of the class of phenomena, as out of relation to the general experience of mankind, is legitimately diminished by taking into account all the cases which, if the cause that we suggest be a reality, would more reasonably be referred to it than to any other cause. These last words of course involve the whole judgment of what follows; and I hope that, on the whole, they will seem defensible. In this, that, or the other case, a mistake may be easily imaginable. But here, as before, it may be represented that the argument is cumulative; that the body of narratives, as it stands, is harmonious and sober in character; that they introduce none of the obvious marvels which popular superstition is so ready to supply (Vol. I., p. 165); that they never pass the line up to which the more completely evidenced cases have carried us;—and that such are not the natural results of unconscious invention or exaggeration, playing at random over hundreds of disconnected instances.

    {ii-324}

    CHAPTER I.

    FURTHER EXAMPLES OF THOUGHT-TRANSFERENCE, PRINCIPALLY IN HYPNOTIC CASES.

    § 1. THIS chapter will contain some specimens of the older observations in “thought-transference” referred to in Vol. I., p. 12; and also a few more recent instances.

    I will take first the most rudimentary transferences—those of tastes and pains.

    Mr. Esdaile, for many years Presidency Surgeon in Calcutta, whose observations on hypnotic phenomena now form an accepted part of physiological science, gives the following case of transference of taste between himself and a patient whom he had mesmerised (Practical Mesmerism, p. 125). The subject was a young Hindoo, Baboo Mohun Mittre, who had been operated upon painlessly whilst in the mesmeric trance.

    “One day that the Baboo came to the hospital to pay his respects, after getting well, I took him into a side room, and mesmerising him till he could not open his eyes, I went out and desired my assistant surgeon to procure me some salt, a slice of lime, a piece of gentian, and some brandy, and to give them to me in any order he pleased, when I opened my mouth. We returned, and blindfolding Lallee Mohun, I took hold of both his hands: and, opening my mouth, had a slice of half-rotten lime put into it by my assistant. Having chewed it, I asked, ‘Do you taste anything?’ ‘Yes, I taste a nasty old lime’: and he made wry faces in correspondence. He was equally correct with all the other substances, calling the gentian by its native name, cheretta; and when I tasted the brandy, he said it was Shrâ (the general name for wine and spirits). Being asked what kind, he said, ‘What I used to drink—brandy.’ For I am happy to say he is cured of his drunken habits (formerly drinking two bottles of brandy a day) as well as of his disease.”

    The Rev. C. H. Townshend, in his Facts in Mesmerism, gives several examples. (See especially pp. 68, 72, 76, 122, 150, 151, 184.) The following experiments were made on a servant of his own, in {ii-325} whom he had produced the trance-condition; but it cannot be held impossible, from his description, that the results should have been due to an acute sense of smell, combined with a certain amount of luck.

    “Wine, water, and coffee were handed to me successively, in such a way as to prevent the patient from perceiving, by any usual means, what the liquors were. He, however, correctly named them in order. The order was then changed, and the results of the experiments were the same. Flowers were given me to smell. I was holding the patient by one hand at the time, but turning altogether away from him to a table, over which I bent, so as to interpose myself between him and anything that might be handed to me. He, however, when I smelt of the flowers, imitated the action, and on my asking him what he perceived, replied without hesitation, ‘Flowers.’ Upon this, one of the party silently changed the flowers for a bottle of eau de Cologne, when he observed, ‘That is not the same smell; it is eau de Cologne.’ With the manner of conducting this experiment and its results, all who were present declared themselves perfectly satisfied.”

    “Three of my sleep-wakers,” Mr. Townshend says in another place, “could in no way distinguish substances when placed in their own mouths, nor discriminate between a piece of apple and a piece of cheese; but the moment that I was eating, they, seeming to eat also, could tell me what I had in my mouth.”

    The next case is also one of Mr. Townshend’s.

    (358) “Did any one strike or hurt me in any part of the body when Anna M. was in sleep-waking, she immediately carried her hand to a corresponding part of her own person. Then she would rub her own shoulder when mine was smarting with a blow, manifesting that the actual nerves of that part were, pro tempore, restored to their functions. Once an incredulous person came near me unawares, and trod upon my foot, which was quite hidden under a chair. The sleep-waker instantly darted down her hand and rubbed her own foot with an expression of pain. Again, if my hair was pulled from behind, Anna directly raised her hand to the back of her head. A pin thrust into my hand elicited an equal demonstration of sympathy.”

    Stimulated by Mr. Townshend’s experiments, the Rev. A. Gilmour, of Greenock, made some experiments on one of his servants. He described the results in a letter to Professor Gregory (quoted in Animal Magnetism, p. 211), in which the following passage occurs:—

    “I could throw her into the mesmeric sleep in 40 seconds. She is able to tell what I taste, such as soda, salt, sugar, milk, water, &c., though not in the same room with me. When my foot is pricked, or my hair pulled, or any part of my person pinched, she feels it, and describes it unerringly.”

    Professor Gregory himself says (Animal Magnetism, p. 23):—

    “I have seen and tested the fact of community of sensation in so many cases that I regard it as firmly established. No one who has had {ii-326} opportunities of observing this beautiful phenomenon can long hesitate as to its entire truth—such is the expression of genuine sensation in the face and gesture, besides the distinct statements made by the sleeper.”

    I need hardly say that a single carefully recorded experiment would be worth more than any number of such general assertions as this.

    The following account is given by Dr. Elliotson in the Zoist, Vol. V., pp. 242–5.

    (359) “I requested my butler to enclose, in five different packets of blotting-paper, salt, sugar, cinnamon, ginger, and pepper. These were wrapped in one common cover when given to me, and I handed them over to Mr. Scarlett, the eldest son of Lord Abinger, who gave me one packet after another, any that he chose, as each was done with by me. The Archbishop of Dublin and several clergymen and other friends were present.

    “When I put each into my mouth, I was ignorant of its contents, and learnt its nature as the paper became moistened and gave way. The first was salt, and I stood with it in my mouth at Mrs. Snewing’s side, and rather behind her, saying nothing. Before a minute had elapsed she moved her lips, made a face, and said, ‘Oh, that’s nasty enough.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Why you’ve put salt into my mouth, you needn’t have done that.’ I removed the packet of salt, and took another, which proved to be cinnamon. Presently she said, ‘Well that is odd; I never heard of such a thing; to put such things together into one‘s mouth!’ ‘Why what do you mean?’ ‘Why now you’ve given me something nice and warm, very pleasant, but you‘ve mixed salt with it.’ The impression of the salt thus still remained. ‘What is it?’ ‘I don’t know the name of it, but it’s very nice; it’s what we put into puddings; brown, and in sticks.’ She puzzled a long while and then on my asking if it was cinnamon, ‘Yes, that’s it,’ she replied, ‘How odd that I shouldn’t recollect the name.’ I then removed it, and took into my mouth another packet, which proved to be sugar, and I observed that Mr. Scarlett very properly peeped into it, before he gave it to me. After a minute or two she began, ‘Oh, that’s very sweet; I like that; it’s sugar.’ I removed it from my mouth and took another packet, which proved to be ginger. After a minute or two she exclaimed, ‘Well, this is the funniest thing I ever heard of, to mix salt, and cinnamon, and sugar, and now to give me something else hot.’ ‘What is it?’ ‘I don’t know; but this is very hot too. It sets all my mouth on fire.’ In fact I felt my mouth burning hot. After some difficulty, for she was puzzled between these conflicting impressions, she said it must be ginger, and went on complaining of the heat of the mouth, I took a glass of cold water, and she instantly said, smiling, ‘That isn’t hot, that’s nice and cool, it makes my mouth quite comfortable.’ ‘What is it?’ ‘Why it’s water; what else can it be?’ The last packet was now put into my mouth, and proved to be pepper. She cried out, ‘Why you’re putting hot things again into my mouth. It gets down my throat, and up my nose; it’s burning me,’ and she soon declared it was pepper. I could scarcely endure it, and took a draught of water. She was instantly relieved, and said, ‘How cool and nice that is.’ She could not have seen what I was doing had her eyes been open.

    {ii-327}

    “A gentleman now came beside me and pricked one of my fingers with a pin. She took no notice of it at first, but, after a few minutes, slowly began to rub the fingers of her corresponding hand, and at last rubbed one only, that corresponding with my finger which had been pricked, and complained that someone had pricked it. The back of one of my hands was now pricked. She made no remark but remained in quiet sleep. The pricking was at length repeated at the same spot, and pretty sharply, in silence. Still she made no remark. We gave it up, and my other hand was pricked in silence. After a little time she began to rub her hand, corresponding with that of mine which was the first pricked, and complained of its having been pricked at the very same spot as mine. Gradually she ceased to complain, and was still again. After the lapse of another minute or two, all the party observing silence, she complained that the other hand, corresponding with that of mine last pricked, was pricked, and wondered that any person should do so. This is a most remarkable circumstance; perfectly corresponding to the phenomena of sympathetic movement in the Okeys, which often came out so long after the movement of the operator had been made. Indeed, after he, in despair of any effect, had made another motion for them to imitate, and when he was expecting the latter, the first would take place.1 1 Compare Vol. i., p. 56. I may once more remind the reader of the interest of such facts, in connection with the “deferred impressions” of spontaneous telepathy. It shows how easily persons ignorant of the subject and unqualified to make experiments may come to false conclusions, and set themselves up as the discoverers of failures and imposition. In my patients the movement given for sympathy and not productive of apparent effect has often come out again in a subsequent sleep-waking, the impression remaining unconsciously in the brain. The heat and taste of the pepper still remained in Mrs. Snewing’s mouth, and she went on good-naturedly, as always, complaining of it. While she was complaining, I suddenly awoke her, and asked what she tasted and whether her mouth was hot. She looked surprised, and said she ‘tasted nothing’ and her ‘mouth was not hot’; and she smiled at the question.

    “A few weeks afterwards, I repeated these experiments with all the same precautions, in the presence of Mr. H. S. Thompson and Mr. Chandler, who are very accurate observers, Mrs. Thompson and a few other friends. I stood quite behind her large high-backed leather chair. Mr. Chandler gave me the packets at his own pleasure, and, on tasting each, I wrote on a slip of paper what I tasted, and held up the slip at a distance behind her, that all might judge of her accuracy and my truth. These were the same articles as in the former experiments; but, as they were on both occasions taken at random, the order, of course, turned out to be different. In addition, Mr. Chandler gave me a piece of dried orange-peel from his pocket; and I tasted water and wine. She named each article with perfect accuracy, and readily; remarking that it was very strange she once could not recollect the name of cinnamon. Indeed, on the first occasion, she described the taste and the external character and uses of the various articles with perfect accuracy, but hesitated in giving the names of the cinnamon and ginger and pepper; a fact showing that the sleepiness extended a little more over the mental powers than one might {ii-328} imagine. In a note sent me lately by Mr. Thompson are the following remarks:—

    “‘The patient’s lips moved, and in a very short time after you had detected its nature, she appeared to taste it as well as yourself; and when it was anything disagreeable, begged you would not put the nasty stuff into her mouth in this way. She told, without the slightest mistake, everything you tasted: salt, sugar, cinnamon, pepper, ginger, orange-peel, wine, and some others. Not a word was spoken by any of the party to each other, and the only question that was asked the patient was, what she had in her mouth that she complained of. After the spices, when you drank water, she seemed to enjoy it much, saying it cooled her mouth; but at other times as you drank it very freely, she requested that you would not give her any more water for that so much water was disagreeable to her. There were present, Mr. Chandler, Lord Adare, Baron Osten, a friend of his, whose name I do not know, myself, and my wife. We were all perfectly satisfied with the entire success of the experiments.’

    “I then smelt eau de Cologne, without any noise. She presently said, ‘How nice; what a nice thing you’ve given me to smell.’ But she could not tell what it was; when I mentioned its name, she recognised it. I did the same with water. She made no remark. I asked her if she smelt anything. She replied, ‘No, I don’t smell anything; what should I smell?’

    “I put snuff to my nostrils; she almost immediately complained of snuff being given to her.

    The next account was sent to us by the late Professor J. Smith, of the University of Sydney.

    “September 3rd, 1884.

    (360) “The experiments [in the Proceedings of the S. P. R.] on transference of tastes brought to my mind a very interesting case which occurred to me more than 40 years ago,

    when I was a medical student. I have never seen a similar case in print, and therefore I am tempted to relate it, although possibly it may be quite familiar to you. When my attention was first drawn to mesmerism, I got hold of an errand boy, 12 or 13 years old, who turned out a most sensitive ‘subject.’ Among many other things that I tried upon him, while in the mesmeric sleep, was the transference of taste. The boy could describe the taste of anything I put into my mouth, although no sound was uttered to guide him, and I myself did not know what the substances were until I put them into my mouth. I stood behind the boy’s chair, holding one of his hands in mine, and put my other hand behind me for the different articles, which were supplied to me successively by a druggist, in the back room of whose shop we happened to be.

    “One of the things he gave me was a glass of whisky, and a mouthful of this strong spirit taken unexpectedly gave me a choking sensation. The boy writhed on his chair, and gasped for breath. Becoming alarmed I asked my friend to run for a glass of water, intending to give it to the boy. On receiving it, it occurred to me that the best way of relieving the boy would be to drink the water myself. I did so, at the same time watching his throat. Being a medical student, I knew something of the mechanism of deglutition, and was aware that the act of swallowing, shown externally by the rise and fall of the ‘pomum Adami,’ cannot be {ii-329} performed without something to swallow, and that a person cannot repeat the act voluntarily more than once, or at the most twice consecutively, unless something is put into the mouth. I therefore watched the boy’s throat while I drank the water. His ‘pomum Adami’ moved up and down regularly with mine, and he was immediately relieved.1 1 An apparent instance of telepathic imitation of a less abnormal sort is recorded in Townshend’s Mesmerism Proved True, p. 65.

    “J. SMITH.”

    The next extract is from Animal Magnetism, (1866,) by Edwin Lee, M.D., p. 127.

    (361) “On one occasion I tested the community of feeling upon the celebrated somnambulist Alexis, who had not been previously subjected to a trial of this kind. His magnetiser, M. Marcillet, being behind, and quite out of sight of Alexis, whose eyes, moreover, were bandaged, I suddenly pricked his left elbow, upon which Alexis put his hand to his left elbow complaining of pain there. I then pinched the magnetiser’s right little finger, and Alexis felt his right little finger pinched. There could be no collusion or mistake here, as neither of them knew of my intention, which indeed was unpremeditated on my part, the thought arising in my mind at the time.”

    The following case is of a different character, but may be inserted in connection with the last, as it concerns the same percipient, and was also observed by Dr. E. Lee. It serves to show how much which has been represented as independent clairvoyance may really be explained by thought-transference.

    Miss Curtis writes from 15, Parade Villas, Heme Bay, Kent:—

    “November 12th, 1885.

    “About the year 1847 or 1848, the Dr. Lee who wrote a book on the German Baths, made an arrangement with Alexis Didier, a clairvoyant at Paris, and M. Marcillet, his mesmeriser, to come to Brighton. There was to be no public exhibition, but only séances at private houses, and about 12 persons to be present, and each to have an opportunity of trying Alexis in the manner he or she wished.

    “I was at Brighton at the time, and before going to see Alexis, wrote his name on a piece of paper, and doubled it three or four times, and then put it in a box that had held steel pens, and tied it up. When my turn came, I gave the box to Alexis, and he began reading the letters on the outside. I told him there was a paper inside I wanted him to read, and Dr. Lee asked me to give my hand to Alexis, and think of the words. Alexis then said, ‘The first letter is A. the second, L.’ I answered ‘Yes’; and he turned the box, and wrote Alexis Didier on the back. Before I saw him the second time, I took a small smelling bottle out of its leather case, put two seals inside—one seal was in the form of a basket. I gave the case to Alexis, and asked him how many things were inside, and he said two, and they were seals; he took a pencil and paper and drew them; they were then taken out, and the drawings exactly resembled them. Some one asked if Alexis could read what was on one of the seals; he said he could not, because it was written backwards. Dr. Lee asked me {ii-330} to give my hand; I thought of the word, and Alexis directly said, ‘Croyez,’ which was correct. [This, however, is no test; as we find on inquiry, that Alexis had taken the seals into his hand, and had had an opportunity of reading the word.] I then asked him two or three questions about the persons who had given me the seals, and he made a mistake, and said the lady who had given me one was in England, whereas she was in Africa. Alexis was unequal, some days telling almost everything, and other days failing in several things. The notes Dr. Lee made were printed, and I had a copy, but gave it away.

    “SELINA CURTIS.”

    [The first of these results is rendered inconclusive by the fact of the contact. Still it is unlikely that Miss Curtis unconsciously drew on Alexis’ hand forms sufficiently distinctive to be recognised as A L. The rest of the name may, of course, have been a guess on his part—though (as Miss Curtis reminds me) he was not often called by the double name which she wrote. Dr. Lee mentions this first experiment, without details, in his book, but not the second.]

    Corresponding to the cases where the hypnotic “subject” has shown sensibility to the hypnotiser’s pain, instances are recorded where the hypnotiser has become sensitive to the “subject’s” pain. In Lausanne’s book, Des Principes et des Procédés du Magnétisme Animal (Paris, 1819), the following paragraphs occur:—

    “Les personnes sensibles et bien en rapport ressentent-elles, comme je l’ai dit, une grande partie des effets que produit le travail de la nature renforcée de son action. C’est ainsi que je ressens intérieurement des pesanteurs de tête, des tiraillemens, des douleurs à l’estomac, au foie, à la rate, aux reins, à la tête, et dans toutes les parties de mon corps correspondantes aux parties qui travaillent dans le corps de la personne que je magnétise. Mes sensations ne sont jamais aussi vives que celles du malade, mais quelquefois elles le sont assez pour m’être incommodes. Il y a des jours où ma sensibilité est telle, que des mouvemens fugitifs et légers dans la personne malade me deviennent distincts. Il se présente dans ces sensations quelques phénomènes sur lesquels je vais exposer mes conjectures. [Translation]Sensitives with strong rapport feel, as I have said, a large part of the effects produced through the strengthening of natural action. [Translator’s note: The syntax is not clear; this sentence may be either incomplete or lacking part of its context.] Thus I feel within me torpors of the head, pangs, pains of the stomach, liver, spleen, kidneys, head, and all parts of my body corresponding to those organs acting in the body of the person I am magnetizing. My feelings are never as acute as those of the patient, but sometimes they are strong enough to bother me. On certain days, my sensitivity is such that fleeting and slight movements in the sick person become distinct for me. These feelings entail various phenomena concerning which I offer my conjectures.

    “Lorsque je suis près et vis-à-vis le malade, je sens la réaction de son travail dans la partie opposée; de sorte qu’une douleur au foie se fait sentir à ma rate ou dans les parties adjacentes, et celle de la rate se fait sentir à mon foie. Une douleur ou un tiraillement à l’épaule ou à la jambe droite m’est sensible à l’épaule ou à la jambe gauche. Les reins font le même effet. Observez que je ne parle que de parties opposées les unes aux autres, comme les tempes, les yeux, les oreilles, &c. Lorsque toute la tête est affectée, la mienne s’en ressent, et l’estomac répond à mon estomac. Les mêmes effets ont lieu lorsque je suis proche du malade, et assis à son côté. J’ai éte quelquefois obligé de changer de place à l’orchestre de nos spectacles, parce que je me trouvais incommodé d’un mal de tête, de foie, ou de rate d’un de mes voisins. Ces sensations désagréables se dissipaient par l’éloignement et par la distraction. [Translation

    ]When I am close to and facing the patient, I feel the reaction in the opposing part, so that a pain in the liver is felt in my spleen or nearby, and a pain in the spleen is felt in my liver. A pain or pang in the right shoulder or leg is felt in my left shoulder or leg. The kidneys exhibit the same effect. Note that I am speaking only of regions that are opposed to each other, as are the temples, the eyes, the ears, and so forth. When it is the head as a whole that is affected, my head is as well, and the stomach corresponds to my stomach. The same effects occur when I am seated close to the patient’s side. I have sometimes had to change places in the orchestra during our shows, because I was suffering from a headache, liver attack, or pain in the spleen of one of my neighbors. These unpleasant feelings were dissipated by distance and distraction.

    “J’ai remarqué que je ne recevais de ces impressions distinctes que de la part des personnes dont je m’occupais, soit par la conversation, soit par d’autres rapports. Il ne faut pas croire que dans de pareilles circonstances {ii-331} un mal léger ou une douleur passagère puisse porter des impressions sensibles; elles ne le deviennent que lorsque le mal est considérable. Je ne me suis aperçu de ces effets que depuis que je magnétise, apparemment parceque je suis habitué à porter mon attention sur mes sensations internes. [Translation]I have noticed that I never received these distinct impressions except from persons with whom I was interacting, either through conversation or through some other contact. Do not believe that in those circumstances a minor illness or brief pain can generate perceptible impressions; they become so only when the hurt is considerable. I have seen these effects only since I began practicing magnetism, apparently because I have grown used to paying attention to my inner feelings.

    “II m’est arrivé très-souvent de m’occuper fortement de quelques personnes avec lesquelles j’avais de grands rapports. Ma pensée se dirigeant vers les principales parties de leur corps, leur réaction me faisait sentir très-distinctement dans les parties correspondantes du mien, les differentes sensations que ces personnes éprouveraient dans ce moment. Faits très-certains pour moi, et pour les personnes à qui je l’écrivais, en leur détaillant les sensations qu’elles avaient éprouvées, les places et l’heure précise. Ce que je viens de rapporter m’a prouvé que la pensée produisait une action très-vive, dont la réaction portait sur nos sens des impressions très-distinctes. [Translation]It has often happened that I was greatly involved with certain persons with whom I had strong relationships. [Translator’s note: The context strongly suggests the author is not describing persons in a trance here, and so the term rapport is presumably taken in its everyday sense.] My thought being drawn to the principal organs of their bodies, their reaction made very clearly apparent to me, in the corresponding parts of my own, the various feelings that these persons were having at that moment. These facts are clearly established as far as I am concerned, and also for those persons to whom I have communicated them in writing, specifying the feelings they had had, and precisely where and when. What I have set down here has proven to me that thought produces a very strong action, whose reactions produced very clear impressions on our senses.

    “Je ne parle point ici de plusieurs personnes que j’ai mises en somnambulisme, ou que j’ai tirées de cet état à un éloignement assez grand.” [Translation]I exclude here several persons whom I have put into a somnambulistic state, or whom I have brought out of that state, while at a considerable distance.

    Such general descriptions are very far from convincing;1 1 The author of Réflexions Impartiales sur le Magnétisme Animal (1784) says that he witnessed similar phenomena several times at Lyons: “Les différentes somnambules qui ont servi aux expériences sont des filles du peuple. On leur a presénté, des sujets malades qui leur étaient inconnus. Elles ont indiqué avec la plus grande exactitude les maux dont elles étaient affectés: je les ai vues ressentir vivement les maux de ceux qu’elles magnétisaient, et les manifester en portant les mains sur elles aux mêmes parties.” [Translation]The various somnambulists used in the experiments are girls of the lower class. They were shown patients not known to them. They indicated with the greatest precision the maladies affecting those subjects. I have seen them suffer from the ills of those whom they were magnetizing, and point those out by touching the subjects at the same spots. Bertrand remarks on the similarity of Carré de Montgeron’s account of the St. Médard “convulsionnaires.” But the lack of detail and corroboration must of course prevent such evidence from having any independent weight. and Lausanne gives the details of only one success, which, though certainly striking, may have been accidental. I may add, for comparison, a statement made to me by an amateur hypnotist, Mr. J. H. Fash, in whose good faith I have every confidence, but who has again failed to make the detailed notes without which such observations, in whatever quantity accumulated, will never make a chapter of science. It is possible that the mention of the type here may serve to elicit further instances.

    “9, Commerce Street, Glasgow.

    “July 28th, 1885.

    “Instead of impressing my ‘subjects’ they seem to impress me; and should they chance to have any soreness or pain in any part of the body, I feel it in a corresponding part of mine as soon as I have commenced mesmerising them; and it sometimes remains with me for a considerable time after. In this way I am often able to discern aches or pains in various persons, who have afterwards stated that they felt relieved. Just this moment as I write, I am suffering from a severe soreness in the region of the spleen, and a feeling as of dyspepsia or indigestion at the stomach, and on making remarks to the sensitive a few minutes since that I felt this, he replied, ‘I felt that way before you mesmerised me but I am all right now.’”

    § 2. The following examples of the silent power of the will in producing the hypnotic condition, or in evoking particular actions on {ii-332} the part of hypnotised persons, are analogous to those recorded in Vol. I., p. 88–94. The first account is taken from the Traité du Somnambulisme, (Paris, 1823, pp. 246–7) of Dr. Alexandre Bertrand, a physician of repute, whose works give the impression of having been written in a spirit of rational scepticism.

    “J’avais coutume de faire sortir une malade du somnambulisme en lui faisant de légères frictions sur les bras; et cette manœuvre, qui ne l’éveillait pas dans le courant de la séance, ne manquait jamais de produire cet effet à la fin, quand j’avais l’intention cle la faire sortir du sommeil. Un jour je fis, à la fin de la séance, mes frictions accoutumées, en lui disant, ‘Allons, allons, éveillez-vous’—et pendant ce temps j’avais la ferme volonté de ne pas l’eveiller. La malade parut d’abord visiblement troublée, puis tout-à-coup son visage rougit beaucoup, ses traits s’altérèrent, et elle eut quelques mouvements convulsifs, sans sortir pourtant de l’état de somnambulisme. J’employai alors toute ma volonté à la calmer; et quand je la vis enfin rede venue tranquille, ‘Qu’avez vous done,’ lui dis-je, ‘qui vous a fait avoir des convulsions?’ ‘Comment,’ me répondit-elle, ‘vous me dites de m’éveiller, et vous ne voulez pas que je m’éveille.’” [Translation]It was my practice to bring one of my patients out of her trance by rubbing her arms gently. This action, which never woke her in the course of the sitting, never failed to do so at the end, when I intended to bring her back to wakefulness. One day, at the end of the sitting, I carried out my usual arm-rubbing, saying to her, "Come now, wake up." During this time, I made a strong effort of the will to avoid wakening her. The patient first appeared visibly

    disturbed, then suddenly her face turned very red, her expression changed, and she moved convulsively, though she did not come out of the trance. I then applied all my will-power to the business of calming her, and when I saw that she was calm again , I asked her: "What is the matter? What caused those convulsions?" "But," she replied, "you are telling me to wake up, and you don't want me to."

    Bertrand, whose treatment of the subject is thoroughly cautious and sensible, records (p. 280), a more ordinary case of thought-transference, in which the “subject” and the agent were both known to him, on the authority of the latter, who had his complete confidence; but he declines to commit himself to results which he had witnessed without having an intimate acquaintance with the persons concerned.

    The next case was reported by Mr. Charles Richet to the Société de Psychologie Physiologique, and appeared in the Revue Philosophique for February, 1886, p. 199.

    (362) M. Richet begins by saying that, in spite of repeated trials, he has only on one occasion obtained satisfactory evidence of the induction of hypnotic trance at a distance. This was in 1873, when he was “interne” at the Beaujon Hospital. The “subject” was a woman whom he had frequently hypnotised.

    “D’abord je l’endormais par des passes; puis, plus tard, en lui touchant la main; puis enfin, simplement, en entrant dans la salle. [Translation]At first I put her to sleep using passes; then, later, by touching her hand; then finally by merely entering the room.

    “Le matin, quand j’entrais dans la salle avec mon chef de service, M. le professeur Le Fort, je la voyais aussitôt, dans le fond de la salle où elle était, s’endormir. Mais, comme je ne voulais pas qu’elle fût dans cet état au moment où M. Le Fort serait à côté d’elle je faisais tout mes efforts pour la réveiller mentalement; et, de fait, elle se réveillait toujours quelques instants avant que M. Le Fort arrivât au lit No. 11. [Translation]In the mornings, when I was going into the ward with my head surgeon, Professor Le Fort, I saw her go under at once, at the far end of the room. But, as I did not wish for her to be in that state when M. Le Fort was at her side, I made the greatest possible mental effort to waken her , and, indeed, she always woke a few moments before M. Le Fort reached bed No. 11.

    “S’agissait-il réellement d’un acte de volonté de ma part, soit pour la réveiller, soit pour l’endormir; ou bien s’endormait-elle et se réveillaitelle spontanément? C’est là un point queje n’ai jamais pu bien établir. Et si, comme je vais le raconter, 1’expérience n’avait pas été fait d’une autre manière, ce sommeil et ce réveil ne prouveraient absolument rien. [Translation]Was this really an act of will on my part, meant either to wake her or to put her to sleep, or did she do it on her own, spontaneously? I have never been able to attain certainty on this point. And if the experiment had not been carried out in the different manner I shall tell you about, her sleep and awakening would have proven absolutely nothing.

    {ii-333}

    “Un jour, étant avec mes collègues, à la salle de garde, à déjeûner—notre confrère M. Landouzy, alors interne comme moi à l’hôpital Beaujon, était présent—j’assurai que je pouvais endormir cette malade à distance, et que je la ferais venir, à la salle de garde où nous étions, rien que par un acte de ma volonté. Mais au bout de dix minutes personne n’étant venu, l’expérience fut considérée comme ayant échoué. [Translation]One day when I was with my colleagues eating lunch in the staff room—our M. Landouzy, who was at that time a fellow intern at Beaujon, was present—I proclaimed that I could put this patient to sleep from a distance, and that I would have her come to the room we were in by a simple act of will. But after ten minutes' time, she had not come, and the experiment was considered a failure.

    “En réalité l’expérience n’avait pas échoué; car quelque temps après, on vint me prévenir que la malade se promenait dans les couloirs, endormie, cherchant à me parler et ne me trouvant pas; et, en effet, il en était ainsi, sans que je puisse de sa part obtenir d’autre réponse pour expliquer son sommeil et cette promenade vagabonde, sinon qu’elle désirait me parler. [Translation]In fact, it had not failed, for shortly after, I was alerted to the fact that the patient was moving about the corridors, asleep, trying to speak with me but unable to find me. And indeed that was the case, though I was unable to get from her any other explanation of her state and her wanderings except that she wanted to speak to me.

    “Une autre fois, j’ai répété cette expérience en la variant de la manière suivante. Je priai deux de mes collègues de se rendre dans la salle, sous le prétexte d’examiner une malade quelconque; en réalité afin d’observer comment se comporterait le No. 11, que j’aurais, à ce moment, l’intention d’endormir. Quelque temps après ils vinrent me dire que l’expérience avait échoué. Cependant, cette fois encore, elle avait réussi. Car on s’était trompé en désignant a la place du No. 11 la malade voisine, qui naturellement était restée parfaitement éveillée, tandis que le No. 11 s’était effectivement endormie. [Translation]On another occasion, I repeated the same experiment with the following change. I asked two of my colleagues to go to the ward with the excuse of examining some other patient, but in reality in order to observe how No. 11 behaved, as I intended to put her under at that time. Shortly after, they came to tell me that the experiment had failed. Yet once again it had been a success, for they had confused No. 11 with her neighbor, who of course remained entirely awake, while No. 11 had indeed gone to sleep.

    “J’aurais dû sans doute répéter et varier avec plus de précision cette expérience intéressante; mais en pareille matière on ne fait pas tout ce qu’on désire faire, et ceux-là seuls qui ont expérimenté peuvent savoir quelles difficultés de toute sortes, morales et autres, empêchent la poursuite méthodique de l’expérimentation. [Translation]I probably should have repeated this interesting experiment in varying and more stringent conditions, but in this area one cannot do all one wishes. Only those who have undertaken such experiments can know what obstacles of all kinds, moral and other, prevent a methodical approach to such work.

    “Quelques semaines après, la malade retourna dans son pays, à Béziers, je crois, et je n’ai plus entendu parler d’elle. [Translation]A few weeks later the patient went home, to Béziers I believe, and I never heard any more of her.

    “CH. RICHET.

    The next example, from Professer Beaunis, of Nancy, is published in the same number of the Revue Philosophique, p. 204. The concluding sentences of his account, as the admission of a physiologist of high repute, are of good omen for the future of our subject in France. The experiment was made in conjunction with our friend, Dr. Liébeault.

    (363) “Le sujet est un jeune homme, très bon somnambule, bien portant, un peu timide. Il accompagnait chez M. Liébeault sa cousine, très bonne somnambule aussi, et qui est traitée par l’hypnotisme pour des accidents nerveux. [Translation]The subject is a young man, a very good subject for hypnosis, in good health, a bit shy. He was visiting M. Liébeault with his cousin, also a very good subject, undergoing hypnotic treatment for

    nervous maladies.

    “M. Liébeault endort le sujet et lui dit pendant son sommeil: ‘A votre réveil vous exécuterez Facte qui vous sera ordonné mentalement par les personnes présentes.’ J’écris alors au crayon sur un papier ces mots: ‘Embrasser sa cousine.’ Ces mots écrits, je montre le papier au Dr. Liébeault et aux quelques personnes présentes, en leur recommandant de le lire des yeux seulement, et sans prononcer même des lèvres une seule des paroles qui s’y trouve, et j’ajoute: ‘A son réveil, vous penserez fortement à l’acte qu’il doit exécuter, sans rien dire et sans faire aucun signe qui puisse le mettre sur la voie.’ On réveille alors le sujet et nous attendons tous le résultat de l’expérience. Peu après son réveil, nous le voyons rire et se cacher la figure dans ses mains, et ce manège continue quelque temps {ii-334} sans autre résultat. Je lui demande alors: ‘Qu’avez-vous?’ ‘Rien.’ ‘A quoi pensez vous?’ Pas de réponse. ‘Vous savez,’ lui dis-je, ‘que vous devez faire quelque chose à quoi nous pensions. Si vous ne voulez pas le faire, dites-nous au moins à quoi vous pensez.’ ‘Non.’ Alors je lui dis: ‘Si vous ne voulez pas le dire tout haut, dites-le-moi bas à l’oreille,’ et je m’approche de lui. ‘A embrasser ma cousine,’ me dit-il. Une fois le premier pas fait, le reste de la suggestion mentale s’accomplit de bonne grâce. [Translation]M. Liébeault put the subject under and, while he was asleep, told him "When you come out, you will carry out the act you are mentally ordered to do by the persons present." I then wrote in pencil on a piece of paper these words: "Kiss your cousin." After I wrote this, I showed the paper to Dr. Liébeault and the others present, suggesting that they read it silently, without even mouthing a single word of those written there. I added: "When he wakes up, concentrate intensely on the act he is to carry out, without saying anything and without giving any hint that might put him on the track." The subject was then awakened, and we all watched for the results of the experiment. Shortly after awakening, he laughed visibly, and hid his face in his hands; this behavior continued for a time, without any other result. I asked him what was the matter. "Nothing," he said. "What are you thinking about?' No answer was given. "You know," I said, "that you are expected to do something, a thing we were thinking about while you were under. If you don't want to do it, at least tell us what you have in mind." "No." Then I said, "If you don't want to say it out loud, whisper it in my ear." "Kiss my cousin," he said. Once the ice had been broken, the rest of the mental suggestion was carried out willingly.

    “Y a-t-il eu simple coïncidence? Ce serait bien étonnant. A-t-il pu, pendant son sommeil, reconnaÎtre le sens des paroles que j’écrivais à la façon dont je les écrivais sur le papier, ou a-t-il pu les voir? C’est bien peu supposable. Enfin je suis sûr qu’aucune des personnes présentes n’a pu le mettre d’une façon quelconque sur la voie de l’acte qu’il devait accomplir. Il y a là évidemment quelque chose qui bouleverse toutes les idées reçues sur les fonctions du cerveau, et pour ma part, jusqu’ à ces derniers temps, j’étais parfaitement incrédule sur les faits de ce genre. Aujourd’hui j’arrive à cette conviction qu’il ne faut pas les repousser, les cas de réussite, quoique rares, étant trop nombreux pour être un simple effet de hasard. [Translation]Was this only a coincidence? That would be quite surprising. Was he able, in his sleep, to recognize the meaning of the words I was writing by observing the way I wrote them on the paper, or was he able to see them? That is hard to imagine. Finally, I am sure that none of the persons present could have given him any idea of the act he was supposed to carry out. Here, evidently, we have something that overturns all preconceived notions of the functions of the brain, and as for myself, until recently, I was entirely skeptical about phenomena of this kind. Today I am convinced that it is wrong to reject them, for the cases of success, though rare, are too numerous to be the result of mere chance.

    “H. BEAUNIS.”

    § 3. To pass now to transferences of ideas unconnected with movement (Vol. I., pp. 94–6), the next two incidents are again reported by a French physician of high standing—not, however, as personal observations, but apparently as attested by another medical man. They occur in Dr. Macario’s work, Du Sommeil, des Rêves, et du Somnambulisme (Lyons, 1857), pp. 185–6.

    (364 and 365) “Un soir le docteur Gromier, après avoir endormi par la magnétisation une femme hystérique, demanda au mari de cette femme la permission de faire une expérience, et voici ce qui se passa. Sans mot dire, il la conduisit en pleine mer, mentalement, bien entendu; la malade fut tranquille tant que le calme dura sur les eaux; mais bientôt le magnétiseur souleva dans sa pensée une effroyable tempête, et la malade se mit aussitôt à pousser des cris perçants, et à se cramponner aux objets environnants; sa voix, ses larmes, l’expression de sa physionomie indiquaient une frayeur terrible. Alors il ramena successivement, et toujours par la pensée, les vagues dans les limites raisonnables. Elles cessèrent d’agiter le navire, et suivant le progres de leur abaissement, le calme rentra dans l’esprit de la somnambule, quoiqu’ elle conservât encore une respiration haletante et un tremblement nerveux dans tous ses membres. ‘Ne me ramenez jamais en mer,’ s’écria-t-elle un instant après, avec transport; ‘j’ai trop peur, et ce misérable de capitaine qui ne voulait pas nous laisser monter sur le pont!’ ‘Cette exclamation nous bouleversa d’autant plus,’ dit M. Gromier, ‘que je n'avais pas prononce’ une seule parole qui pût lui indiquer la nature de l’expérience que j’avais l’intention de faire.’ [Translation]One evening Dr. Gromier, who had magnetized a woman suffering from hysteria, asked her husband for permission to carry out an experiment. Here is what happened. Without saying a word, he took her far out into the ocean (mentally, of course). The patient remained tranquil as long as the waters continued calm. But soon the hypnotizer raised a frightful storm in his mind, and the patient immediately began to cry out shrilly and to cling to nearby objects. Her voice, her tears, her expression indicated horrible fright. After that, he gradually reduced the waves in his mind to ordinary heights. They no longer rocked the ship, and, as they progressively got lower, calm returned to the mind of the subject, though she continued to breathe hard and to quiver nervously in all her limbs. "Never take me back out to sea," she cried wildly a moment later. "I was so frightened! And that wretched captain would not let us up onto the bridge!" "The latter exclamation startled us greatly," said M. Gromier, "principally because I had not spoken a single word that might have indicated to her the nature of the experiment I meant to carry out."

    “Une autre fois, cette même malade était en proie à un profond désespoir. Voici ce que son médecin, le docteur Gromier, imagina pour ranimer son courage. Elle dormait d’un sommeil magnétique. Pourquoi, lui dit-il mentalement, perdre ainsi l’espérance? Vous êtes pieuse, la sainte Vierge viendra à votre secours, et vous guérirez, soyez-en-sûre. Puis il découvrit, par sa pensée, le toit de la maison; dans les angles il groupa des images {ii-335} portant des chérubins, et au milieu il fit descenclre dans un globe de lumière la sainte Vierge, dans toute la splendeur de sa magnificence. La somnambule tomba aussitôt dans le ravissement, dans l’extase, se prosterna à terre, et s’écria dans le plus grand transport, ‘Ah! mon Dieu, depuis si longtemps que je prie la Vierge Marie, voilà la première fois qu’elle vient à mon secours.’” [Translation]On another occasion,

    the same patient was suffering from deep depression. Here is what Dr. Gromier came up with to improve her mood. She was in a trance [magnetic sleep]. He asked her in thought, "Why lose all hope like this? You have faith, the Holy Mother will come to your aid, and you will be cured, have no doubt of it." Then he revealed, in his mind, the roof of the house. In its corners, he placed groups of statues of cherubs, and in the middle he showed, descending, in a ball of light, the Virgin Mary in all her splendor and magnificence. The patient immediately fell into an ecstatic swoon, prostrated herself, and cried out with the greatest of emotion, "Ah! My God, I have been praying to the Virgin for such a long time, and here she is coming to my aid for the first time ever!"

    [If correctly reported, these results seem to go beyond what can reasonably be attributed to unconscious physical indications on the experimenter’s part.]

    Quite parallel to such cases as these is the form of experimental telepathy for which there is perhaps most evidence in the older records—though it is one which we have never personally encountered—that where some place or scene, familiar to someone present, has been accurately described by a hypnotised “subject” who had no previous knowledge of it. The phenomenon has been almost always set down to independent clairvoyance—an explanation for which there has, in most cases, been little or no warrant. A single instance must suffice, and I select one from the late Sergeant Cox’s Mechanism of Man (Vol. II., p. 220).

    “One instance, within my personal experience, will suffice to give the reader a clear conception of the character of this very curious psychological phenomenon. The somnambule was a little girl, aged only 10 years. She was invited to go (mentally) with me to Somersetshire. She described accurately my father’s house there—the verandah and the glass doors opening to the garden. Asked if she could see anything in the room? ‘Oh, yes!’ she said, ‘such a funny chair, it rolls about.’ (It was an American rocking-chair.) ‘Anything more?’ ‘Yes—pictures.’ ‘Tell me what they are about.’ ‘One is a house pulled to pieces.’ (There was a drawing on the wall of the ruins of an abbey.) ‘Any more?’ ‘Yes; the sky is on fire; horses are jumping about.’ (It was a large painting of a storm, and horses struck by lightning.) ‘Anything more?’ ‘A river runs by the side of the house.’ (Right.) I should state that the child had never been out of London.

    “A friend who was present accidentally, then asked to be allowed to question her. He was placed en rapport with her simply by my removing my hand and giving her hand to him. Re-establishment of this relationship was essential to the production of the phenomena.1 1 In such a case as this, contact cannot be held to give an opportunity for information by unconscious physical signs. Whether the effect that it has consists in more than symbolising to the “subject” a condition of confidence and rapport, is a doubtful and interesting question. As I had never seen my friend’s house, I cannot vouch for her accuracy with him as with myself; but I had his assurance that it was equally correct. I should state that neither of us gave the child the slightest intimation by word or look; indeed, we did nothing but put questions. My friend’s house was at Dover. She described some of the way down—such as the tunnel and the cliffs. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘I see a row of houses, and such a lot of steps to get to them.’ ‘Go with {ii-336} me up the steps of the third house.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Now we go in; what do you see there?’ ‘Something like a monkey and some horns.’ (Right.) ‘Now go into the room on the left.’ ‘Yes; such a lot of books about; there is a horrid thing on the chimney-piece.’ (It was a skull.) ‘There’s a portrait of a gentleman’s head over it.’ (It was a portrait.) ‘Now we will go upstairs.’ What a beautiful room, and oh! what a beautiful lady.’ ‘What is she doing?’ ‘Oh, no; it’s a picture, I mean, with such a beautiful dress, and she has a hat on; how funny.’ (It was the full length portrait of a lady in a riding-habit.) She stated much besides, which my friend stated to be correct. Then she added, ‘There’s a young lady with long yellow curls looking out of window.’ He whispered to me, ‘She is wrong there. I have a niece with such hair, but she is from home. She reads the picture in my mind.’ My friend returned to Dover the next day, and the following post brought me a letter stating that he was surprised to find that his niece had returned unexpectedly, and was in the drawing-room as described, but she believes she was not at the window.”

    I will now give a case—rather remote in time, but resting on the first-hand testimony of living witnesses—which is remarkable for the long continuance of the telepathic susceptibility. The narrator is Mrs. Pinhey, of 18, Bassett Road, Ladbroke Grove Road, W.; her record, written out for us in 1883, is at any rate given under a strong sense of responsibility.

    (366)[☼] “I have been asked to write down what I can remember of a very curious experience in mesmeric or animal magnetism, which I undertook and carried on for many months, more than 30 years ago.

    “The difficulty of doing this accurately after so great a lapse of time is, I am aware, very great; and unfortunately, the diary which I kept for the greater part of the time is of the most meagre description, and can scarcely be said to do more than record the fact of the séances having been carried on daily with little intermission from the beginning of March, 1850, all through the summer of that year, until the end of October, when I left home for several weeks. On my return they were recommenced, and it was during that winter that the most remarkable thought-reading phenomena occurred; but I seem, meanwhile, to have discontinued my diary altogether, so that, though the main facts are so impressed on my memory that I cannot forget them, I feel the necessity for extreme caution in relating them, having nothing but my memory on which to depend—not even the occasional hints which, in the diary of the previous summer, have helped to bring back some circumstances to my mind, to fix the dates of others, and to show the general rate of progress in the experiments, which I had imagined to be much less gradual than it really was.

    [The writer then describes how, having in 1849 heard a lecture on mesmerism as applied to disease, she resolved to try to influence a relative of her own, who was suffering from epilepsy. She failed and was considerably discouraged; but determined to make one more attempt with another “subject.”]

    “Miss M. N. was a parishioner of my father’s. She and her sister lived {ii-337} together on very small means, their circumstances having been much reduced at the time of the death of their parents, and M. was dreadfully afflicted with a chronic kind of St. Vitus’ dance, besides other ailments. I visited her frequently, and as I looked on at her never-ceasing movement, her mouth and eyes twitching and her whole body jerking up and down from morning till night, to such an extent that she could not even feed herself, it occurred to me that hers was a fitting subject for mesmerism. What a boon would an hour or two of perfect rest be to such a person! At any rate, I would talk to her about it, and make my next attempt on her, if she would consent to my doing so.

    “She had become very fond of me during our intercourse, and I had no difficulty in persuading her to allow me to do anything I liked to her; but some of her friends objected at first, having a sort of idea that mesmerism was a ‘black art,’ and not to be meddled with. My father’s opinion, however, as clergyman of the parish, and my own reputation as the clergyman’s daughter, prevailed so far that I was allowed to proceed without active opposition.

    “At this time I had no expectation of any marvellous results. I did hope that I might succeed in quieting her nerves and muscles, and giving rest, if not sleep, for a few hours every day, and that this rest might have a beneficial effect upon my patient’s health. But though I expected nothing, I was prepared for anything, i.e., I was fully impressed with the necessity of keeping my own nerves quiet and unmoved under any circumstances. I rather dreaded than hoped that things might happen to ‘astonish me’; but, if they did, I was prepared to look at them with as much calmness and philosophy as I could command.

    “I think it was on the second occasion, that, viz., of March 5th, noted in my journal, that I succeeded in inducing the mesmeric sleep, a state at that time of perfect repose, not unlike natural sleep—except that the muscles remained rigid enough to keep my patient sitting upright leaning back in the chair. She showed no disposition to lie down. In this condition I left her, at first with directions to her sister not to touch or disturb her

    until she awoke of herself, which she did in about an hour. As time went on, however, and the mesmeric influence gained greater power over her, I found it better to stay with her for an hour or two, and wake her before I left. Otherwise she seemed never to awake quite perfectly, but remained for some hours in a dreamy state after the actual sleep had left her.

    “I cannot recollect, however, exactly the time when this change was made, but it must have been very early in the course of the séances, because on the 13th, after a week in which I had visited her every day, I find, in addition to the usual entry, ‘Mesmerised M. N.,’ the word ‘Discoveries,’ and that my mother was present, so that I must then have remained with her during the sleep.

    “The ‘Discoveries’ and ‘New Discoveries’ entered on the 14th, referred to phenomena which, happening to myself in this way, with every possible guarantee for their perfect truth and reality, necessarily made a great impression on all our minds. They were, it is true, only the introduction to a series of much greater wonders, but, being the first, they surprised and startled us almost more than those which came after.

    “The first unusual appearance that presented itself was a sort of {ii-338} magnetic attraction towards myself. I noticed that whenever I moved about the room to fetch a book or my knitting, or perhaps to eat some biscuits or sandwiches (for I often took my luncheon with me to save time), her face turned towards me. I tried, by way of experiment, to get quite behind the chair on which she sat, with her eyes closed and quite still up to this time; but she shuffled about in her seat and made every effort to turn round so as to face me. Presently her arm stretched itself out with a mechanical kind of motion and pointed at me wherever I moved. About this time, too, she began to talk.

    “Her voice and manner of speaking when asleep were much more animated and decided than when awake. Instead of a poor, weak, invalid kind of creature, she became quite a clever, animated talker. Instead of the humility and self-depreciation of her waking hours, she appeared quite pleased with herself and confident in her own opinions. It was very curious to watch her, with her eyes always shut, and her forehead rather pressed forward, as if that were the seat and medium of both sight and understanding. Sometimes she nipped her brows and a puzzled look came over her face, and then a bright smile seemed to show that all was clear again. But this is rather anticipating, for at first she spoke little and rather hesitatingly, except in answer to questions which I soon began to put to her.

    “‘Why do you point at me, Mary?’

    “Mary: ‘O, I don’t know, but I feel as if I wanted—wanted to get near you. It is very funny, such a funny feeling. I can’t help it. Now, you are not angry, are you?’

    “The last sentence she very often used with a deprecating air and voice.

    “Meanwhile the attraction became stronger every day till it caused her to stand upright and walk after me; a thing she could not do when awake, and had not done for many months or even years.

    “All this, of course, interested me extremely, and my mother and father occasionally went with me to see the marvels I reported, and satisfy themselves of their reality. I thought, however, that all this walking about and general excitement might not be so good for my patient as a quieter rest would be. Besides, the clinging to me was rather troublesome and difficult to arrange for; so when her attentions in this way became too pressing, I told her rather peremptorily to go back to her chair and sit down, which, with some difficulty and exertion, she at last managed to do—sighing a little and begging me not to be angry with her, as she would do always what I wished if she possibly could, but it was very hard, &c.

    “After that I found that she would always obey any command I gave her; and though I never tried her to that extent, I believe she would have hopped on one leg if I had ordered her to do so.

    “By degrees, as time went on, I noticed that the attraction became fainter. I cannot now remember how much time elapsed before a new phase of the mesmeric state began to show itself. I notice that on the 30th March my father went with me ‘to see the wonders I reported,’ and on the 7th April the séance is marked as ‘very successful,’ but I think that both these entries must refer to the first phase, viz., the attraction already described.

    {ii-339}

    “It was, however, about this time or a little later that, after a few quiet uneventful days, as I was sitting at work or reading in the same room with her, I observed that any little movement of my hands or feet was being repeated in a mechanical kind of way by my patient. As I worked, her right hand went up and down as if using her needle. If I moved my finger or thumb, hers moved too. If I lifted my hand to my face hers attempted immediately to follow the motion; and she then began also to associate herself with me in her speech—‘This work tires us very much, doesn’t it, dear?’—or if I wagged my finger experimentally and well out of her sight (supposing she could see), she would say, ‘Well! I don’t know why we should make this poor finger work so hard, wag, wag, it is quite laughable.’

    “This sort of thing, which I shall call ‘sympathy,’ went on for some time, increasing in intensity as the ‘attraction’ had done, and then slowly dying out as before, till it gave place to new and still more wonderful phenomena. That is to say, the mere outward mechanical expression of sympathy wore out; but all the succeeding phenomena may be classed under the same head. The influence only went deeper and affected by degrees more important organs, the senses, and finally the brain itself.

    “It was some time in that summer that I was sitting or standing near the window of her room, eating the cake or sandwich or whatever my lunch consisted of that day. ‘M.’ was in the mesmeric sleep, but had been less interesting than usual for some days. I was not watching her particularly, when rather a curious sound attracted my attention. I looked at her, and saw that she was apparently eating something very nice, munching away and enjoying the taste extremely.

    “‘What have you got there, Mary?’ I said.

    “‘Oh! Why of course you know. We—we are eating our lunch, and it is very nice. We have got some cake to-day, and it is very good.’

    “‘That is right; then we will have some more.’ So saying, I went to the little corner cupboard where I always deposited my luncheon and took, not cake this time, but a piece of dry bread.

    “‘Well, yes, bread is very good, but it is not so nice as the cake. We must not be discontented; but there is plenty more cake—why don’t we eat it? Ah, I know,’ with a laugh of triumph, ‘you think I can’t taste it, but that is nonsense. Of course we eat together,’ and so on. I tried her in all kinds of ways, tasted salt and then sugar, then pepper, and did my best to puzzle her, but she never hesitated or made a mistake.

    “I find in my journal various entries during the summer, showing the names of several persons who witnessed the facts I am relating. Amongst them, on May 21st, is that of Dr. H., a local celebrity, who lived next door to us, and was an intimate friend of my father’s. He had formerly, at the request of the latter, seen ‘M. N.’ more than once, and now, on the 20th, he had been brought by my father to visit her again, and had confessed, though much prejudiced against mesmerism, that her health was certainly improved.

    “The next day, however, when he came on purpose to see the wonders my father had described to him, the séance was a failure. The sleep took place as usual, but the patient remained apparently dumb. Whether the fact of his incredulity had, or could have any direct effect upon the patient, I cannot, with my limited experience, decide; but I am inclined {ii-340} to suspect that the failure was due to my nerves being upset by the knowledge that the doctor had come on purpose to criticise. I know that I was extremely anxious that he should see the things which I saw day after day, and be convinced that at any rate I and my whole family were not the credulous fools he secretly suspected us of being, but that appearances, at any rate, justified our belief. This anxiety, and the nervousness produced by it, were, I believe, the sole cause of failure.

    “No one (except perhaps my mother, who went very often) ever saw my patient at her best; the same cause operating, only in a less degree, whenever the séance was in any way made a medium of sight-seeing. And this leads me to remark that when these results are produced by trickery, or mechanism, they can be repeated any number of times with perfect precision and regularity; but when they come to us as the effect of experiments having to do with unknown or unexplained forces, we must expect to be often baffled, not knowing fully the conditions under which those forces act.

    “With occasional interruptions, varying from a day or two to a week or two, the séances were continued daily all through the summer, and were witnessed by several persons at different times, besides the members of my own family. I

    find the names of seven people, many of whom are still living, who were present—some of them more than once—either in that summer or the winter following.

    “I cannot now remember whether any real ‘thought-reading’ had begun before I left home for several weeks on October 24th. That it did so very shortly after my return is certain, from the following circumstances, which, though of a private nature, must be mentioned in order to make the rest of my story intelligible.

    “It was during this absence that I became engaged to be married to a gentleman belonging to the Indian Civil Service. Circumstances made it expedient at the time to keep the matter quiet, and it was known only to my parents and immediate relations. The gentleman had gone to India immediately after our engagement, and I returned home to my usual occupations as if nothing had happened. No one in the town knew anything about it then, or till some weeks afterwards, yet I had no sooner magnetised my patient than she began talking as if all the facts were perfectly familiar to her. ‘India is a long way off, isn’t it, dear? I wish we could be nearer home, but, of course, if he is there we must go too.’ In fact for months she could talk of little else when mesmerised, and knew my husband’s name, age, and appearance, but was as ignorant as the rest of the world when in her natural state.

    “Gradually this knowledge of all that I knew became more and more complete, and, accustomed as I was by this time to such marvels, she sometimes fairly astonished me. One day she suddenly burst out laughing. ‘Oh, what a hurry we were in, how we did fly down the stairs!’ I looked up, ‘What are you talking about? When do you mean?’ ‘Why, you know, this morning, and dear papa was waiting; he doesn’t like us to be late for prayers. But we only just wanted to finish that sentence.’ My curiosity was thoroughly aroused now, and I inquired, ‘What sentence?’ ‘Why, the German book—Schiller, wasn’t it?’ It was perfectly true, though the fact had made but a slight impression upon me, and I had certainly not thought of it again until thus reminded of it, {ii-341} that I had been reading German upstairs that morning until the prayer bell rang, and then, lingering for a moment to finish a sentence, I had rushed hastily downstairs to avoid being late.

    “This and other phenomena of the same kind puzzled me a great deal; not the fact of her knowing what I knew, for with that idea I was by this time familiar; but the thing which I could not understand was her brain being acted upon by such apparently trifling occurrences. I could perceive that things which had greatly impressed my brain might be repeated in hers, as the deflections of one needle are repeated by another at the opposite pole of the electric current. When I asked her a question, my brain probably gave the answer which hers repeated, but why did she spontaneously drag up little things which I had forgotten? Sometimes she even introduced little conversations between my father and mother which had taken place in my presence. ‘Dear mamma was vexed,’ she began one day, and then came particulars of some little argument between my father and mother, which I had heard at the time but had never thought of again, and certainly never repeated.1 1 This phenomenon is equally interesting whether it be regarded as an instance of an impression deferred for some time before emerging into the percipient’s consciousness, or as an impression derived at the moment from an unconscious or sub-conscious stratum of the agent’s mind. I have often thought over this difficulty since, but cannot in the least explain it except upon the supposition that certain things do impress our brains more strongly than others, although we may be unconscious of the fact. It is a line of inquiry which I should think might be worth pursuing in the interests of physical science, if any physician of note could so far shake off all prejudice as to make experiments for himself.

    “I have only a few more wonders to relate, and they are all of the same kind. One day, during the winter, I was sitting by the fire opposite to my patient, and, to pass the time, instead of working on this occasion, I had a book. I have forgotten what it was except that it was a novel, one of Dickens’ I think. Suddenly she began to laugh. I looked up, and saw her with her eyes shut as usual, but her head moving as if reading with her forehead, and her mouth smiling. ‘What are you laughing at?’ ‘Why at the story, of course.’ ‘What story?’ And she told me what I was reading about, making her comments on the characters, and expressing her amusement at some passages, and her sorrow at anything pathetic which I came to in the course of my reading.2 2 Cf. cases 149 and 407. I asked her the page and she told me. I asked her whereabouts in the page certain passages were, and she told me that also. I tried her with written letters and figures, and put her power to all kinds of tests, and the result always was that she knew what I knew but nothing beyond. She was never what is popularly known as ‘clairvoyante.’

    “I mention this particularly, because it was a point which I took great pains to ascertain; and several times when I asked her questions about people and things at a distance, her answers were so decided, and her knowledge apparently so minute and circumstantial that I was very nearly deceived into believing it to be true. But on every occasion of the sort, I found, on inquiry, that truth and fiction were mixed up together. Everything which I knew myself was true. But the particular facts {ii-342} which were happening at the moment, and which she described as if she saw them, were purely imaginary.

    “One remarkable instance in illustration of this I will relate. It happened during the summer, or early spring, of 1851. My married sister, with her husband and children, were expected at a vicarage 9 or 10 miles off, to pay a visit to his father. I knew this, and was, therefore, not surprised when she began to talk about it. Here, I thought, is a good opportunity to test her clairvoyance, so I said, ‘Oh, yes, we knew they were to come to-day, but have they arrived? Look and tell me?’ After a short pause she began in rather an excited way, ‘Yes, yes, I see them all just getting out of the carriage.’ ‘Whom do you see?’ I asked. ‘I see Mr. —— and Mrs. —— and the nurse, and so many children. They are going into the house, into the drawing-room on the left of the hall.’ She then described the vicarage, the drive up to it, and many other particulars with what I knew to be perfect accuracy, and her whole story was so likely, so much what I expected to happen, that I was quite prepared to have the whole confirmed on inquiry. But it was not so. In the first place, the train had been late, and the party did not arrive until an hour or two later; and, in the second place, my brother-in-law was detained at his own vicarage, many miles away, and never arrived at all at that time.

    “On another occasion, some information she gave me about Mr. ——, in India, though very likely and plausible, turned out to be incorrect.

    “Her thought-reading was always perfect, but the clairvoyance always failed when accurately tested; and though I know how fallacious an opinion based on one experiment must often be, and also that there is plenty of good evidence for the truth of clairvoyance, I have sometimes speculated whether, if any apparent case of clairvoyance were accurately inquired into, it would not often be found to have its origin in ‘thought-reading.’ [See above, pp. 329 and 335.]

    “Towards the end of the summer of 1851, I gave up magnetising ‘M.’ as a regular thing. Her health was much improved, and she lived for many years afterwards, only occasionally troubled with the St. Vitus’ dance, at which times my mother or one of my sisters took my place, and generally succeeded in quieting her.

    “It was rather a trouble to me that after the first few weeks I scarcely saw ‘M.’ in her natural state. She was so sensitive to my presence that before I entered her room she was already half gone, and it was only at the end of each séance, when, with much difficulty, by means of upward passes, fanning, and other expedients I had succeeded in waking her, that I could communicate with her real self. I hoped that my long absence in India, eight years, would have worn out this influence; but when at last I returned home and went to see her, I found her already lapsing into the trance, and had great difficulty in keeping her out of it during my visit. I believe that a more experienced and skilful operator could have prevented this in the beginning, and throughout the course it was always a subject of regret to me.

    “M. A. P .”

    Two other witnesses of this percipient’s powers have supplied the following testimony. Mrs. D’Oyly writes on Nov. 24, 1885:—

    “24, Westbourne Terrace, W.

    “DEAR SIR,—My sister, Mrs. Pinhey, has to-day forwarded me a {ii-343} letter of yours of July 30th. I had not seen her article [i.e., the account just quoted], nor did I know till to-day that she had written one. It is difficult to know what corroborative evidence is required, but my own personal experience with Mary Naylor, my sister’s patient, is curious and interesting, and I fancy almost identically the same as my sister’s. On Mrs. Pinhey leaving England, I took up the case just where she left it. In every respect the same phenomena occurred with me as a mesmeriser as when my sister operated. My patient knew the contents of my letters, every thought of my mind; she would discuss the theatre, or the ball, or party, or church I might have been at since I had last visited her, and talked it all over as if she had been present; but sometimes, if a third person happened to be present, I would be a little nervous lest something should come out which I did not wish mentioned, but my inward fear would immediately make her cautious, and she would say, ‘Oh, we must not talk about such-and-such things to-day, must we?’ Sometimes during the seance she would complain of hunger. I would go to the cupboard, turn my back to prevent her seeing, and taste different things; she could always tell what particular thing I was eating, liked and disliked what I liked and disliked, and when I had had enough her appetite was satisfied. Mrs. Pinhey was totally unprepared for everything that happened, and each new phenomenon astonished her quite as much as it did outsiders.

    “Her ‘clairvoyance’ was limited to this: that she knew any and every thing her mesmeriser knew, but no more. For instance, we would ask her for particulars of an absent sailor brother; her answer would be vague and ‘guessing,’ and always turned out to be merely the reflections of our own minds.

    “As Mrs. Pinhey and I have had no communication on this topic, I hope my observations may be considered ‘corroborative evidence.’—Believe me, yours faithfully,

    “EMMA S. D’OYLY.”

    Mrs. Ogle writes on the same date:—

    “Sedgeford Vicarage, King’s Lynn.

    “Sir,—I have been asked by my cousin, Mrs. Pinhey, if I remember seeing a girl, Mary Naylor (at Bury St. Edmunds), who was very ill of St. Vitus’ Dance, and whom she mesmerised daily. As this was more than 30 years ago, I cannot recollect all I saw and heard; but one fact was deeply impressed on my mind, and I have often mentioned it since. Mrs. Pinhey had that morning received a letter from India, and after she had sent M. Naylor off to sleep, she held it up, without unfolding it, and made the girl tell her who and where it came from and certain particulars mentioned in the letter, known only to herself. This M. Naylor did with great reluctance, as she was overpowered with sleep, and begged to be let alone, and it required great firmness on Mrs. Pinhey’s part to make the girl answer her questions. Mrs. Pinhey knew that I did not believe in mesmerism, and she was anxious that I should see the power she had over M. Naylor.

    “I am, Sir, faithfully yours,

    “HENRIETTA A. OGLE.”

    The following passages, bearing on telepathy, are extracted from some “Notes on Mesmerism,” kept at intervals during the last few years, concurrently with the experiments which they record, by {ii-344} Captain Battersby, R.A., F.R.A.S., of Ordnance House, Enniskillen. Both he and his mother-in-law, the percipient, Mrs. John Evens, of Old Bank, Enniskillen, have been mentioned before (case 311). The immediate object of the hypnotic treatment was simply the relief of pain. The extracts comprise phenomena of various sorts. To some of them the initials of independent observers were appended—to paragraphs A, B, and C, those of Miss J. A. Evens, Miss M. L. Evens, and Mrs. Battersby, and to paragraph D those of Mrs. Battersby—with the remark: “We certify that we were eye-witnesses of the occurrences to which our initials are appended, and that they are correctly described.”

    (367) “To a question asked in a foreign language, the patient usually replied in the same, provided that I could myself have done so. Asking her, however, a question in German, the answer to which I could not myself have translated into that language, she (though herself a good German scholar) answered only—‘Your mouth is shut.’ Asked the same question when awake, she could answer in the language at once.

    (A) “As a rule she would, when asleep, translate short sentences of Greek, Latin, or Irish, all quite unknown tongues to her, provided I knew the translation, but not otherwise. Now and then, however, this experiment failed.

    “She could generally tell the time by a watch placed in her hand, the name of a book, the original of a photograph, &c., provided all these were known to me.”

    [After describing an unusual trance which he observed in Mrs. Evens at the time of a distant thunder-storm, the narrator goes on:—]

    “The electrical fluid in the air seemed to have excited Mrs. E. to a very high state of thought-reading, as she now began, for the first and only time I observed such a phenomenon, to speak of her own accord, unquestioned, and to follow the course of my thoughts aloud now and then.

    (B) “During the trance there was apparently transference of sensation, as a hair tickling my forehead, a handkerchief dipped in eau-de-Cologne and applied to my face, &c., &c., all produced in her the corresponding sensations. She could also taste what I was eating or drinking. On one occasion strong smelling-salts applied to her nose produced no effect, but when applied to mine she started at once.

    “On one or two occasions I mesmerised her from a distance, when in my quarters, half-a-mile off. On such occasions she was able to tell what I had been doing, and would generally go to sleep. The sensation she described was that of a hand pressed on her forehead. Though able thus to send her to sleep, I was unable to keep her so, as she would waken again the moment my attention wavered. The means used were stretching out my hand towards her house, and bringing my will sharply to bear, just as described in Robert Browning’s fine poem on ‘Mesmerism.’

    (C) “After an absence of about 9 weeks I was curious to see whether {ii-345} the force still existed unaltered, and accordingly tried the experiment, when Mrs. E. was playing a duet on the piano, with her back towards me, of willing her strongly to sleep. Almost at once she began to play false notes, and soon gave up playing, saying she felt tired and the piece was a sleepy one. I then ceased my influence, as I did not wish her to fall asleep.

    (D) “I established the fact that Mrs. E. could be mesmerised by me without her knowledge, and awoke again so that she would have no idea that she had been in the mesmeric sleep, but would merely think that she had dozed for awhile. The incapability of rising by herself, however, which was always present after the sleep, would soon inform her of the truth.

    “When partially awakened by the above means [reverse passes], however, the operation could be completed by a mere effort of will on my part, and this whether I was in the same room or no, Mrs. E. being at once conscious of this exertion of will.”

    In answer to inquiries, Captain Battersby says:—

    “January 20th, 1886.

    “On various occasions, separated sometimes by months from each other, I tried to mesmerise Mrs. E. from a distance; and in a large percentage of the cases she inquired of me, when she next saw or wrote to me, whether I had not done so at such and such a day or hour. At any time when in the trance, the act of looking at Mrs. E., or willing her to open her eyes, will cause her to do so.”

    In a later letter he adds:—

    “I am sorry that I can give you no corroborative evidence of the mesmerism from a distance, as it was not often tried by me (for fear of causing Mrs. E. annoyance); and I do not think anyone was present with her on the occasions. She certainly was able to tell when I had been attempting to mesmerise her; but beyond that I cannot personally speak.”

    To these hypnotic cases, I will add a couple of instances of thought-transference where disease seems to have produced an equally abnormal condition in the percipient. The following account is extracted from a very remarkable record in Pététin’s Electricité Animale (Paris, 1808). Dr. Pététin had been for some time attending a lady who suffered (among other things) from attacks of catalepsy. He says (pp. 55–7):—

    “Je m’annonçai, comme j’avais coutume de le faire, en lui parlant sur le bout des doigts. Elle me répondit, ‘Vous êtes paresseux ce matin, M. le Docteur.’ ‘Cela est vrai, madame; si vous en saviez la cause, vous ne me feriez pas ce reproche.’ ‘Eh! je la vois; vous avez la migraine depuis quatre heures, elle ne cessera qu’à six, et vous avez raison de ne rien faire pour cette maladie, que toutes les. puissances humaines

    ne peuvent empêcher d’avoir son cours.’ ‘Depuis quand êtes-vous devenu médecin?’ ‘Depuis que j’ai les yeux d’Argus.’ ‘Pourriez-vous me dire de quel côté {ii-346} est ma douleur?’ ‘Sur l’œil droit, la tempe et les dents; je vous préviens qu’elle passera à l’œil gauche, que vous souffrirez beaucoup entre trois et quatre heures, et qu’à six vous aurez la tête parfaitement libre.’ ‘Si vous voulez que je vous croie, il faut que vous me disiez ce que je tiens dans la main.’ Je l’appuyai aussitôt sur son estomac, et la maladie, sans hésiter, me répondit, ‘Je vois à travers votre main une médaille antique.’ J’ouvre la main tout interdit; la belle-sceur jeta les yeux sur la médaille, pâlit et se trouva mal. Revenue à elle-même, elle renferma dans une bonbonnière brune et à demi transparente un chiffon de papier, me donna la boîte derrière le fauteuil de sa sœur; je l’enveloppai de ma main, et la présentai à l’estomac de la cataleptique, sans lui parler. ‘Je vois dans votre main une boîte, et dans cette boîte une lettre à mon adresse.’ La belle-sœur, épouvantée, tremblait sur ses jambes; je me hâtai d’ouvrir la boîte; j’en tirai une lettre pliée en quatre, à l’adresse de la malade, et timbrée de Genève. [Translation]I told her I was there in the usual manner, using the fingertips. She replied, "You are lazy this morning, doctor." "Yes, Madame, I am; if you knew why, you would not reproach me." "Oh, I can see the cause; you have had a migraine since four o'clock, and it will not end until six, and you are right not to try to cure it, for no human power can prevent it from running its course." "How long have you been a doctor?" "For as long as I have had the eyes of Argus." "Can you tell me which side my pain is on?" "On the side of the right eye, the right temple and teeth; I inform you that it will shift to the left eye, that you will suffer greatly between three and four, and that at six your head will be entirely free of it." "If you want me to believe you, you must tell me what I am holding in my hand." I pressed my hand against her stomach at once, and the patient, without any hesitation, replied: "I can see through your hand an antique medallion." In confusion, I opened my hand, and the sister-in-law, casting her eyes on the medallion, went pale and began to feel ill. When she felt better, she placed in a small, brown, translucent box a scrap of paper, and handed me the box behind the back of her sister’s chair. I closed my hand around it and placed it on the stomach of the cataleptic woman, without a word. "I see a box in your hand, and inside it is a letter addressed to me." The knees of the frightened sister-in-law trembled. I opened the box as quickly as I could, and drew out a letter folded twice, addressed to the patient and postmarked from Geneva.

    “L’étonnement où me jeta cette découverte suspendit quelques instans ma douleur, et m’ôta toute réflexion. Je trouvai le tremblement de la belle-sœur très-naturel; elle aurait pu se trouver plus mal, que je n’ aurais pas songé à lui donner le moindre secours, et je restai stupéfait plus d’un quart d’heure. En revenant à moi, je demandai à la belle-sœur, comment elle s’était procuré la lettre qu’elle avait renfermée dans la bonbonnière? Elle me répondit que cette lettre s’était trouvée dans la livre qu’elle lisait, en attendant ma visite; qu’elle l’avait pris dans la bibliothèque de la malade, et qu’en l’ouvrant elle était tombée à ses pieds; qu’elle l’avait relevée et mise dans sa poche pour la lui rendre, aussitôt qu’elle serait éveillée. Je pris le livre et l’examinai, comme si j’eusse dû y trouver l’empreinte de la lettre, tant ce nouveau prodige me paraissait incroyable; mais me convenait-il bien d’en douter, d’après ma propre expérience? Etait-ce un autre qui avait mis dans ma main la médaille antique dont j’étais muni, avec le dessein de profiter de la première occasion pour la placer sur l’estomac de la malade, et voir si elle la signalerait, comme d’autres objets que je lui avais presentés?” [Translation]I was so surprised at the discovery that I forgot about my pain for a time. I was unable to think. I found the sister-in-law’s trembling quite unremarkable. She could have been a lot worse without it occurring to me to do anything for her. I was thunderstruck for more than a quarter of an hour. When I recovered my senses, I asked the sister-in-law how she had gotten hold of the letter that she had put into the box. She replied that the letter had been in the book she was reading while waiting for me to show up; she had gotten the book from the patient’s library, and when she opened it, the letter had fallen out; she had picked it up and put it in her pocket to give the patient once she had come out of her trance. This new marvel seemed so unbelievable that I took the book to examine it, as though I might have found some mark left by the letter. But did I need to doubt, given my own experience? Was it not I who had taken up the antique medallion I had with me, with the intention of placing it on the patient’s stomach as soon as I could, to see whether she would identify it, as she had other objects I had presented to her?

    In the evening, Dr. Pététin revisited his patient. He continues (pp. 62–5):-

    (368) “Avant de sortir, je plaçai, à tout événement, une, petite lettre sur le haut de ma poitrine; je m’enveloppai de mon manteau, et n’arrivai qu’ à six heures et demie. [Translation]Before going out, I had the idea of placing a little letter in my upper garments; then I wrapped myself in my cloak. I arrived only at six-thirty.

    “Au coup de sept heures, la malade, très-attentive, animée par sa gaieté naturelle, éprouva deux secousses dans les bras; et dans ce court espace de temps, ses yeux se fermèrent, sa physionomie exprima l’étonnement, ses couleurs disparurent, et la catalepsie la transforma en statue qui écoute. [Translation]Exactly at seven, the patient, quite alert and full of her natural high spirits, felt her arms jerk twice, and, in that short period of time, her eyes closed, she took on a startled expression, she went pale, and a cataleptic fit transformed her into a statue, able only to listen.

    “J’avançai mon fauteuil pour être plus près de la malade. Sa tête, toujours tournée du même côte, ne m’offrait que son profil; je développai mon manteau, pour mettre le haut de mon corps à découvert. ‘Eh! depuis quand, M. le Docteur, la mode est-elle venue de porter ses lettres sur la poitrine?’ J’alongeai le bras pour atteindre du bout du doigt le creux de l’estomac de ma cataleptique; et en réunissant les doigts de mon autre main, je lui répondis à voix ordinaire, ‘Madame, vous pourriez vous tromper.’ ‘Non, je suis sûre de ce que je vois. Vous avez sur la poitrine {ii-347} une lettre qui n’est pas plus grande que cela—qu’on l’applique à la mesure.’ En proféant ces paroles, elle donna une autre position à sa tête, qu’elle dirigea de mon côté; elle avança les deux bras, alongea l’index de la main gauche, et avec celui de la droite qu’elle posa dessus, determina dans la plus grande précision la place qu’elle devait occuper. Tous les regards tombèrent sur moi. J’écartai me veste, on vit la lettre; l’ami s’en empara pour l’appliquer sur le doigt qui l’attendait; elle ne l’eut pas plutôt touché, que la malade ajouta, ‘Si je n’étais pas discrète, je pourrais en dire le contenu; metis pour prouver que je Vai bien lue, il n’y a que deux lignes et demie, très-minutées.’ Après avoir obtenu la permission de l’ouvrir, chacun vit que le billet ne renfermait que deux lignes et demie, dont les caractères étaient menus. L’ami

    passant tout-à-coup du plus haut degré d’étonnement à celui de la plus grande défiance, tira de sa poche une bourse, la mit sur ma poitrine, croisa ma veste, et me poussa du côtè de la malade. ‘M. le Docteur, ne vous gênez pas; vous avez, dans ce moment, sur la poitrine, la filoche de M. B.; il y a tant de louis d’un côté et d’argent blanc de l’autre; mais que personne ne se dérange, je vais dire ce que chacun a de plus remarquable dans ses poches.’” She fulfilled this promise. [Translation]I moved my chair closer to the patient. Her head, still to the same side, could be seen only in profile. I opened my coat to uncover my upper body. "Ah, doctor, how long has it been the fashion to carry letters in one’s chest pocket?" I stretched out my arm and touched the cataleptic’s stomach with my fingertip, and, bringing together the fingers of my other hand, I replied in a normal voice, "Madame, you may be mistaken." "No, I am sure of what I am seeing. You have against your chest a letter no bigger than this. You could measure it." As she spoke, she turned her head so that she was facing me, reached out with both arms, stretched out her left index finger, and, with her right index finger, which she placed on top, marked off with great precision the space it was supposed to occupy. Everyone looked at me. I pulled my jacket aside. The letter was visible. My friend took it in order to put it in contact with the ready finger. No sooner had the patient touched it when she added, "If I were not such a discreet person, I could tell you what is in it. But to prove that I have indeed read it, there are only two lines and a half, in very small writing." After having gotten permission to open the note, all could see that it contained only two and a half lines, in a fine hand. The friend went in a flash from extreme astonishment to great mistrust. He drew a purse from his pocket, put it on my chest, closed my jacket, and directed me toward the patient. "Doctor, don't worry; right now, you have upon your chest the fishnet bag belonging to Mr. B. There are so many gold pieces in one side and there is silver in the other side. But don't get too excited; I will tell you what is the most remarkable thing each of you has in his pockets."

    Many other incidents are recorded in this case. Pététin himself regards them all as clairvoyant in character; but the hypothesis of thought-transference was never excluded by the conditions (see pp. 329, 335, 342).

    The final instance is another extract from the Mechanism of Man (Vol. II., pp. 175–7). This case, like the two last quoted, was observed during a considerable period. Serjeant Cox says:—

    (369) “The patient was my sister, a girl of 15, of hysterical temperament and somewhat deficient in intelligence. I was 6 years her senior. I had then no knowledge of the phenomena of somnambulism, beyond the uses made of it by the novelist and the dramatist. I had never even heard of mesmerism. I was, therefore, a perfectly unprejudiced witness.

    [The writer then describes cataleptic fits, from which his sister suffered, and which used to pass off, leaving her in a semi-conscious, trancelike state.]

    “If, as she lay upon the sofa, her eyes firmly closed, I opened a book having pictures in it, and sat behind her in a position where it was physically impossible that she could see what I was doing, and I looked at one of the pictures, she forthwith exhibited, in pantomimic action, the posture of each person there depicted. It was perfectly manifest that she had the image of the engraving impressed upon her mind, as distinctly as if it had been conveyed to it by the sense of sight. Nor is it to be explained by the suggestion that the engravings were familiar to her, and that she guessed upon which of them I was looking; for it was the same with books and pictures purposely tried which she had never seen. But whether that impression was obtained through my mind, in which the image also was, or that her mind perceived the picture itself directly, although out of the range of vision, is the problem to be solved. If the servant who attended her, obedient to her signalled desire, went to her {ii-348} bedroom on the floor above the room in which she was lying entranced, she expressed the most obvious signs of annoyance if the servant above touched the wrong thing, and of satisfaction when she touched the right one, precisely as if the search had been made in the same room and she saw what was going on. The experiment was purposely tried many times, with various tests, so as to leave no doubt of the fact upon any member of the family who witnessed it.

    “It should be stated that when a part of the picture was covered, so that I could see but a part, her perceptions were limited to the part seen by me. I was, indeed, unable to trace any power of perception of anything not seen by the person with whom her mind was at the time associated. She perceived behind her so much of the picture as was seen by me and impressed on my mind. She perceived the objects seen and touched by her servant upstairs and so impressed upon her mind.

    “These phenomena continued for nearly 2 years, so that there was ample opportunity for observing them. Imposture was out of the question. Delusion was impossible. The occurrence was in a private family, and witnessed by none but themselves and the attendant physician, whose sagacious explanation of it I have narrated.” [The explanation referred to was that it was a case of hysteria “and in hysteria people can do anything.”]

    {ii-349}

    CHAPTER II.

    IDEAL, EMOTIONAL, AND MOTOR CASES.

    § 1. The present chapter will contain instances parallel to those given in Chapters VI. and VII. of Vol. I., arranged as far as possible in the same order. These accounts, and the dream-cases of the succeeding chapter, belong (as pointed out in Vol. I., p. 234) to the weakest evidential classes; and I should have been glad to present them in a more condensed shape. But I found on making the attempt, that such force as they possess, and—what it is equally a duty to bring out—their evidential defects, were apt to disappear when their form was altered.

    I will begin with cases where the transference of an idea seems to have been of a tolerably definite and literal kind.

    The first five cases (taken in connection with others)1 1 See the list in p. 162, first note, as well as the cases of the preceding chapter. form a group which strongly suggests that a fugitive faculty of percipience may be developed by an abnormal condition of mind and body.

    (370) From Mrs. Mainwaring, Knowles, Ardingly, Hayward’s Heath.

    “March 14th, 1885.

    “During the Mutiny, I was staying with a friend, dreadfully ill—too ill to be told what was going on. A baby was born, and a day or two after, my friend’s wife, sitting on my bed, received a letter. I said, ‘You need not read it, I know every word,’ and I told her. It was to say she must not drive that afternoon to the Fort as usual, for some men were going to be hanged on the road. I had not heard a word of the discovery of the plot, or of the plot, or of what was to be; but I said every word in the letter, and I remember my friend’s face of astonishment, as she said, ‘Why, how did you know it?’ It didn’t seem at all odd to me.

    “E. L. MAINWARING.”

    Subsequently Mrs. Mainwaring wrote:—

    “June 18th, 1885.

    “In compliance with your request, I wrote to my old friend, but I have not had a line in reply. I do not know what can have become of her, as it would have been very little trouble to say if she recollected the {ii-350} facts I told you of. I do not like to write again, and I am sorry, therefore, I cannot add her testimony.”

    [In cases belonging to a weak class—i.e., a class where the experience of the percipient is not of a sufficiently strongly-marked type to make it violently improbable that it would be afterwards imagined or modified in memory—absence of corroboration is of course a doubly important defect. This remark applies to a good many of the examples that follow.]

    In the following case, again, the percipient was in a state of serious illness.

    (371) From Mr. E. Chapman, (wood-carver) Windsor Hall, Brighton.

    “1884.

    “My father, when a young man, entered the service of Sir Charles Dymoke; estate, Scrivelsby Hall, Lincolnshire. He rose rapidly to become almost constant companion.” Mr. Chapman then describes how his father on one occasion saved the coachman of Sir C. Dymoke from very serious danger and disgrace, for which the coachman said that “he would thank him with his dying breath.”

    “Many years after this happened, my father was lying very ill; so much so he could not help himself in any way. My mother had just made him as comfortable as possible, (he was perfectly helpless,) and she had gone downstairs to attend to her household affairs, when she heard a loud knocking, and going upstairs, found my father sitting bolt upright in bed. On asking him how he came in that position, he exclaimed, ‘O mother,’ (they always called each other mother and father), ‘'what is the time?’ (being told), ‘What is it to-day?’ (Thursday), ‘And the day of the month? Now write it all down at once.’

    “Being asked why he wished it to be written, he answered ‘So-and-so,’ naming the aforesaid coachman, ‘is dead.’ ‘How do you know that, father?’ ‘Don’t ask me. You will have a letter in two or three days.’ On the third day from that time the letter came announcing the death of the said coachman, somewhere in Norfolk—so that he and my father must have been 50 miles apart at the time. My father, on sinking down to his former helpless condition, exclaimed, ‘O how cold it was.’ We never could get a further explanation from him, but for a long time after, when anyone offered to shake hands with him in their shirt-sleeves, or had a light coat on, he would shudder and sometimes say, ‘How cold.’

    “EDWARD CHAPMAN.”

    [The last words suggest some sort of sensory impression made on the percipient; but the evidence for this is insufficient.]

    In the next example the percipient was not only ill, but closely approaching death.

    (372) From the Memoirs of the Rev. Joseph Buckminster, D.D., and of his son, the Rev. J. S. Buckminster, by Eliza Buckminster Lee, Dr. Buckminster’s daughter, (Boston, U.S.A., 1851), pp. 464 and 476–7. Both father and son were noted preachers. The “Mrs. Buckminster” mentioned was the father’s third wife.

    “On Tuesday evening, June 9th, he (the son) expired. … When his [Dr. Buckminster’s] wife entered his [Dr. Buckminster’s] {ii-351} chamber the next morning he said to her, with perfect composure, ‘My son Joseph is dead.’ Mrs. Buckminster, supposing that he had slept and dreamed that his son was dead, although no news of his illness had reached him, assured him that it was a dream. ‘No,’ he replied, ‘I have not slept nor dreamed; he is dead!’ This incident is related as received from the lips of her to whom the words were spoken, and there can be no shadow of doubt of their truth.”

    The particulars of dates, &c., are as follows:—

    Dr. Joseph Buckminster was living at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, where he had been for many years pastor of a church. On the 1st or 2nd of June, 1812, he left Portsmouth intending to travel for his health. He reached Peedsborough, a little village, on the 9th of June, and died there the following morning, [sic] The Rev. J. S. Buckminster (the son) was living at Boston in delicate health. He was taken suddenly ill on June 3, and died on June 9th, 24 hours before the death of his father. Dr. Buckminster must have been aware of his son’s delicate state of health, but no one seems to have expected his death to occur when it did. There is no mention of letters being sent to warn Dr. Buckminster, nor do the family seem to have been aware of the son’s illness until after the father’s death. Indeed Dr. Buckminster had intended to visit his son and daughter at Boston, on his return from the expedition which was cut short by his own death.

    The next example exhibits the faculty in a less fugitive form, and in connection with more chronic disease.

    (373) From the Zoist, Vol. V., p. 311.

    Dr. Elliotson writes:—“The following particulars were sent to me by a medical gentleman, who has already contributed with his name to the Zoist, but begs his name not to be disclosed on the present occasion, though I am at liberty to mention it to any person privately.

    “JOHN ELLIOTSON.”

    “DEAR SIR,—I have some personal analogous experience. It is nearly nine years since I took the immediate charge of a gentleman of deranged intellect, with whom I reside in intimate association as friend. I have often, particularly in the earlier years of my charge, been thoroughly puzzled to account for his knowledge of circumstances, perhaps mere trifles, with which we did not wish him to become acquainted. I did not deem them worthy of note at the time, that is, I did not make any memorandum of them, and would not now like to trust to my memory as to the particulars, nor would they be clearly apprehended without entering into tedious prosy details. Suffice it that long before I read the Zoist, I had expressed to the able medical gentleman who regularly visits us an opinion that ‘our friend seemed to know things as if a spiritual intelligence was at his elbow and whispered in his ear’; ‘formerly they would have said he had a familiar spirit’; ‘know, he certainly does, but how I can‘t make out’; and such like remarks, showing my impression at the time.

    “Our patient’s mental condition has greatly improved, and I do not now often observe these curious perceptions, or they are not so singular or {ii-352} strongly marked as to preclude the possibility of their being matters of accidental coincidence.

    “About three years since, for a few evenings, this perceptive power was wonderfully acute; he was in an argumentative and quarrelsome humour at the time. We sat together by the fireside, while our tea was infusing, seemingly both engaged in thought, when my friend exclaimed, ‘I don’t think that, sir; I don’t think that. I don’t believe it. I say I don’t believe it.’ I replied quietly, ‘Don’t believe what, Mr. ——? I have not spoken; what do you allude to?’ He immediately, without noticing my remark that I had not spoken, referred to the precise subject of which I had just been thinking, and began to contradict me respecting it. Had this occurred but once, it might be said I was ‘unconsciously thinking aloud,’ but several similar manifestations of perceptive power took place about this time; and, as I was on my guard, I can certainly state, with as firm a conviction of the truth of my averment as any one who confides in his senses and memory can feel, that I did not speak my thoughts, but that there was a clairvoyant perception of them, or perception in some unaccountable manner.

    “Another instance is well-marked, and caused us much interest and wonder at the time. Four-and-a-half years since, it became necessary that M——, our house-steward and butler, should be discharged. As he was an old family servant, and his dismissal might irritate our patient, it was deemed advisable that we should pay a visit to the seaside for a month, and his removal be effected during our absence. Without tedious explanation I cannot convey the grounds of my conviction, but surely convinced am I that our poor friend neither did nor could know anything of the contemplated change, until the day preceding that of our return home. He was then informed by letter that M—— had, for certain reasons, been sent away, and a very comfortable, respectable elderly person, Mrs. T——, installed in his place. … Next morning we started for home, a distance of 60 miles. Whilst the horses were being changed for the last stage, … I explained that Mrs. T—— would take care to make us comfortable; that she was a very respectable person; that we would not consider her a common servant, but call her our lady housekeeper, &c., &c., in the same strain, trying to impress that she was a very superior person to the one she had succeeded. As I finished, we started. My friend threw himself back in the carriage, and did not speak for 8 or 10 minutes, and then said, ‘I don’t see that, Mr. ——’ (addressing me), ‘I don’t see that; I don’t believe it. M—— kept a grocer‘s shop’ (Mrs. T—— kept a grocer’s shop before she came) ‘before he came; one grocer is as good as another; both shopkeepers; no difference in respectability, I think.’ This was strictly true; and the inquiries which I made to discover how our friend knew it only tended to puzzle me, as the attendants, whose casual remarks might have been overheard, declared that they did not know Mrs. T—— was a grocer until I named it; and other sources of information there were not.”1 1 While this chapter is passing through the press, I have received, from Mr. W. H. Dayman, of Redbridge, Southampton, an account of Mrs. Occomore, a bed-ridden old woman in his village, blind and a little deaf, and living a completely isolated life, who seems sometimes to have an abnormal intuition of what is passing in other minds. From among other less distinct instances, I select the two following. I should premise that Mrs. Occomore, her daughter, Mrs. Futcher, and a grand-daughter, are the only occupants of the house.

    (1) “On the 22nd March, Mrs. F., who had been some time undecided as to giving notice to leave the house they all live in, which she rents, finally decided to do so, and sent Mrs. T. [her daughter] to Winchester to give notice to the proper authorities. On that day Mrs. O., who of course knew nothing about it, began declaring that they were all going to leave the house and that she must be packing up her things. So the whole of the day she was busy with her hands fumbling about the bed-clothes, fancying she was packing things. For two days she kept on like this. (2) “On March 26th, Mrs. F. went out into her yard to clean up some straw which was littered about there. She was called off her work to attend to her mother (Mrs. O.). Upon getting into her room, Mrs. O. at once began telling her to sweep up the straw which she declared was strewn all over the room, and no assurances to the contrary would convince her that there was no straw there, till finally, to satisfy her, Mrs. F. got the broom and pretended to sweep it up.

    {ii-353}

    If the following case is accurately reported, the percipient must again have been in a very abnormal condition; as people do not usually commit suicide because their fathers die. It is probable that, though both deaths occurred, the exactitude of the coincidence may have been exaggerated; and the scene on ship-board has very likely become, in recollection and transmission, more picturesque and dramatic than it really was.

    (374) From Mr. Nicholas Heald, Bowdon-by-Altrincham, Cheshire.

    “July 7th, 1884.

    “The late John Gisborne [the narrator’s brother-in-law], who was an officer in the naval service of the old East India Company, often during his life told the following incident:—

    “One Saturday evening, when it was the sailors’ custom, among other toasts, always to give ‘Sweethearts and Wives,’ followed by others, and when the ship was thousands of miles distant from England, one of his brother officers who was silent, gloomy, and depressed, was urged to give his toast, but made no reply. At length, after constant pressure, he stood up and said, looking sternly around on his merry companions, ‘Well, fill your glasses,’ and followed this up by saying, ‘I give you the memory of my dead father.’ Shocked at this, his brother officers hesitated, when he again sternly repeated, ‘I give you the memory of my dead father.’ He then left the table, went upon deck and was seen no more, having, it is supposed, thrown himself overboard.

    “On the ship’s arrival in the Thames, Gisborne, after reporting himself at the India House, went to the house of the young man’s father, some short distance in the suburbs, to communicate to the family his death. He asked to see the father, and on the servant saying he was dead, found, in answer to his inquiries, that he died the very same day that his son drowned himself.

    “NICHOLAS HEALD.”

    Mr. Gisborne’s daughter (Loventor House, Berry Pomeroy, Totnes) Writes:—

    “I recollect very well, and have often repeated it to others, what dear papa related, which was that at the mess table the officer suddenly drank to his just deceased father’s memory, and immediately left and threw himself overboard, and on arrival in England, papa found the date and hour exactly corresponded with the father’s death. I don’t know the ship or officer’s name.”

    {ii-354}

    Mr. Gisborne’s widow says that she thinks the young officer’s name was Hunter.

    [Such an incident as the suicide would probably be recorded in the log, and a laborious search has therefore been made at the India Office, in order to ascertain the name of the ship; but without success.]

    (375) From Miss Butler, Priestown, Co. Meath.

    “December 18th, 1885.

    Miss Butler begins by describing her unusually strong friendship with a Madame H., head of a finishing establishment for young ladies at F., in Germany, with whom she lived for some time. Mrs. H. having gone to Paris for a few weeks, to engage a French governess, Miss Butler spent this period at her own home, and the greater part of it in bed, as she was still suffering from the effects of an illness. Here she had a vivid sense of accompanying Madame H. on her search through the different convents of Paris. She finally insisted on returning to F., being sure that Madame H. would be back before the appointed time, which proved to be the case.

    “I told her how I had followed all her movements; I described the different convents; described the room in the Sacré Cœur, I think it was, in which she saw the young woman she actually engaged; described the Mother Superior; told her the young lady’s name, Mdlle. F., which of course I had never heard, and told her the terms on which she had engaged her. She was astonished. There was a kind of superior housekeeper, a Frau M., who was much in Madame’s confidence; she was present while I told my tale and Madame said it was all true. I told her I remembered many other things, the particulars of which have escaped my memory, as they had no interest for me save as they concerned my Madame. Amongst others, I described her meeting with a French gentleman who used to visit her at F., and mentioned the subject of conversation. Mademoiselle came over with her; she made me describe to her the room at the convent, the conversation, &c., and the poor girl said she was frightened of me, she was sure I was not all right, and I don’t think she ever got over the feeling of constraint, shall I call it, to the end of our connection.

    “ISABELLA BUTLER.”

    In answer to inquiries, Miss Butler writes:—

    “It must have been in the year 1849 or 1850. I have never had any further experience—at least nothing of the same kind that I could detail in as circumstantial a manner.” She has long lost sight of Madame H.; and Mdlle. F. and Frau M. are dead.

    In the next few cases the percipient was apparently in a perfectly normal state.

    (376) The following incident is recorded in All the Year Round for May 6, 1859, by a physician who does not give his name, but who says that it was described to him as a personal experience by Prof. Wilson, of Edinburgh. The physician himself writes sensibly, and much of his paper is devoted to explaining the purely subjective nature of many of the hallucinations which have been marvelled at as “apparitions.”

    Prof. Wilson (as reported) begins by describing a picnic party, to which he went with some friends in Ireland:—

    {ii-355}

    “The thick of the dinner being over, we strolled out, or lolled, in that pleasant prolongation of a repast, which is the best part of a thing of that sort; but as we knew that, according to the programme, our time was limited, on account of some other spots which we had yet to visit, I was deputed to see, by a reference to my watch, that we did not overstay the hour. Accordingly, I had placed my watch—a fine old silver warming-pan, the paternal gift—on a low fragment of ruin that was just opposite to me, and in the intervals of conversation I looked at it, though indeed not quite so often as at the face of Mary M. Suddenly—I perfectly remember the hands were pointing to twenty minutes past two in the sunshine—the watch arrested my gaze, while a remarkable feeling passed over me. I said to myself, but to this hour I know not why, ‘At this exact time my brother R. is dying in India.’ The sensation came and went with the rapidity of those unaccountable impressions

    ‘Which make the present, while the flash doth last,
    Seem but the semblance of an unknown past.’

    Yet, so much was I struck with the incident, that taking out my pocketbook, saying nothing, however, to anybody as to why I did so, I noted down the day and hour of this strange visitation of thought. I did not exactly place confidence in the prevision, yet I could not shake off an unpleasant feeling about it. At length the incident became merged in the frequent repetition to myself that it was ‘all fudge,’ and I might call it forgotten (there was plenty of time for this, for it was not in the days of steam), when a letter from India brought our family the startling intelligence that my brother had actually died there on the very day when I had made the entry in my pocket-book, and at an hour which, by allowance for latitude [no doubt a slip of the writer’s own], corresponded exactly with that marked by my watch when I had my eyes on it. Our correspondent also informed us that my brother had, in his last moments, mentioned me.”1 1 The following narrative is very similar, and in detail also closely resembles case 72. I do not give it an evidential number, as it is not certain that the witness was cognisant of the percipient’s impression before the news of the death arrived. Mrs. Harper, of Cotham, Bristol, narrates:—”

    “1884. “My father-in-law, Mr. A. Harper, told me that at one time of his life he was in the Spanish wool trade, and that it necessitated one of the partners residing in Spain, and in consequence his cousin, Mr. James B., went to Spain. Before leaving Bristol he became engaged to a Miss B. Some time after his departure, Miss B. was at a large party, seated at the piano, when she suddenly withdrew her hands, sobbing hysterically, saying, ‘James B. is dead; James B. is dead.’ She could not explain how she knew it, but had a most convincing consciousness that it was so, and he really had died in Spain at the time of Miss B.’s distress.“S. J. HARPER.” Mrs. Hellier, of Headingly College, Leeds, writes on April 7, 1885:— “My sister-in-law, Mrs. Harper, of Bristol, has forwarded to me your letter of the 4th, asking for further information regarding an incident related to her by my late father, Mr. A. Harper. I am sorry that I cannot inform you on the point you name, viz., my father being present when it occurred. The probability is that he was not, but that he heard it next day from those who were. He was then in the employ of his uncle, Mr. B. (a Spanish wool merchant), and consequently in daily intercourse with him and his other sons, all of whom are dead. “I well remember hearing my father and mother talk of the incident in question, but being a mere child at the time (7 or 8 years of age) did not take much interest in the conversation.“JANE E. HELLIER.” I will add a parallel case in which the incidents are so simple that even a third-hand account is of some evidential force. Mrs. Michael Smith, of 27, Perham Road, S.W., narrates:—“June, 1884. “My grandfather, Mr. John Syme, of Ryedale, Dumfriesshire, the friend and patron of Burns, was a remarkable man. Two of his sons were abroad, one in the army in India, one commanding a ship of his own in the merchant navy, at the West Indies. One day my grandfather entered the room where my aunt, his only daughter, was sitting, and said to her, ‘Harriet, your brother John is dead.’ Afterwards it was proved that he had died on that day in India. My aunt noted the day, and six months later came the news of his death. Another time he came to his daughter, and, in exactly the same way, stood in the doorway, delivered his speech, and went away—‘Harriet, Richard is dead,’—and subsesequently word came that he had died on that day. “This was told to me by an uncle, since dead. I have no means of corroborating this, though I know it to be literally true, as my grandfather died more than 50 years ago, and was then past 70. I never saw him. He was with Burns, crossing a moor in a thunderstorm, when Burns was inspired by ‘Scots wha hae.’” The Harriet of the narrative (Mrs. Smith‘s aunt) is also dead. Mrs. Smith never heard how the warning was given; she believes that her grandfather never told anyone.

    {ii-356}

    (377) From Mrs. Gierke, Clifton Lodge, Farquhar Road, Upper Norwood, S.E., the narrator of case 242.

    “November 18th 1885.

    “My two boys returned to school on the 18th September. They intended to try the route viâ Swindon and Andover, on account of the trains being more convenient, instead of going by Paddington.

    “They left home about 3 o’clock, and I heard no more about them until the Monday following, but I was very uneasy all the evening, and about 9.30 I remarked to my daughter, ‘I am perfectly convinced that those boys have never got to Marlborough; I am quite sure they are walking about the roads this minute.’ She said, ‘What nonsense! of course they are all right. Gus’ (the youngest), ‘is so sensible, he never would make a mistake.’ I said, ‘I don’t know, but I feel quite sure they have missed one train after another, and have never got there.’ On the Monday following I heard from them. They had missed the train at Waterloo, had then gone to Paddington, missed the special there, and had gone by a later, which, by a curious combination of circumstances, had landed them at Woodborough. They got out, mistaking it in the dark for Marlborough, and only found out their mistake too late, and had walked 11 miles on a road unknown to them, and got to their school at 1 o’clock in the morning. They managed to scale the walls, and found a class-room open, where they got what sleep they could—very little.

    “M. CLERKE

    Miss Clerke corroborates as follows:—

    “November 30th 1885.

    “I remember distinctly, when my brothers returned to school, that my mother remarked several times to me that she felt quite sure that they were walking about the roads somewhere. We found out afterwards that it was just as my mother said, and, at the time she spoke, they actually were walking to Marlborough.

    “H. F. B. CLERKE

    [In describing the incident to me, Mrs. Clerke, who is the reverse of a nervous or fanciful person, especially dwelt on her impression that her sons were wandering on roads. This particular idea seems a far less likely one to have been purely subjectively caused, through maternal apprehension, than that of some calamity, such as a railway accident. It was also a very unlikely thing to occur in reality. At the same time, it may be conceived that the mention of the projected novel route had led to some passing remark—such as, “Don’t blunder about your trains, or you’ll have to walk,” and that the odd impression had its origin in this forgotten suggestion.]

    (378) Mr. J. W. Stillman, the well-known American writer, gives the {ii-357} following account of his experiences in connection with two friends. Of the first he says:—

    “She had never been subject to visions or hallucinations, had no tendency to hysteria, and was gifted with great common-sense in practical matters. She was the wife of a physician, and mother of several children. But she had a psychological power which is in my experience unique, and between herself and any very intimate friend there was a mental sympathy almost amounting on her part to clairvoyance. Between her and myself there was especially a sympathy so distinct that I could generally, by excluding physical objects of attention, perceive her mental, sometimes physical, condition, and she on her part had generally a presentiment of my visits.

    “She passed a great deal of her time at the house of a married daughter in Brooklyn, my residence being in New York. On one occasion, while staying at her daughter’s, she was visited by what the Germans call the Doppel-gänger of myself. Entering the room where she sat sewing at a window, looking out on the street, at an hour in the afternoon when she had no reason to expect a visit, she remarked at once, ‘I knew you were coming for I saw you pass the window 10 minutes ago. You were looking just as you now look, and dressed in precisely the same manner. I waited for you to ring the bell, and when after some time no ring came, I said to myself “Stillman is coming.” I had not previously passed the house, but came straight from the ferry, and when I came in sight, came from the same direction as the Doppel-gänger, between which and myself, she said, there was no visible difference. [This, however, may have been a case of mistaken identity.]

    “If she ever desired to see me urgently, I felt the impression of her mind so strongly that I invariably, when not urgently occupied, went to her at once. Some years after I knew her, she went to California, in the hope of throwing off the pulmonary disease of which she died, and during her absence we corresponded regularly. One day, during the voyage, I had a sudden and vivid impression that she was dying, and noted it in my diary. The impression passed away, however, and was not renewed. On getting the letter which announced her safe arrival I found recorded that, on the day I had noted in my diary, she had been completely overcome by the intense heat, and had it not been for the steamer’s fortunate arrival the same day at Acapulco, where ice and lemon were instantly procured from the shore, in her own opinion and that of the surgeon she would probably have died that day.

    “One day, while working quietly in my studio at New York, not knowing where she was, nor having had any recent communication from her, I had suddenly a vivid perception that she wanted the help of Sara [her daughter]. I crossed the ferry at once to Brooklyn, took a carriage and drove to her daughter’s house, saying to her that her mother wanted her, saw her in the carriage, and on her way, and then went back to my studio. The next day I learned that [Mrs. M. had been suddenly forced to participate in a most distressing and agitating] scene, during which her daughter arrived, finding her mother completely prostrated and fainting, and carried her off to her own house.

    “One of the most intimate mutual friends of Mrs. M. and myself was a Mrs. B., wife of a well-known American sculptor. Between Mrs. B. and {ii-358} myself there was a mental sympathy, even stronger than that with Mrs. M., though different in kind. Like Mrs. M., she was much my senior, and like her, too, was a victim to an over-developed nervous system, though rarely ill—of uncommon intellectual gifts, and the friend of many of the best minds of that day in America. But, like Socrates, she heard a voice which warned, counselled, and answered her at all times, and whose admonitions neither she nor her husband ever hesitated to obey. She had Zschokke’s gift1 1 For Zschokke’s description of his gift, see Eine Selbstschau, (Aarau, 1843) pp. 227–9. of seeing events in the past life of people with whom she was en rapport, and I remember W. C. Bryant saying one day that she had told him of events of the gravest importance in his life, known to no one then living but himself. In her normal condition she read the thoughts of any one with whom she was intimate, and answered mental questions, or described mental conditions with no hesitation, and the greatest fulness and clearness. Her gifts were carefully limited in their manifestation, or as subjects of conversation, to her circle of intimate friends, with occasional admission of one of their friends with a genuine interest in this class of mental phenomena; nor should I now make them the subject of any relation, but that she is dead. There are still many of her circle living who can attest the truth of what I say; but she would never submit to any examination by sceptical inquirers, and never made any attempt to induce belief in her powers, of which, no more, did she attempt explanation. Her ‘occult’ powers varied greatly, and sometimes seemed entirely suspended, as well as affected by the influence of people around her. Between her and myself there was always a complete confidence, and I found it quite impossible to think in her presence and keep my thoughts from her; and her feeling for me was that of an elder sister, so that I willingly submitted my mind to her scrutiny; nor did I ever find her perceptions unfounded, although, in some cases, it was several years before I found out the basis of her impressions.

    “W. J. STILLMAN.”

    (379) From a lady who desires that names may not be mentioned, owing to the painful nature of one of the facts recorded.

    “Sept. 1st, 1886.

    “In the spring of this year, while my mother was suffering from a serious illness, a gentleman in the neighbourhood committed suicide by shooting himself in the mouth, between 4 and 5 in the morning, dying about three-quarters of an hour afterwards. Early in the morning of the occurrence, [while the narrator was nursing her,] she mentioned him several times, saying he ‘kept flitting about her room and did so bother her, she wished he would go.’ After this she addressed the supposed intruder, saying, ‘Go! I wish you would go. Why do you come here? I don’t want you.’ He was a man with whom she was on terms of civility, but had never cordially liked, as she considered he had done her an injury. This led her to add, ‘I forgive you, I hope God will. Go!’ [This incident alone could have no weight, as in her illness Mrs. —— had seemed to see other absent persons in her room.] She did not allude to him again, and was not quite so restless. The doctor called at halfpast 10; and when I went back to her room after he had gone, I found her in a very excited condition. She said, ‘Dr. S. has made me feel so {ii-359} strange—I never had such peculiar sensations before; I wish he had never come.1 1 His visits, as I learnt both from himself and from the narrator, had always, except on this occasion, been grateful and soothing to the patient; and he had regarded her as convalescent. My head is so bad, I don’t know how it is, perhaps I shall be able to explain it all to you when I am well.’

    “She was very restless all the morning. At 1 o’clock my sister came to relieve me, and tried to fan her to sleep. Her efforts were unavailing, and at last my mother seized her hands, saying, ‘It is of no use, you cannot send me to sleep while my head is so queer.’ ‘How queer?’ ‘I don’t know, but ever since Dr. S. came and sat by me, I have felt so strange. When he took my hand, there was a shot, a pistol went off, and then all was confusion.2 2 An account of this occurrence, which was sent without authority to a London newspaper, affords a good instance of the way in which a story may get rounded off and beautified in transmission. After exclaiming that a gun had gone off, the lady is made to look wildly round, and to cry “Oh, I see Mr. B. floating about the room,”—the vision of the deceased being thus brought into connection with the sound of the shot, through the juxtaposition of events which were separated by several hours; and the fact of the other visual hallucinations being of course omitted. But I do not see the blood; was there any blood?’ After which she added, ‘I dare say I shall be able to tell you more about it when my head is better; I cannot explain how I feel now, I have never been like this before—it is my brain.’ Later on in the afternoon, she mentioned a friend, saying, ‘Poor T. has to be shot in the back so often before I can be well. I am very sorry; it is a shame to shoot a nice fellow like him, but they say “Shoot him, shoot him.”’ And again, complaining of her head, she said, ‘What is all this murdering? I have never been amongst shooting and murdering, have I? There is a pistol—it went off first when Dr. S came, and it has been going on through my head ever since, and the bed is covered with them.’ She continued in this excited state all the afternoon, and could not be persuaded to sleep. My sister went to the doctor, and he sent something which soothed her a little; but she did not seem to be really herself again until the next morning.

    “We heard from the doctor that he had been to the house where the suicide had been committed, before calling to see my mother, and that he had held the pistol in the same hand with which he touched her. She was not told of the gentleman’s death until 3 weeks afterwards; but she frequently alluded to Mr. —— [the deceased] and his family—which appeared strange, as they were persons with whom she held very little intercourse. She once remarked that they had quite haunted her ever since that day she was so ill and heard the pistols. Her friend T., whom she had imagined to be shot, had heard early of the suicide, and been engaged in communicating the fact to relatives of the deceased gentleman.”

    Dr. S. confirmed these facts to me, as far as he was concerned. Mrs. —— had never had any connection with pistols or shooting. The suicide was known of in the house before the doctor’s visit; but it was clear to me from Miss ——’s viva voce description that no remarks on the subject could have penetrated to Mrs. ——’s ears; and, moreover, she was quite enough herself to understand the news, and comment on it, had it come to her knowledge in a normal way.

    (380) From the Rev. Mr. Bryce, The Manse, Moffat. To my great disappointment, I am obliged to give a second-hand version of this case. {ii-360} On Oct. 1, 1886, Mr. Bryce gave me vivâ voce a detailed account, which I omitted to commit at once to paper, relying on his promise to write it out and send it to me immediately. Not having received it (Oct. 12), I am reduced to giving my present recollections, the accuracy of which, however, so far as they go, I think I can guarantee.

    Some years ago, when Mr. Bryce was a student at Edinburgh University, he was called away for a time to attend an elder brother who was much attached to him, and who was seriously ill. His brother’s health seemed to be improving; and there being no immediate anxiety, Mr. Bryce left him (I think at Lockerbie) in order to take part in an evening debate at Edinburgh. He was delivering the speech which he had prepared, and was completely intent on the matter in hand, when he was suddenly arrested by what, from his description, I should judge to have been an extremely vivid “mind’s eye” vision, bordering on hallucination, and representing his brother. The room and everything in it seemed blotted out, and the single image of his brother seemed to absorb his whole consciousness. He says that he has never had such an experience, or anything in the least resembling it, on any other occasion. I do not recollect how far his peculiar condition excited the attention of his companions; but he himself felt at once convinced that his brother had died, noted the time, and, when he returned to his lodgings, mentioned his conviction to the housekeeper, Mrs. Fenton. (He promised to trace out Mrs. Fenton, who, he is certain, would corroborate him on this point.) His brother died, as he learnt next day, at the exact time—he believes to the very minute—of his own experience.

    [Mr. Bryce is sure that he was not appreciably anxious about his brother’s condition, and he was certainly not thinking of him at the moment. Still, as he had just left him, after being constantly with him for some time, and with a mind influenced perhaps more than he himself knew by his recent cares and duties, it would be difficult to argue that his experience was telepathic, rather than purely subjective, but for the alleged exactitude of the coincidence. And we may fairly suppose, I think, that the coincidence was at any rate a very close one; since Mr. Bryce was not led to consider the time of his experience by learning the fact of the death, but noted the time of his experience under a conviction that the death had at that moment taken place, and was specially interested in finding out, next day, whether his conviction had been justified.]

    (381) From Miss Caulfield, 1, Hyde Park Mansions, N.W.

    “December 8th, 1883.

    “Many years ago, when staying with my father at Beckford House, Bath, I awoke one morning painfully impressed by the idea that something was amiss at my sister’s (in Ireland); could not guess what it was—whether illness, danger, or accident. So being exceedingly uneasy, and convinced that something had happened, I wrote at once to inquire whether all were well. A letter from her crossed mine, telling me that she had had a great alarm, and had been in danger on that night; for that a beam of wood—connected with the nursery fireplace and the floor—had become ignited, and unknown to anyone had been smouldering for some hours; and had it proceeded any further unseen, they might not have been able to save the house, nor perhaps even themselves. The house being in the {ii-361} country, at a considerable distance from any other dwelling, a fire, at night more especially, would have proved calamitous in the extreme.

    “SOPHIA F. A. CAULFIELD.”

    After writing to her sister on the subject, Miss Caulfield adds:—

    “My sister remembers the incident, but has only a faint recollection of my letter having crossed hers.”

    [Asked if this was a unique experience, or whether she had had similar impressions which had not corresponded with reality, Miss C. replied that she had had only one similar experience, and that there her impression was correct. (This other experience was a presentiment, and has no relation to the above.) And though impressions of the sort which are not stamped by a coincidence may easily fade from the memory, it may be assumed that a person who remembers none has not experienced many so strong as to have prompted her to write a letter.]

    The following are instances where the impression seems to have been of a decidedly pictorial kind, as in the scene-cases at the close of Chap. VI. in the preceding volume. The account is unfortunately anonymous, but there seems to be no reason to doubt its bona fides. The mental condition of the percipient recalls case 373.

    (382 and 383) From the Zoist, Vol. V., p. 30, sent by Mr. Clark, Surgeon, of York Place, Kingsland Road, E., who had received it from a lady of his acquaintance.

    “July 11th, 1846.

    “In the years 1841–2, my dear respected father was frequently attacked with mental derangement, originating greatly, I believe, from the knowledge of the unfortunate circumstances in which I, his beloved daughter, was placed, owing to the sudden death of my husband.

    “The various scenes of mental delusion I was called to witness are not uncommon to gentlemen of your profession; I therefore pass them over simply to relate his strange knowledge of events.

    “My attention was first excited by the following incident. So soon as the meat for dinner was brought from the butcher’s, of which he could have no possible knowledge, being confined to his bed, and out of reach of either seeing or hearing, he exclaimed (pointing to the floor underneath, which was the room it was in), ‘What a nice rump-steak; I will have some.’ Struck with his manner, and also knowing that it was not our intended dinner, I replied, ‘No, father, there is no rumpsteak; we are going to have mutton-chops’; he went into a great passion, declared that there was rump-steak, that he could see it, and described the dish. I went downstairs, and to my utter astonishment beheld it as he related.

    “In the morning, without making known my intention, I took a basket and went into the garden, to cut some cabbages and gather strawberries. The garden being at the side of the house, where there was no window to look into it, it was impossible for him to see me by ordinary vision. However, he turned to my sister, saying, ‘That basket into which Betsey is putting the cabbages and strawberries had better be moved out of the sun, or the fruit will be spoiled; tell her she is not gathering strawberries from the best bed, she had better go to the other.’ When I was told of it, I was completely puzzled. During the time of my visit, wherever I went, whatever I did or thought of, was open to his view.

    {ii-362}

    “My sister afterwards informed me that his medical attendant lent her some books for her perusal. One morning my father said to her, ‘The doctor sends his respects, and will be obliged for the books.’ Supposing some message had been sent, my sister replied, ‘Very well.’ In the course of a short time after, the doctor’s boy arrived with his master’s respects and request for the books. On inquiry, she found no previous message had been sent, nor inquiry made for them. We have both come to the conclusion that he must mentally have travelled to the doctor’s and heard the message; I should think the distance three-quarters of a mile.

    “Another time he said to my sister, ‘There is a handsome young man and an old woman, coming by the coach this afternoon to see me.’ Sure enough, to her surprise, when the coach arrived, it brought my brother and a nurse for my father. No one had any knowledge of my brother’s coming, or of his bringing a nurse with him. The distance from whence they came was 11 miles. I wish to call your attention to the circumstance that here he did not recognise the parties, though both were wellknown to him; calling my brother a young man and the nurse an old woman, instead of mentioning their names.

    “When in his senses, he knew nothing of what had transpired, and had no recollection of my coming to see him. He wasted away to a skeleton and died, midsummer, 1842, in the 64th year of his age. He never, until the time stated, had any mental derangement, though he certainly was for years very nervous. At the time, I knew nothing of phrenology, so cannot give his development. I know he was a talented and very active man, a kind and affectionate father.

    “My second case, that of my eldest sister, though in priority of time before my father, is yet not so interesting. She was in a bad state of health some years—I suppose what might be called nervous. The circumstances I am about to relate occurred during a severe illness, in which mental derangement took place. At one time she would take no food, at another eat most voraciously. One day we had ribs of beef for dinner. How it came to her knowledge, I could never ascertain, but so it did, and she insisted on having some for her dinner. I gave her some; she wanted more. Fearing to make her worse I would not give it her; she declared she should have it, but soon after went to sleep. I went quietly downstairs, took the meat out of the kitchen, carried it down through the beer-cellar into the wine-cellar, covered it over with a tub, put a weight on it, went up and found her just as I left her. During the night, through fatigue, I fell asleep, and was awakend by her calling to me. What was my astonishment when I beheld her sitting in bed with a slice of this beef cut the whole length of the ribs, devouring it like a savage. I asked her how she obtained it, and she positively declared that she fetched it herself while I slept; that while lying in bed she saw me go down, take the meat, and she described every particular. I believe she never left her bed when I hid it; and had she, there were three doors which I closed after me, and I must have seen her. When she recovered she knew nothing about it, but on a relapse told me all the circumstances again, laughing heartily at the trick she had played on me.”

    Here, again, it will be seen, the clairvoyance recorded does not pass beyond the telepathic type where what is perceived is within {ii-363} the view or knowledge of persons connected with the percipient.1 1 The same remark applies to an interesting case in the Correspondence de Mme. la Duchesse d’Orléans (Paris, 1857), Vol. i., pp. 112–3, to which our attention was called by M. Guillaume Guizot. “Versailles, 2 mars, 1709. “Il y a dix ans qu’un gentilhomme français, qui a été page du maréchal d’Humières, et qui a épousé une de mes dames d’atour, amena avec lui un sauvage [du Canada] en France. Un jour qu’on était à table, le sauvage se mit à pleurer et à faire des grimaces. Longueil (ainsi s’appelait le gentilhomme) lui demanda ce qu’il avait, et s’il souffrait. Le sauvage ne tit que pleurer plus amèrement. Longueil insistant vivement, le sauvage lui dit: ‘Ne me force pas à le dire, car c’est toi que cela concerne, et non pas moi.’ Pressé plus que jamais, il finit par dire: ‘J’ai vu par la fenêtre que ton frère était assassiné en tel endroit du Canada’ par telle personne qu’il lui nomma. Longueil se mit à rire, et lui dit: ‘Tu es devenu fou.' Le sauvage répondit: ‘Je ne suis point du tout fou; mets par écrit ce que je t’annonce, et tu verras si je me trompe.’ Longueil écrivit, et six mois après, quand les navires du Canada arrivèrent, il apprit que la inort de son frère était arrivée au moment exact et à l’endroit où le sauvage l’avait vu en l’air par la fenêtre. C’est une histoire très vraie.” [Translation]It was ten years ago that a French gentleman, a former page of Marshal d’Humières, married to one of my attendants, brought a savage back [from Canada] with him. One day when we were seated at table, the savage burst into tears, and his face took on a pained expression. Longueil [the gentleman] asked him what was wrong and whether he was in pain. The savage wept even more bitterly. As Longueil pressed him hard, the savage said: 'Do not force me to tell, for it is you who are concerned in this, not I." Under still greater pressure, he finally said: 'I saw through the window that your brother was murdered in Canada, in such-and-such a place.' He gave the name of the killer. Longueil laughed and said: 'You have lost your mind.' The savage replied: 'I am not at all out of my mind; write down what I am saying, and you will see whether I am right.' Longueil wrote it down, and six months later, when the Canadian ships arrived, he learned that his brother’s death had taken place exactly when and where the savage saw it happen, in the air, through the window. This is a wholly true story. We cannot be sure that this incident was told to the Duchess d’Orléans by any one who was cognisant of the experience before the news which confirmed it arrived. But supposing the report to be substantially correct, it is to be presumed that the percipient was acquainted with the man whose death he seemed to behold; though it is still probable that the presence with him at the time of that man’s brother was to some extent a condition of the percipience, as in cases 242 and 355 above. I have drawn attention (Vol. I., pp. 156–7) to the suspicious exactitude of coincidence which characterises second and third-hand narratives of this type. (Vol. I, pp. 266, 378–9.)

    § 2. The next two examples are parallel to the arrival cases in Chap. VI. (Vol. I., pp. 252–4).

    (384) From Mrs. Gibbes, Alverton House, Croydon Road, S.E.

    “September, 1884.

    “My son was in Mexico and I had no reason to expect his return. He had been absent for four years.

    “In December, 1883, an impression came upon me that he would be soon home, and I could not get rid of it. My daughters laughed at me, but my feeling of it grew so strong that I determined to prepare a room for him. I began quietly one evening, and got up early next morning to clean out a study for him myself, not letting the others know that I was doing it. Whilst I was on the step, dusting the birdcases, a telegram arrived to say he would be home in the evening.

    “He had had an attack of yellow fever, and had come by sea to New York. His uncle persuaded him not to telegraph from there, but to come as a surprise.

    “I have had impressions of misfortunes, and have noted down the dates, but nothing has happened.

    “”KATE GIBBES.”

    Mr. Gibbes writes:—

    “I find the statements correct as far as my memory is concerned.

    “W. R. GIBBES (M.R.C.S.E., &c.)”

    In conversation, Mrs. Gibbes stated that her son’s letters had contained no hint of his return, which would not have occurred but for his attack of yellow fever. Her daughters bore witness to her state of excited expectation.

    [Here the impression at any rate produced a definite act of a very unlikely kind. The final sentence in Mrs. Gibbes’s account of course detracts somewhat from the force of the coincidence; but, though I am bound to print that sentence, she herself (in August, 1886) doubts its correctness, and cannot recall to what it referred.]

    {ii-364}

    The next narrative, though worth quoting, can hardly receive an evidential number; for its incidents could only be attributed to thought-transference by assuming—what is not proved—that the visits were already intended, at the time that the impressions were felt; and, moreover, in the absence of an accurate written record, every allowance must be made for the liability in such matters to note successes and not failures.

    From Mr. Robert Gibson, Mulgrave Cottage, Limerick.

    “January 18th, 1884.

    “Scores of times, when I would be going down to my office, after breakfast, my wife [who was in delicate health, and is since deceased] would say to me, ‘Miss So-and-so or Mrs. So-and-so will be here to-day; don’t let them come up to the house; say I am not able to see them’; or ‘So-and-so will be here to-day, let them come in.’

    “I used to laugh, and say, ‘Humbug, how do you know they are coming!’ and she would reply, ‘I feel that they are, and be sure you leave word with some of the men if you are going out.’

    “With only one exception was she ever wrong, to my memory; that was one Friday. She said, ‘The Miss Mercers are coming to-day.’ I happened to be in my office the whole day; and they did not come; so at length I laughed, and said, ‘Well, my love, you were wrong, the Miss Mercers did not come.’ She asked me, ‘Are you sure?’ ‘Quite,’ I replied, ‘I never left the place all day.’ ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I am positive they were coming.’ Of course I laughed at her, and told her it was stupid to be positive about what was not so.

    “You may guess my surprise if you can, when on the next Sunday, coming out of church, Miss Mercer came up to me, and said, ‘Please tell Mrs. Gibson that Nan’ (her sister) ‘and I were coming to see her on Friday, when Nan remembered a book she had promised to take Mrs. Gibson and ran back for it, leaving me walking up and down the street. I waited fully 20 minutes, and then went in and found Miss Nan sitting by the fire, cloakless and hatless, with a book in her hand. She could not find the book she was looking for, and after looking for it for ever so long, thought I had gone on, and that there would be no chance of overtaking me, so took off her hat and cloak, and sat down to read.’”

    To these I may add two more cases in which the chief feature is a sense of someone’s proximity, but in which the fact of that proximity was already known to a third person, who may have been the agent.

    (385) From a lady, Mrs. W., who prefers that her name should not be published.

    “1884

    “In the autumn of 1860, I was staying in London with my husband [since deceased] for a short time, and one Saturday evening was alone in my bedroom dressing to go to the opera, when suddenly something seemed to say to me, ‘Shut and lock your door, there is a madman in the house.’ So strong was this impression that I searched all over the room and {ii-365} locked the door. I dressed hurriedly, rushed downstairs, and told my husband, who was very much amused, and laughed at me! The next evening (Sunday) we sent the servant on a little errand for us; she was about an hour away. When she came in, she said she was very sorry she had been so long, but she had to wait for the mistress’s return, who had been taking her husband back to the lunatic asylum, for when he was not violent she had him home from Saturday until Sunday night.

    “My husband was very much startled, and we left the next day.”

    Mr. Podmore says:—

    “In conversation, Mrs. W. explained that she had imagined her landlady to be a widow, and had not had the least suspicion of the true state of the case. She told me that she has on one or two other occasions had strong impressions of this kind, but never so marked as in this instance. She had no recollection of any impression of the kind which had not ‘come true.’”

    (386) From Mr. James Cowley, who wrote from 32, Langton Street, Cathay, Bristol.

    “January 8th, 1884.

    “Some two years ago, in the Hereford Cathedral, at an evening service, I became oppressed with the feeling that a certain person (I must withhold the name), whose contact would have been most painful to me, must necessarily have been near me. I had not seen that person for 5 years. More than once I turned my head to take a look round. But there was no sign of him. Next morning I learned that he had been in Hereford on the day before (Saturday), and that a person sitting next to me, in the cathedral, on my left-hand, had been for some hours in his company.”

    Asked if he mentioned the incident at the time, and if he could refer me to the person who was sitting near him, Mr. Cowley replies that:

    “The Hereford Cathedral affair did not (from the nature of the circumstances rendering the sensation so distressing) admit of my referring to it. It was only when asked by a tradesman, brother-in-law of the person whose fancied proximity distressed me, ‘Did you see So-and-so on Saturday?’ that to him alone I mentioned the occurrence.”

    § 3. I will insert next a curious little group of cases in which it is difficult or impossible to assign the impression to the “agency” of any particular person, and which recall the Greek notion of φήμη—the rumour which spreads from some unknown source, and far outstrips all known means of transport.1 1 Something of this sort has been occasionally observed in outbreaks of religious hysteria. For example, the Rev. P. Barrow Matthews, rector of San Salvador, writes as follows of a recent case in the Bahamas:— “When the girls came to [after their fits], they gave very detailed accounts of the visions they had seen. A great deal of these visions was, of course, nonsense, but one thing was remarkable—they spoke of people doing things many miles away from the place. Upon inquiry it was found in some cases that what they had seen corresponded exactly with the events. One most remarkable feature in this outbreak was that it was not confined to one spot. Almost simultaneously in every settlement on the island (the island is 42 miles long and 12 broad in places) similar outbreaks occurred. Girls living at distances of 5 or 10 miles from the scene of the ‘shouting meetings,’ as they were called, would be seized. Being seized by a kind of frenzy, they would run, as if by inspiration, to the spot where the rest were assembled, no matter how far.” The type is one where the {ii-366} scope of accident is so hard to estimate, and which is so distinct from that of the remainder of our telepathic evidence, that I quote most of the accounts without evidential numbers. They may possibly serve to elicit further instances.

    Mr. R. Stuart Poole writes from the British Museum on Aug. 1, 1884:—

    “My recollection of the story of my brother’s impression of the Duke of Cambridge’s death was this. He was sitting with one or more of his relations one evening, and suddenly took out his watch, and said, ‘Note the time, the Duke of Cambridge is dead.’ The time proved to be correct. My brother had no acquaintance with the Duke, and no reason for any interest in him. He was a very clear-headed official man, without what is called superstition.

    “REGINALD STUART POOLE.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Poole writes:—

    “I do not recollect being present when my brother had the monition, but my recollection is that he told me himself, or that it was told me by someone present. It made a strong impression on me at the time.”

    We find from the Times that the late Duke of Cambridge died, somewhat suddenly, at 9.40 p.m., on July 9th, 1850; but bulletins as to his health had been published in the last week of June, and on the day before his death.

    Though the case is undoubtedly weakened by the fact that the person who died was old, and in failing health, such a coincidence—when backed by others of the same type—seems to claim attention; at any rate till one hears of a good many cases where similarly positive statements have been made by clear-headed practical men, as to similar matters of which they could know nothing by normal means, and have proved incorrect. Yet to suppose a direct telepathic transfer from the dying man to a total stranger would seem extravagant; and hardly less extravagant may seem the only alternative that it is easy to imagine—namely, that the “agency” was of a collective kind, and consisted in a certain shock of interest in the minds of a considerable number of persons who had already heard the news.

    I give three more examples—of which two are properly “borderland” cases, but are best presented in this connection. It is a rather quaint accident that the honour of occasioning such psychical storms should (so far as these instances go) seem reserved for persons of ducal or imperial rank.

    Mr. Gervase Marson, of Birk Crag, Higher Broughton, Manchester, writes, on Dec. 6, 1883:—

    “On the morning of December 6th, 1879, I suddenly awoke, and sat up in the bed, as if startled. To my great surprise I found myself uttering the words, ‘Portland, Portland.’ The next day I read in the papers {ii-367} of the death of the Duke of Portland, which I believe took place about the time when I was involuntarily uttering his name.

    “I cannot account for this experience at all. No conversation respecting the Duke of Portland had taken place the evening previously; I did not know he was ill; never saw him in my life; had never been at any of his residences; and, in fact, neither knew nor cared anything about him. I was not dreaming just before I awoke, but believe I was sleeping, as is my wont, quite soundly.

    “G. MARSON.”

    [The Daily Telegraph of Dec. 8, 1879, states that the late Duke of Portland died at 5 a.m. on Saturday, Dec. 6.]

    Mr. G. W, Waddington, of 26, Bagdale, Whitby, Yorkshire, writes, on Aug. 5, 1884:—

    “When a passenger on board the ‘Satellite’ in the Pacific, on a voyage from San Francisco to Callao, Peru, I was awoke about 4 a.m. of the 14th of September, 1852, by the noise of one who jumped on deck and called out at the cabin door, ‘The Duke of Wellington is dead.’ The occurrence was the subject of conversation at breakfast, and being noted, it was inquired if such an event had taken place from the captain of the port, before any communication took

    place with any other person coming on board. I had seen the Duke but once, and that on the occasion of an inspection of troops before the Horse Guards, on the Queen’s anniversary coronation day of June 28th, 1842.

    “G. W. WADDINGTON.”

    Mr. Waddington admits that the noise of the jumping may have been a real sound, but says, as regards the voice, “I do not think anyone on board could have invented any such means of trying one’s credulity.”

    [The Duke of Wellington died on September 14th, 1852, at 3.15 p.m. Consequently, if the hour of the experience is correctly remembered, it preceded the death by at least 3 hours, and probably by more.]

    Madame Novikoff writes, on Aug. 7, 1884:—

    “A friend of mine, whose accuracy seems to me undeniable, gave me the following account:—

    “On the night when the late Empress Maria Alexandrovna died, my friend awoke her husband, exclaiming, ‘The Empress is dead.’ It was not a dream, but a spontaneous impression. She added that she had had several experiences of a similar kind. Her husband disliking this subject I do not wish to apply to her on the matter.

    “O. K.”

    [We find from the Times that the Empress died at 8 a.m., on June 3, 1880. She had been known for some months to be in a critical state.]

    Comparable with these cases1 1 The following narrative is too amusing not to be quoted. It is from A Memoir of C. Mayne Young, with Extracts from his Son’s Journal, by the Rev. Julian C. Young, pp. 337–340. After describing his liability, when over-fatigued, to persistent inward impressions of words, amounting perhaps to a low stage of auditory hallucination, Mr. Young continues:— “On waking on Monday night last, I was possessed, as it were, by four mystic words, each of one syllable, conveying no more idea to my mind than if they were gibberish, and yet delivered with as much solemnity of tone, deliberation of manner, and pertinacity of sequence, as if they were meant to convey to me some momentous intimation. They were all the more exciting that they were unintelligible, and apparently could not serve any ostensible purpose. I could not exclude them by putting cotton wool in my ears, for they came from within and not from without. To try to supplant them by encouraging a fresh train of ideas was hopeless; my will and my reason were alike subservient to some irresistible occult force. The words which beset me were ‘dowd,’ ‘swell,’ ‘pull,’ ‘court,’ and they were separated as I have written them into monosyllables, and were repeated with an incisive distinctness and monotonous precision which was quite maddening. I sat up in my bed and struck a light to make sure that I was awake, and not dreaming. All the while were reiterated, as if in a circle, the same wild words: ‘Dowd,’ ‘swell,’ ‘pull,’ ‘court.’ I lay down again and put out my candle, ‘dowd,’ ‘swell,’ ‘pull,’ ‘court.’ I turned on my left side, ‘dowd,’ ‘swell,’ ‘pull,’ ‘court.’ I turned on my right, ‘dowd,’ ‘swell,’ ‘pull,’ ‘court.’ I endeavoured as a means of dispersing these evil spirits—for they began to assume the importance of spirits in my heated brain—to count sheep over a stile, but still ‘dowd,’ ‘swell,’ ‘pull,’ ‘court,’ rang in my ears and reverberated through my mind.” After many vain efforts, Mr. Young at last fell asleep. He mentioned his experience next day to his father and to some friends, the Misses Smith. On the following Thursday, he says:— “I walked into Folthorp’s Library to read the papers; and, as usual, ran my eye down the births, marriages, and deaths in the Times. As I came to the obituary the following notice caught my sight:— “‘On Tuesday night, November 11th, John E. Dowdswell, of Pull Court, Tewkesbury.’ [We have verified this notice in the Times for November 13th, 1851. The name is Dowdeswell.] So that probably, on the self-same night, at the very time when this gentleman’s name and residence were so unaccountably and painfully present to my mind, he was actually dying.” [This last expression is misleading, as the death did not take place till the following night.] Mr. Myers says:— “I have spoken to the Misses Smith as to this occurrence, which they distinctly remember. They were slightly acquainted with Mr, Dowdeswell, but Mr. Young was a stranger to him entirely.” are the two following, which, if more {ii-368} than accidental coincidences, can only be accounted for by the fact that the idea was “in the air.” The hypothesis is here, perhaps, a little less difficult, as the original impression was of a sort which affected numbers vividly and simultaneously.

    (387) From Mr. J. A. Edmonds, 16, Waterloo Road South, Wolverhampton.

    “1883.

    “At a period during the formation of the Thames Tunnel, the date of which I cannot recall without reference to the daily papers, my brother, Cyrus Read Edmonds, was head-master of the Leicestershire Proprietary Grammar School, at Leicester, and lived almost close to the school buildings.

    “On one occasion, when he was in bed, his wife was awoke (I think, at somewhere about 5 or 61 1 I don’t assert this.—J. A. E. in the morning) by a loud exclamation of terror from my brother. She inquired the cause, and he, in a state of horror, said that he had seen the Thames Tunnel break through, that the workmen rushed to the staircases or ladders, the means of exit, but one poor fellow (less active than the others who escaped) was overtaken by the rush of water and perished. My brother was in a state of tremor and distress, such as a humane man might be supposed to suffer as a witness of such a scene. He begged his wife not to sleep, but to converse until it should be time to rise. She urged that it was but a dream, and that the effect would pass off if he could get a little sleep. ‘A dream,’ he said, ‘it is no dream. I distinctly saw all that I have described.’

    “On the day in the early morning of which this vision occurred, my {ii-369} brother and his wife were engaged to a dinner-party at the house of a gentleman, whose name, I believe, was Whetstone. Before they left the drawing-room for the dining-room, his host said to my brother, ‘Have you heard the sad news from London?’ He said, ‘No, what is it?’ He replied, ‘The Thames Tunnel has broken in. All the people in the works escaped, except one poor fellow who was overwhelmed.’1 1 We have ascertained from the Post Office that at that time the London mail-coach would reach Leicester about 6 p.m.; so that the report may easily have arrived before dinner-time. My brother thought that his wife might have told their host, and that they would rally him out of his depression. But on looking at her, the look of astonishment quite precluded this notion. He asked his host if he were joking, at which he was much surprised, and asked how a joke could possibly be elicited from such an occurrence.

    “My brother then said, ‘I saw it happen, just as you have related it, so my wife will assure you, and I am yet suffering from the exhaustion and depression produced.’ He then told the company what I have related above.

    “I heard the whole relation both from him [by letter at the time, and vivâ voce some weeks afterwards] and his wife [both now dead], and many of our friends were acquainted with the history.

    “J. AUGUSTUS EDMONDS.”

    The construction of the Thames Tunnel lasted from 1825 to 1843. During this period there were five irruptions of the water of more or less importance. The fourth was the only occasion on which one man was drowned. The Times of Nov. 4th, 1837, records that at a few minutes before 4 o’clock on that morning, a sudden irruption of the river took place and filled the tunnel. J. Francis, engineer on duty at the time of the accident, stated that, on discovering the water was beginning to overflow he “immediately gave the alarm for all hands to run, and from that time the filling of the tunnel occupied less than five minutes. We then ran with all speed to the shaft.” The water lulled slightly, and he in company with two other men “went down the archway about 200 feet, and saw the water rolling up the roadway with a terrific appearance. We then ran to the staircase, and finally ascended to the top of the shaft. The water arrived a few seconds after us. I then had all the names called over, and found only one missing, Garland, an old man, a miner.”

    The name of the man who was killed was Cooke, or Cook. Mr. Woolner has given us the name of his informant, but desires that it may not be published. We have tried to trace him without success. Mr. Woolner says: “I believe he was perfectly sincere when he told me the story in or about 1850”; and adds that the incident occurred some time between 1842 and 1846.

    Of the three impressions in the following account two were connected at the moment with a particular individual. The three, though each alone might easily have been accidental, are worth presenting as having occurred in the experience of a single person; and they find their most convenient place here, though two of them seem to have been of the “borderland” class. In the second case, the narrator’s experience followed the death (she thinks) by perhaps a day or two; nor can she be certain that the coincidence in the first case was closer than this, though it may have been closer.

    (392) Miss Loveday, of Arlescote, Banbury, enclosed to us, on February 14, 1884, the following letter from her sister, who desires that her own name should not be published. In conversation she described herself as a matter-of-fact person; and she is certain that she has never on other occasions had impressions at all resembling those described.

    “I have had three different intimations of death—on Uncle William’s death, on Henry H.’s [a brother-in-law’s] death, and on B.’s. The two first were more sensations than anything else. It is a thing hardly to be described. It is like nothing else. Not alarming; rather like one’s idea of the severance of nerves; of something cut off, that is, and lost to yourself, {ii-373} of a want, a something gone from you. On the occasion of Henry’s death, I did not know who was gone. I was away in Germany; but I awoke with the sensation, and I told my children, ‘I have had that feeling that I have had before on the loss of a relation. I do not know who is gone; but someone seems gone; perhaps, it is Aunt Edward.’ Then in a day or so came the news of Henry‘s death. [The narrator was warmly attached to both her uncle and her brother-in-law.]

    “The last occasion (i.e., of B.’s death) it was the most distinct of all. [Miss Loveday says, “B. was an old servant of our family, who was very dear to us all.”] It was in 1880, in the autumn. I was in Germany. I had gone to lie down after the early dinner on Sunday, to rest before the long walk to church; and I fell asleep. I had the most calm and delightful awaking—no actual words, but a happy feeling that B. was passing away to Heaven peacefully, and that I was intended to know it. If I put into words what my impression was, it was this—‘As if some spirit had gently touched me and said, “B. is passing away, rise up and pray.”’ I at once rose up and went into the next room, and told my boys ‘I have had an intimation that B. is dying; remember it. I shall hear.’ I then went back to my bedside to kneel in prayer. The happiness and peace of the few minutes was intense. I had longed to see him once again before he died, and had feared I should not be in England in time, though I was going in a few days, as I knew his end was near; but being led to know the day and hour was to me like a leave-taking and a good-bye from himself, and I felt it was permitted to assure and comfort me. Two or three days later I heard it was that very day he died; and when I got to England and saw his wife, Oath, I found it was the same time, allowing for my being nearly 40 minutes to the eastward on the globe. The two first intimations, though not alarming, were not of the comforting, reassuring, and happy feeling of the last.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that B. died on October 10, 1880. The two previous deaths took place on April 2, 1875, and January 21, 1878, respectively.

    One of the narrator’s sons writes on Jan. 28, 1886:—

    “I distinctly remember that one afternoon (I think Wednesday), about two weeks before we came away from Germany, mother was lying down, and suddenly she said to me that she felt as if a friend, someone whom she had known for a very long time, was at that moment dying. She did not think it was a relation, because the feeling was not the same as when Uncle Henry died. She thought it was very probably B., but did not say that she felt as if it was of necessity B. who was dying. I did not feel surprised, because almost exactly the same had happened when Uncle Henry died, and yet I felt equally sure that it was correct.

    “About three days afterwards we got a letter to say that B. had died on the very afternoon in question, at about the same time as events above recorded, i.e., at about 3.30 p.m., as nearly as I can recollect.”

    The other son writes from Cambridge, on Jan. 26, 1886:—

    “I shall be happy to testify to the fact of my mother having mentioned to me that she had a presentiment that ‘B.’ was passing away and that this was anterior to any communication even of an illness.”

    [The force of the last coincidence is of course greatly diminished by the fact of the percipient’s having known that B.’s “end was near.” The {ii-374} narrator thinks that she was aware of her uncle’s being rather seriously ill; but she had no similar knowledge in the case of her brother-in-law, whose death was quite unexpected.]

    (393) E. M. Arndt, a well-known writer on political and social questions, in his Schriften für and an seine Liehen Deutschen (Leipzig, 1845), Vol. III., pp. 523–4, records two telepathic experiences of the emotional sort which befell the same person.

    The first occurred when Arndt was under the tuition (apparently) of Dr. Masius, at Barth. One of his fellow-pupils, while at play, had broken an arm. Just as a messenger was starting to convey the news to the boy’s mother, who lived at some miles’ distance, she herself rushed in, exclaiming, “My son, my son! What accident has befallen him?” From Arndt’s description, it seems certain that he was himself present on the occasion.

    The same lady, Arndt continues (but without naming his authority), was one day calling at a neighbour’s house, when suddenly she started up and called for her carriage, under an impulse of uncontrollable apprehension, and found, on arriving at her home, that an accident had occurred by which her youngest child had been scalded to death.

    § 5. This last incident leads us on to the next group, where the emotional impression was not connected, when felt, with the person to whom (if telepathic) it was due. The following case exhibits the element of actual physical discomfort on the percipient’s part, as in Nos. 22, 70, and 76, and notably in 391 above.

    (394) From Mr. Frederick H. Poole, Sneyd Park, Durdham Down, Bristol.

    “June 10th, 1884.

    “Upwards of 40 years ago, when I was about 12 years of age, I was visiting at my uncle’s vicarage in Gloucestershire. I had been there for a month previously, and was one afternoon sketching in the neighbourhood, in good health and spirits, when suddenly I became very depressed and ill, which induced me to return to the house. I told my uncle my symptoms, and expressed my belief that I should die,1 1 Precisely this experience is recorded in cases 22 and 76. and asked his permission for me to return home that afternoon, for I should like to bid farewell to all at home, especially to my mother, to whom I was very devotedly attached. Nothing he said in reply would pacify me, until he promised I might return on the morrow if I felt no better. After a restless night, I felt worn and weary—as one would naturally feel after unusual excitement—but my intense longing to return home had subsided, and I consented to remain. By that afternoon’s post a letter reached my uncle from my home, announcing the death of my mother on the previous afternoon.

    “Having given above the unvarnished fact, I am disposed to leave the subject without comment.

    “I will only add that I had no knowledge of my mother’s illness at the date of aforesaid ‘incident.’ We heard a few days previously that she was progressing favourably after her recent confinement.

    “FREDERICK H. POOLE.”

    In answer to an inquiry, Mr. Poole says:—

    {ii-375}

    “I never had, excepting on the occasion named in my last letter, the unaccountable sort of depression mentioned therein.”

    (395) From Mrs. Herbert Davy, of Burdon Place, Newcastle-on-Tyne, the narrator of the more definite case No. 45.

    “December 1883.

    “It was in August, a few years ago—my husband was at the moors. I drove to a nursery garden to procure some flowers. I waited outside the gate under the shelter of some trees, sending the groom in for the flowers.

    “It was one of the hottest afternoons I ever experienced. My ponies, usually restive, stood perfectly still. Before I had waited there many minutes, an unaccountable feeling took possession of me as though I foresaw and recognised the shadow of a coming sorrow. I immediately associated it with my husband—that some accident had befallen him. With this miserable apprehension upon me, I got through the rest of the day and evening as best I could, but weighed down by the shadow, though I spoke of it that night to no one.

    “Nothing had happened to my husband. But a little child—a relation, who had lived with us and been almost as our own—had died that day rather suddenly in Kent, where she was then visiting her parents. I had thought a good deal of little Ada, as I sat waiting in the phaeton that summer afternoon—had pictured her reaching out her hands to me; but the great apprehension I felt was for my husband, not for the child.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that the child died on Aug. 14,1875.

    A friend who was with Mrs. Davy writes:—

    “Newcastle, January 5th, 1884.

    “I was driving with Mrs. Davy on the day she had the strange presentiment, while waiting outside the nursery gardens. She spoke of it at the time, and was quite depressed and unlike herself. Mr. Davy being from home, she feared something had happened to him.

    “AMY GRACE.”

    After an interview with Mrs. Davy on April 15th, 1884, Professor Sidgwick writes:—

    “She affirmed unhesitatingly that the feeling was a sudden unique shock of sadness, quite unlike any depression of spirits which she had ever felt at any other time—she had had experiences of such depressions. The girl, Ada, was likely to be thinking of her.”

    (396) From Mr. S. N. Wilkinson, J.P., Apsley Cottage, Stockport.

    “1884.

    “I was at Blackpool in the March of 1881, and about tea time I felt a strong conviction of some unknown evil which made me perfectly restless. Next morning, a letter came from the manager of my works in Stockport, reporting that the day before he had to stop the mill in consequence of the breaking down of the main driving wheel. My niece remarked that this was an explanation of my restlessness, but I was not satisfied with the explanation, and said to her, ‘That is not it, it is something worse.’ On arriving at home, the day following, I found two telegrams, one announcing the death of one of my most intimate friends, the other inviting me to the funeral. He died at Aberdeen. At the time of my uneasiness I was not aware of his illness. I attended his funeral there. This was not the only case in which I had presentiments, but it is the most remarkable that I have experienced.

    “S. N. WILKINSON.”

    {ii-376}

    We asked Mr. Wilkinson if he would procure for us his niece’s corroboration; but he said that he did not feel disposed to take any further trouble in the matter. In conversation he described the impression as quite unique in its strength, preventing him from settling to anything; and he entirely disclaimed any tendency to nervousness or unaccountable fancies.

    § 6. I turn now to the production of motor effects—sometimes of a blind sort, sometimes under a sense of being wanted—which must be understood in the sense explained in Vol. I., p. 292.

    (397) From Mr. F. Morgan, of Nugent Hill, Bristol.

    “July 11th, 1883.

    “On Monday, February 14th, 1853, I was listening to a lecture by the late Geo. Dawson, of Birmingham, in the Broadmead Rooms in Bristol. I frequently spent my evenings at lectures, concerts, &c., and often took a little walk afterwards on my way home. I had lived nearly all my life (27 years) at home with my mother, whom I strongly resemble in face and in many characteristics. We were much attached to each other,

    “I was thoroughly interested in the lecture, and had so little intention of leaving before its conclusion, that I remember noticing a friend among the audience, and making up my mind for a walk with him on my way home.

    “The lecture must have been more than half through—I was not tired, and had no reason to move—when I noticed, at the side of the platform farthest from the back entrance to the hall, a door which I had never seen before, flush with the panels, and it suddenly became the most natural thing that I should walk half the length of the room, and away from the main entrance, in order to see if this door would open. I turned the handle, passed through, closed the door gently behind me, and found myself in the dark among the wooden supports of the platform.

    “I clambered along towards a glimmer of light at the other end, passed round a side passage, crossed the end of the hall to the main entrance, without any thought of the lecture which was still going on, and walked home quietly, without excitement or ‘impression’ of any kind, and quite unconscious, till long after, that I had done anything unusual.

    “On opening my door with a latch-key, I smelt fire, and found my mother in great alarm. She had also noticed the strong burning smell, had been over the house with her servant, and was longing for my return. On going upstairs, I saw flames issuing from a back window of the next house, immediately gave the alarm, removed my mother to a safe distance, and then had two or three hours’ struggle with the flames. The adjoining house was destroyed, but mine only slightly damaged.

    “The point which has seemed to me most striking, whenever I have recalled this occurrence, is the entire absence of any presentiment or impression on my mind. I should probably have shaken off anything of the kind had I been aware of it, and refused obedience. Neither was there on my mother’s part any intentional exertion of her will upon me, only a strong wish for my presence, which must have begun about the time I left my seat.

    “FREDK. MORGAN.”

    Mr. Morgan adds, in reply to our regular inquiry, that he has never done anything similar to what is here described on any other occasion. {ii-377} He also sends a plan of the lecture-room, which shows that he walked in a dark passage round nearly three sides of the hall. “But going home” he adds, “was not in my thoughts when I moved.” He told his mother of his experience next day.

    We have confirmed the date of the fire in the Bristol Times. The account there given states that Mr. Morgan’s house, though only slightly damaged, was “in great danger, and only escaped destruction by the intervention of strong party-walls.”

    (398) The following passage, in the original, is a continuation of that quoted in Vol. I., p. 274, from Der Sogenannte Lebens-Magnetismus oder Hypnotismus, by Dr. E. L. Fischer, of Würzburg, a book the reverse of credulous in its general tone.

    “I had accepted an invitation to a jubilee, and went to the place in the afternoon. I had not been at table more than an hour, when I was seized with a peculiar feeling that I must leave—that someone was waiting for me. I had no more peace; I was expecting every moment to be summoned away. I remained half-an-hour under the continuous pressure of the feeling that someone was most strongly desiring my presence. Then I got up and went home to bed, in the confident expectation of being called off to someone at a distance in the course of the night. It was quite impossible to go to sleep, for every two minutes I was raising my head, to listen whether there was not a pull at the house-bell. In a quarter of an hour there was really a ring. I sprang out of bed with one bound, and was told that I must come to a sick woman at a village about a couple of miles off. On my arrival I found the patient in a piteous condition. She could neither speak nor move her limbs, though still able to see, hear, and feel. I did all I could, and departed, with the promise to come again later. On the second occasion, I found her much better, and she now told me how earnestly she had been longing for me to come on the previous afternoon and evening. Her husband had not returned home till late in the evening, and had then lost no time in sending for me. So the matter was explained.

    “These two incidents [i. e., this and the one already quoted] prove to my satisfaction that there are such things as sympathetic divinations (Ahnungen); and I could supply other instances, though of a less striking character, from my own experience, besides similar experiences which have been reported to me by my friends.”

    [I have sufficiently expressed dissent from Dr. Fischer’s view that telepathy can be demonstrated from a few instances.]

    (399) From Mr. William Blakeway (a bricklayer), of New Ross, Rowley Regis, near Dudley.

    “1885.

    (388) From a book called Pith (Trübner and Co., 1881), by Newton Crosland, pp. 63–4.

    “In October, 1857, about 1 o’clock in the day, I was going from my office to sign an export bond at the Custom House, Lower Thames Street, a distance of about a quarter of a mile. I was in my usual satisfactory state of health; my mind was occupied with merely common-place ideas; the traffic in the streets was going on with ordinary monotonous activity, and nothing was apparent there to wake in me the slightest trepidation, when, just as I was crossing Great Tower Street, I was seized with an unaccountable panic. I conceived a dread that I might be attacked by a tiger, and the idea of this horrible fate so haunted me that I absolutely began running in hot haste, and I did not stop until I found myself safe inside the walls of the Custom House. Anything more contemptibly absurd than this apparently causeless fear could scarcely be imagined—a {ii-370} merchant in the streets of London in danger of a wild beast! The possibility of such a disaster seemed to me to be so ridiculous, the moment I thought about it, that I laughed at myself for allowing so foolish and morbid a fancy to take possession of my mind, and I really considered that I must be fast becoming stupidly nervous. The feeling of apprehension soon, however, passed away, and wonder at my own weakness became predominant. The next morning I took up the Times newspaper, when to my utter astonishment, I read that at precisely the same time when I felt the crazy fear, a tiger had actually escaped from its cage while it was being conveyed from the London Docks, seriously injured two children, and had, to the terror of every observer, ferociously misconducted himself in the public street of Wapping—about a mile, as the crow flies, from the spot where I was passing.”

    The following passage occurs in the Times on Oct. 27, 1857:—

    Frightful Occurrence.—Yesterday afternoon, about 1 o’clock, as a cattle van was conveying from London Docks a Bengal tiger, the door gave way and the animal bounded into the road, encountered a little boy, sprang upon him, lacerating him in a frightful manner,” &c.

    A subsequent report, October 30th, states that two boys were injured.

    Mr. Crosland writes to us, on June 7, 1884:—

    “42, Crutched Friars, London.

    “I am afraid I cannot help you much in your attempt to strengthen my evidence respecting ‘the tiger story.’ When on my way to the Custom House I felt the dread of a tiger in the streets, which impelled me to run to a refuge. I was not so much disturbed as to exhibit any signs of alarm. After I reached the Custom House, I soon recovered my composure, and thought my fear was so causeless and silly that I did not mention the circumstance to anyone. I considered that to do so would be to make myself appear ridiculous.

    “NEWTON CROSLAND.”

    In another letter he says, “I am quite certain that my sensations were felt at the precise time when the incident occurred at Wapping.”

    § 4. We come now to a group where the impression, though indefinite in character, recalling the purely emotional cases of Vol. I., Chap. VII., had reference to a particular individual known to the percipient, as in case 86.

    (389) From a clergyman, who desires that his name may not be published. He writes as follows to his daughter:—

    “1882.

    “When your brother E. was at Winchester College (about 1856 or 1857), on going to bed one Saturday night, I could not sleep. When your mother came into the room, she found me restless and uneasy. I told her that a strong impression had seized me that something had happened to your brother. The next day, your mother, on writing to E., asked me if I had any message for him, when I replied: ‘Tell him I particularly want to know if anything happened to him yesterday.’ Your mother laughed, and made the remark that I should be frightened if a letter in Dr. Moberly’s handwriting reached us on Monday. I replied, ‘I should be afraid to open it.’ On the Monday morning a letter did come from Dr. {ii-371} Moberly, to tell me that E. had met with an accident, that one of his schoolfellows had thrown a piece of cheese at him which had struck one of his eyes; and that the medical man, Mr. Wickham, thought I had better come down immediately and take your brother to a London oculist.”

    In answer to inquiries, the narrator writes to us, on March 13, 1885:—

    “The impression, with regard to my son, was on a Saturday. The accident had occurred on the Thursday previously, but Dr. Moberly did not write to inform me of it till Saturday, when the Winchester medical man had ordered that a London oculist should be consulted.

    “I cannot call to mind any occasion on which I received a like impression which was not verified. There is one which occurred in former years, which I call to mind. When at school and saying my prayers one evening, I was impressed with the idea that my eldest brother was dying, and this was the case, as I was informed the day following. I did not know at the time that he was ill.”

    [The first of these cases could hardly have been presented alone, owing to the lack of precision in the coincidence. But its interest is increased by the occurrence of the other more precise experience to the same person.]

    (390) From Mrs. Brandon, resident in Canada, who wrote from Farmhill, Donegal, Ireland.

    “January 2nd, 1885.

    “The steamship ‘Canadian,’ in which Mr. Brandon was sailing to England, was shipwrecked in the Atlantic, east of the straits of Belleisle, on the 4th of June, 1861. She foundered in the ice, and 38 lives were lost. In the evening of the same day, Mr. James Patton, a merchant in Montreal (where we were then living), was teaching Mr. Brandon’s Tuesday evening class in Great St. James’ Street Methodist Church, I being present at the time. Mr. Patton said, ‘This day my mind was urgently impressed with the necessity to pray for Mr. Brandon—so much so, particularly at the hour of noon, that I had to leave off writing about my business in my office, and retire to a private place, and pour out my soul in prayer to God for Mr. Brandon.’ We could not understand at the time the meaning of the mysterious circumstance; but 10 days afterwards we understood it all. At the very hour when Mr. Patton was engaged in prayer for Mr. Brandon, he (Mr. B.) was standing on the wreck of a sinking ship, and was miraculously saved from a watery grave.”

    [Mr. Brandon has sent us an account of the foundering of the ship, and the loss of 38 men. Mr. Patton is deceased.]

    (391) From a letter entitled “Brain Waves—a Theory,” written by Mr. James Knowles, which appeared in the Spectator, 30th January, 1869.

    “Mr. Woolner, the sculptor, tells me the following story of two young men—one of them a personal friend of his own now living. These two men lived for very long as great friends, but ultimately quarrelled, shortly before the departure of one of them for New Zealand. The emigrant had been absent for many years, and his friend at home (Mr. Woolner’s informant) never having kept up correspondence with him, naturally almost lost the habit of thinking of him or his affairs. One day, however, as he sat in his rooms in a street near Oxford Street, the thought of his friend came suddenly upon him, accompanied by a most restless and undefinable discomfort. He could by no means account for it, but, finding the feeling {ii-372} grew more and more oppressive, tried to throw it off by change of occupation. Still the discomfort grew, until it amounted to a sort of strange horror. He thought he must be sickening for a bad illness, and at length, being unable to do anything else, went out of doors and walked up and down the busiest streets, hoping by the sight and sound of multitudes of men and ordinary things to dissipate his strange misery. Not, however, until he had wandered to and fro in the most wretched state of feeling for more than two hours, utterly unable to shake off a sort of vague consciousness of his friend, did the impression leave him, and his usual frame of mind return. So greatly was he struck and puzzled by all this, that he wrote down the precise date of the day and hour of the occurrence, fully expecting to have news shortly of or from his friend. And, surely, when the next mail or the next but one arrived, there came the horrible news that at that very day and hour (allowance being made for latitude and longitude) his friend had been made a prisoner by the natives of New Zealand, and put to a slow death with the most frightful tortures.”

    Mr. Woolner, in writing to us in August, 1883, after making some trifling corrections, says:—

    “Mr. Knowles has told the story accurately; and having told him only once, I am surprised that he should have been so faithful in his narrative. I have not seen or heard of the person for many years, and know not the least where to find him. I am very sorry I cannot help you any further.”

    “I was in my usual place at chapel on the Sunday afternoon, in May, 1876, when all at once I thought I must go home. Seemingly against my wish, I took my hat. When reaching the chapel gates, I felt an impulse that I must hasten home as quick as possible, and I ran with all my might without stopping to take breath. Meeting a friend, who asked why I hurried so, I passed him almost without notice. When I reached home I found the house full of smoke, and my little boy, 3 years old, all on fire, alone in the house. I at once tore the burning clothes from off him, and was just in time to save his life. It has always been a mystery to me, as {ii-378} no person whispered a word to me, and no one knew anything about the fire till after I made the alarm at home, which was more than a quarter of a mile from the chapel. This is a true statement.

    “WILLIAM BLAKEWAY.”

    Mr. C. Smith, of 12, Short Street, Black Heath, near Dudley, writes:—

    I beg to say I heard of the incident from Mr. Blakeway himself in a few days after the occurrence, and never forgot it, as I thought it very remarkable.

    “C. SMITH.”

    Mr. Blakeway went through the account to me vivâ voce in such a way that I could not doubt the vividness of the experience; he has never had any other at all resembling it. The friend whom he hurried by was one to whom he invariably talked for some minutes when he met him. He thinks that he probably took about a minute and a half in getting home, and that his first impression may quite have coincided with the accident to the child, who was alone in the house and caught fire in reaching for something.

    (400) From Herr Heinrich von Struve, procured through the kindness of Mr. J. B. Johnston, M.A., of 17, Pilrig Street, Edinburgh. The original was in German.

    “25, Pilrig Street, Edinburgh.

    “July 10th, 1885.

    “It was in the night between the 9th and 10th of November, 1835, that I felt a sudden and peculiar yearning, which laid hold of me with great intensity, for my dear mother, who lived in Carlsruhe, in the Grand Duchy of Baden. I myself was living with my elder brother in Poland, and intended to pass the winter with him. This yearning affected me so strongly that I resolved to move to Carlsruhe without delay, which I explained to my brother at breakfast, after I had informed him of my sudden feeling. It was no small and insignificant journey in those days and at that advanced season of the year. Carlsruhe was over 130 German miles from where I was living. I passed [on horseback] through the province of Posen, through Silesia, Saxony, and, after crossing the Erz Mountains and Thuringia in deep snow, through Bavaria. At Jena, where an aunt lived who had always been in the most intimate relations with my mother, I intended to rest for a few days. But as she told me that she had received very sad news from Carlsruhe, according to which her dear friend had been attacked by nervous fever and given up by the doctors, I could not rest, and in the greatest consternation and anxiety recommenced my journey, and reached Carlsruhe on the 4th of December.

    “With sinking heart I betook myself first to my brother, who was attached to the Russian Embassy at the Court of Baden, and rushed up the steps, where my brother received me with great astonishment. On my eager inquiry after my mother’s health, he told me that the danger had passed off, and that she was recovering. Then I hurried swiftly to my mother’s house, where my sisters lived with her, and they confirmed the happy news. As I then learnt from my eldest sister, the chief crisis of the illness occurred on the night between the 9th and 10th of November, when my beloved mother, in her delirium, continually spoke with intense love and care for her youngest son, called me and longed for me.

    “H. VON STRUVE.”

    In answer to inquiries, Herr von Struve says, “I have never on any {ii-379} other occasion experienced an affection of the same sort, and naturally therefore have never had occasion to take action on one.”

    [This case is very remote; but the narrator is not likely to be wrong in remembering that he undertook a long and arduous journey in consequence of his impression.]

    I will conclude with the only pendant that we have to M. Liébeault’s remarkable case at the end of Chap. VII. in the preceding volume. But a second-hand account of so exceptional an occurrence, received from a person who himself only heard of it some years after it took place, cannot of course carry much weight, at any rate as far as details are concerned.

    (401) From Mr. S. Jennings, of Westbury House, Denmark Hill, S.E.

    “March 24th, 1885.

    “In reply to your note, the occurrence [which is narrated below] was related to me by Mr. Nelson himself, since dead. He told me, as nearly as I can remember, in the year 1868, but the event itself must have taken place four or five years before.

    “At the time he told me he was frequently in the habit of thus writing under some external influences, some of which he describes as agreeable, and others very much the reverse. He showed me a book in which these writings were made, and I was much surprised at the singular differences in the apparently various handwritings.

    “I never had any reason to do otherwise than believe what he said, particularly as he was always very reticent on the subject, which he said concerned nobody but himself.

    “SAMUEL JENNINGS.”

    The following is from a letter written by Mr. Jennings to Professor Barrett, on September 26th, 1882. After describing Mr. Nelson’s automatic writing, and his inability to get rid of the consciousness of some external presence or influence “without providing writing materials,” the account continues:—

    “On one occasion this feeling seized him in the train when travelling from Raneegunge to Calcutta, and he tore a leaf out of a book, and laid it on the seat of the carriage, his hand grasping a pencil resting upon it. Ordinarily, to write under such conditions would be impossible in a train rushing along; the motion would effectually prevent it. Nevertheless, a long communication was made purporting to be from his daughter, who was at school in England. It contained a simple account of her illness and death, described the circumstances under which it occurred, and the persons who were present, adding that she wished to say good-bye to her father before leaving. This threw Mr. N. into a state of great excitement, for he did not even know of his daughter’s illness. He went home and said he was very uneasy about Bessie in England. Finally, he gave this note to his married daughter, Mrs. R., to keep till they could hear by the ordinary post. The child had in reality died that very day, and under the very circumstances thus mysteriously communicated to Mr. N. I have subsequently received some corroborative evidence regarding this young lady’s death from an entire stranger to the family.”

    {ii-380}

    CHAPTER III.

    DREAMS.

    § 1. THE cases to be now presented are supplementary to those of Vol. I., Chap. VIII.; and will be arranged, as far as possible, in similar groups.

    The first group is that of simultaneous dreams which correspond in content.

    (402) From Mr. A. A. Watts, 19, Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, S.W.

    “1883.

    “When I was a young child, about the year 1830, my father had been called out of town by business; and my mother took me into her room to sleep. She awoke in the middle of the night, or early morning, out of a dream in which it had appeared to her that the servant was attempting to murder her with a knife. I had awakened at the same time, and was sobbing in my crib by her bedside. Upon her inquiring what was amiss with me, I replied that I had dreamt that John was murdering her with a knife. She always affirmed that, to the best of her knowledge, I had at that time never heard the word murder. She rang up the servants; and wrote immediately to her husband, who returned to town at once, and discharged the man without more ado. My mother had had no previous antipathy to the man, rather the contrary, for he was a very clever and handy servant, and had been a sailor. We had never heard then nor did we hear subsequently anything to his disadvantage.”

    [This evidence cannot rank as better than second-hand.]

    (403) The following letter appeared in the Nation for November 26th, 1885:—

    “SIR,—I have been much interested in the cases of telepathy reported in the Nation, and give the following, which happened here last week. Mrs. F. dreamed her watch was broken, and was greatly afflicted to see it all in pieces, and in her distress awoke. Feeling very ill, she awakened her husband to go for a physician. His first words on awaking were, ‘Who broke your watch?’

    “M. E. W.

    “Dover, N. H., November 16th, 1885.”

    {ii-381}

    The writer of this letter, Dr. Mary E. Webb, was applied to for details, and wrote to us as follows:—

    37, Trowbridge Street, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A.

    “February 3rd, 1886.

    “Near midnight, Mrs. Flynn dreamed her watch was broken. She saw the crystal and all the works crushed to fragments. She awoke in some pain, and aroused her husband from a sound sleep, and his first words, according to her report, were, ‘Who broke your watch? How did your watch get broken?’ &c. Then she told me she laughed in spite of the pain, and told him that was just what she had dreamed before the pain had awakened her; then they found their dreams coincided exactly as to the manner in which the watch was broken; and that the watch was got and examined, to make sure it was not as they had dreamed.

    “This they related to me the same night, as something worth the telling. They thought it singular and interesting. I asked them what they had said about the watch before going to bed, and they said ‘Nothing’; that they had not thought of it at all.

    “MARY E. WEBB.”

    In the next three cases, the telepathic influence of a distant agent seems to be involved, and may have acted independently on the dreamers (cf. case 127, and see Chap. XII., § 2); or one dreamer, so influenced, may have infected the others.

    (404) From the Rev. P. T. Drayton, Undercliff, Portishead,

    “January, 1884.

    “When a child in the West Indies, there was an old African woman who had great attractions for me. She was full of ghost stories, and, though a Christian, had not, I fear, discarded obeah ideas altogether. Sometimes she would come in to show us how she would look dressed in her grave clothes, which she kept by her, and we would make merry over it. Well! several years afterwards I saw in my dreams her figure by my bedside in full grave-costume; it was very vivid, and I awoke with a determination that I would eat no more late suppers.

    “At breakfast, next morning, my sister told us that she had had much the same dream, but as she had never seen the old woman masquerading in her shroud, as I had, it made more impression. Some time afterwards we had a letter from W. I. mentioning the old woman’s death on the day on which these dreams occurred.

    “This occurred some 45 years ago, and I cannot be responsible for its strict accuracy.

    “P. T. DRAYTON.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Drayton says:—

    “Taking your queries seriatim I would reply, first, that my sister has been dead over 30 years. Second, that my sister and self had the dream on the same night, without having been either talking or thinking of the old woman. Third, that to the best of my recollection the tidings of the old woman’s death arrived shortly after.”

    {ii-382}

    A lady, a connection of Mr. Drayton’s, through whom we procured this narrative, says, “All the family knew of these dreams.”

    (405) From Fynes Moryson’s Itinerary (London, 1617), Part I., Chap. II., p. 19.

    “I may lawfully swear that which my kinsmen have heard witnessed by my brother Henry whilst he lived, that in my youth at Cambridge I had the like dreame of my mother’s death, where, my brother Henry lying with me, early in the morning I dreamed that my mother passed by with sad countenance, and told me that she could not come to my commencement; I being within five months to proceed Master of Arts, and she having promised at that time to come to Cambridge: and when I related this dreame to my brother, both of us awaking together in a sweat, he protested to me that he had dreamed the very same, and when he had not the least knowledge of our mother’s sicknesse, neither in our youthfull affections were in any affected by the strangeness of this dreame, yet the next carrier brought us word of our mother’s death.”

    (406) From Mr. Swithinbank, Ormleigh, Mowbray Road, Upper Norwood, S.E.

    “May 26th, 1883.

    “During the Peninsular War, my father and his two brothers, William and John, were quartered at Dover. They were natives of Bradford, and had there living their father, mother, and the rest of their family. On one special night my father had a dream that his mother was dead; the dream was most vivid, and in his waking moments the dream kept continually recurring to him, and he could not shake off the impression of sadness it brought upon him. The other brothers each slept at different parts of the garrison, and they only met each other on parade. The morning following the dream, and after the parade was over, my father ran hurriedly on to meet his brothers, and as he approached them they each appeared as anxious to meet him as he was to meet them; in a tone of breathless anxiety my father said, ‘Oh, William, I have had a queer dream.’ ‘So have I,’ replied his brother, when, to the astonishment of both, the other brother, John, said, ‘I have had a queer dream, as well. I dreamt that my mother was dead.’ ‘So did I,’ said each of the other brothers. It was true that each brother dreamt during the same night that their mother was dead; and it is equally true that in the course of a few days (for the posts then were seldom for such long distances) they heard from home that during the night of their dream their mother, who had had no previous illness of which her sons knew anything, had quietly passed away.

    “GEORGE EDWIN SWITHINBANK.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Swithinbank adds:—

    “I heard it over and over again from my father and the two brothers concerned.”

    A sister of Mr. Swithinbank’s corroborates as follows:—

    “Farnley, near Leeds.

    “October 20th, 1883.

    “I fully confirm this statement, as the only surviving daughter of the {ii-383} younger of the three brothers. The last time I saw my uncle William shortly before my father’s death, he specially named the circumstance to me, and I had heard it from my early infancy repeatedly from the lips of my father and his other brothers.

    “R. M. HUDSON, (née Swithinbank).”

    § 2. Next comes a group in which some thought on the part of a waking agent seems to have been represented in the dream.

    The following case strongly recalls No. 149, where the percipient seemed to catch the idea of a scene about which the agent was silently reading.

    (407) From Miss Julia Wedgwood, 31, Queen Anne Street, W.

    “March, 1886.

    “My dream was that I was hurrying along the street somehow in company with a little girl of about 10, who was telling me of her life in Florence, where she had been brought up. I was listening to her with great interest, and I remember in my dream being surprised that I could feel interest in the conversation of a child of that age. One odd thing was that she was telling me about building, and that we wandered into some grand new structure, where I had never been before.

    “In the morning I took up the novel Marian had been reading before she went to bed, sitting close to me. I will copy the passages which made me feel that her interest in the book must somehow have been transferred to my mind. My building was not a cathedral, and what the child said about building had the absurdity of a dream, so my dream was not exact. The little girl in the novel has been brought up in Florence.

    “JULIA WEDGWOOD.”

    The extracts, from a novel called Clarissa’s Tangled Web, are as follows:—

    “Thus wandering, she passed to the east end of the north aisle, much secluded from view by the back of the great organ and the pulpit, and so alone had she felt that she started when she saw a little girl seated on a stone step, the first of three leading up to an old oaken door filling a low narrow doorway in the wall. … She noticed too that the little girl looked towards her, and closed her book, and now appeared rather to invite than to deprecate conversation. So she drew nearer, and said in the peculiarly pleasant voice which generally prepossessed strangers, and not seldom drew forth unexpected confidences, ‘You enjoy, my dear, being in this cathedral?’ Irene rose. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ she said, ‘I do. I have seen many much finer cathedrals and churches [having been brought up in Florence], but this is a good building in many respects, and I do like being here very much.’

    “Mrs. Weatherill felt rather amused by the air of experienced judgment and critical discernment assumed by this very young connoisseur; but she said pleasantly, ‘You know the building much more familiarly than I do,

    I have no doubt.’ ‘I have read about it, ma’am, and have observed for myself,’ Irene said, quite willing to impart information and give her own impressions. ‘You see the vaulting of the roof, how it is filled in {ii-384} and held up by those arches, so many intersections and changing lines—that is quite a unique arrangement, but I think it is beautiful! And then, ma’am, … you see that the height of the vaulting in the two side aisles and the middle aisle is exactly the same,” &c.

    In reply to inquiries, Miss Wedgwood says:—

    “I am quite sure that Marian Hughes read not a word aloud, and did not mention to me any of the circumstances which reproduced themselves with the grotesque triviality of such things in my dream, and that I did not know anything of the contents of the book.

    “It was one of a number sent me to review (I leave it with you, with the relevant passages marked), and Marian being very unwell, I advised her to look through the heap instead of doing anything else. She sat by me all the evening reading this novel. I was busy with something else, and we hardly exchanged a word. We went to bed at the same time, and I had a vivid dream of meeting two children in the street (there is only one in the book), and getting into a conversation with the girl about building. The only sentence which remains with me is the absurd one, ‘What! don’t you know that all the heart of oak used in England comes from Florence?’ where she told me she had lived all her life. I had a vivid sense in my dream of the intelligence and rare knowledge of the little girl, and when I opened the book at p. 38 it came to me with an almost startling sense of familiarity. I think I mentioned that I was wandering with my little girl in a curious new building, and noticed the ceiling, but it was not a cathedral, so that again was only partly like, but it was, I remember, a curiously low roof. There was a sense of rather dramatic interest in the little girl which the story reproduces, and which is very rare in dreams, but I can remember no words to help it out. I think the child was 10, but the sense of premature cleverness and of surprise at myself in being interested in a child’s talk about buildings is what remains with me.”

    Miss Wedgwood adds:—

    “The dream corresponded with her [Marian’s] inaccurate recollection of the fiction more than with the fiction itself. She fancied that the incident was supposed to occur as in my dream—a grown person walking with a little girl in the street. It is one of several faint coincidences of the same kind, but most are so uninteresting that we forget them.

    “Another little case of thought-reading between us may have interest for you. I should premise that M. H. is my most intimate friend as well as my maid—copies all my writings for me, and shares all my interests.

    “In the year 1880, I was troubled by some circumstances which I carefully concealed from her. I thought that some actions of mine might have caused annoyance to a friend long dead, if he had been still among us, and the doubt stirred up much speculation in my mind as to the possible feeling in those who are gone. On the morning after I had been dwelling on this (which I did with a sense of vivid anxiety), M. H. said to me, ‘Oh, I had such a strange dream last night. I thought I saw Mr. A. come alive in his picture in the wall, and stand out of the picture, and look down with sorrow and grief, as if he were much hurt!’ I felt she had exactly read my anxious feelings, all sign of which had been {ii-385} carefully concealed from her. She had never seen the picture which was very familiar to me.”

    (408) From Mrs. Hunter, 2, Victoria Crescent, St. Helier’s, Jersey.

    “January 8th, 1884.

    “The following happened in India some 13 years ago. My second daughter had been with me, while I was preparing for bed one night. Our talk was merry, and only gossip. At last she left me for her own room. In the middle of the night I awoke in an agony of grief, and sat up in bed, sobbing and trembling. In vain I reasoned and tried to believe ‘it was only a dream.’ For a time I could not; it was so real. My dream was that a cobra di capello had bitten my daughter, and she raised a blanched, pinched face to mine, and said, ‘Must I die, mamma?’ and I had replied, in agony, ‘You must, darling.’

    “Next morning, my dream hardly remembered, I was dressing, when she, as usual, came to me. Her first words were, ‘Oh, mamma, I had such a horrid feeling last night while I was undressing. I felt sure there was a snake in my room, and had such a hunt before I got into bed; indeed, I feel sure the wretch is there still, and I have ordered the hammal (male housemaid) to turn my bathroom upside down. It was a horrid feeling.’

    “No snake was ever seen in her room.

    “Even in those days, before one had heard of thought-transference, I explained it to myself in some such way, viz., that her waking terror had communicated itself to me in sleep, and caused my dream.

    “H. E. HUNTER.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Hunter adds:—

    “No, we never had dreams nor apprehensions, nor talks about snakes. At hill stations, where they may be seen, we have, of course, talked of them (glad to have any subject for talk!), but at the time of my dream we were living in a large house close to the sea, and where snakes were almost unknown. As to the seeming discrepancy in time, it can be removed in this way. I got into bed directly she left me, and in India, when in health, I generally went to sleep at once. She was given to sit up reading, and it was while undressing the panic began; then followed the hunt, and we may feel sure that even after she got into bed sleep might not come all at once. My feeling when I awoke was as if it were the middle of the night, but it might really have been only an hour or two. I never looked at the time.”

    [We of course cannot assume that the coincidence was exact.]

    (409) From Mrs. Sibley, 6, Radipole Road, Fulham, S.W.

    “January 26th, 1884.

    “The following occurred about May, 1859. I believed my son to be away in the Mediterranean, and I had no reason to believe he would come home for a year or two, when one night I dreamt that I had a letter, and all that was written on it and inside it was ‘Woolwich,’ ‘Woolwich,’ ‘Woolwich.’ I awoke with the belief that I must be going to hear from him; it was then about 6.30. I could not sleep any more, and when I heard the postman’s knock at the door, I sent immediately for the letters. Only one was brought to me, and that had for its postmark ‘Woolwich {ii-386} Dockyard,’ and it was from my son, telling me of the safe arrival, the night before, of the ship he was on. My son was in the navy, and I am perfectly certain that the idea of his speedy return had never crossed my mind; for aught I knew he might be several years away. This dream is unique in my experience, in the strength of the conviction it produced that it must correspond with reality.

    “I mentioned this dream immediately on waking to a daughter (since deceased), who was sleeping with me.

    “KATHERINE SIBLEY.”

    The following corroboration is from the wife of the present writer, a younger daughter of Mrs. Sibley’s:—

    “26, Montpelier Square, S.W.

    “Jan. 26, 1884.

    “I remember the news of this incident spreading through the house before breakfast, and our rushing to my mother’s room—when we were shown the letter, and told the dream.

    “KATE S. GURNEY.”

    (410) From Mr. E. C. Trevilian, 3, Petersham Terrace, S.W.

    “February 2nd, 1884.

    “The following occurrence took place some 12 or 14 years ago. I was unmarried, and my house in Somerset had no establishment in it—merely an old housekeeper and a maid-servant. I lived more than half the year in chambers in London, and when I went alone down to the country, I never gave notice of my coming.

    “On the day in question I walked up from the station, leaving my luggage to follow, and rang—as usual—at the side door. The maidservant unlocked and opened it, paused a moment while a look of terror came over her face, and fled in much confusion. I walked in slowly, and instead of turning towards my study, marched straight to the servants’ hall. The old housekeeper was by the fire, and as I approached her, walking up one side of the long table, she rushed down the other, and out of the room. I retreated to my study, and in about half an hour rang the bell. The old woman was still a little shaky, but was able to explain that the two had so entirely made up their minds that I was dead, that on my appearance just now they had taken me for my ghost. The maidservant had dreamed, some 10 days before, that I was out shooting, that my gun had burst, and that I had been killed on the spot. They had mentioned this to several people—among them to the

    clergyman and to my agent—but without producing much effect. The girl had been so positive, that she, the old woman, had come to feel equally sure of my death.

    “Now on the day of the dream it is a fact that my gun had burst—that is, it had gone in two at the breach, and no harm had been done. It was at a country house in Oxfordshire, and I was using sawdust powder, then a new invention, and several accidents had occurred with it about that time, and some had been mentioned in the newspapers. This, however, I well recollect. My host and I, then and there, standing among the beaters, decided that the accident should not be mentioned, and we looked regularly and found no notice of it in the local or London papers; nor {ii-387} could I find out that any mention of it had been seen in any of the Somerset local papers, though it was chiefly by inquiry and not by myself examining the files that I went to work.

    “I have quite lost sight of the servant-maid—the old woman was still in existence in the neighbourhood some months ago.

    “E. C. TREVILIAN.”

    (411) From Miss Augusta Gould (now Mrs. Temple, and resident in India).

    “Sunnybank, Ealing Dean, W.

    “December 19th, 1883.

    “When my brother was in Glasgow, I told his son I had had a curious dream of an unwieldy chair coming to me as a present from his father. As I was only residing in his house, I had no idea or need of receiving a chair.

    “The next post brought me a letter from him, saying he had bought me such a curious American revolving chair, which was unwieldy when it came, the heavy pedestal and legs giving us difficulty in moving it from one place to another.

    “I have had other curious unexpected events occur after dreams foreshadowing them, but will not burden you with more particulars. Surely the affair of the chair was a curious case of rapport between my brother’s spirit and mine. As he never retired to rest till very late, and then was sleepless, he might have been thinking of his present to me when I was dreaming of it.

    “AUGUSTA GOULD.”

    In answer to inquiries. Miss Gould added:—

    “I send my nephew’s corroboration of the dream as to the chair. I may mention that my nephew is 26 years old and clear in memory usually, but he forgets that my brother was in Glasgow at the time. As to one of your questions, I dream always in sleep, either by day or night. Whenever I wake a dream is broken into; so I often dream things which do not come to pass, though often a foreshadowing of events does come to be realised.”

    The following is from a postcard written to Miss Gould by her nephew, from 6, Ellison Place, Newcastle-on-Tyne, and forwarded to us:—

    “January 2, 1884.

    “I remember perfectly about the chair; it was one time when my father was south that you had the dream, and when he came back he brought the chair with him. I have told several people about the circumstance.—ALEX. G.”

    Where the subject of the dream is as odd and unlikely as in this case and the next, its triviality can scarcely be held to diminish the force of the coincidence.

    (412) From a letter written on June 27, 1875, by Mr. J. L. O’Sullivan, then United States Minister at Lisbon, to the late Serjeant Cox, as President of the Psychological Society, and handed to us by Mr. F. K. Munton, who was Secretary of that Society.

    Mr. O’Sullivan was engaged to dine, one evening in 1858, with his {ii-388} British colleague, Mr. (now Sir Henry) Howard. By an accident, he was obliged to present himself in a pair of wet, muddy, and broken boots, which he sedulously kept concealed during the evening, taking care to arrive after the dinner had begun, and to play cards afterwards, instead of resorting to the drawing-room.

    “The next morning I went as usual to the bedside of my invalid mother, who for years had not been able even to turn over in bed. After a little while she said, ‘My son, I had such a queer dream about you last night. I saw you at Mrs. Howard’s party, and you were in such a comical but annoying predicament. I thought you had on a pair of wet and muddy and broken hoots, and you were keeping your feet hidden under the table.’ And she laughed over the recollection of such an absurd dream.

    “I ascertained that my servant had not become afterwards conscious of his omission, and that no human being under my roof knew that night of what had indeed been my queer predicament.”

    (413) From Mrs. Barr, Apsley Town, East Grinstead.

    “Dec. 11, 1883.

    “When in England some years ago, I had a very bad cough, for which a blister was ordered by my medical man, but being improperly applied it left a very ugly mark, like the print of a horse’s shoe. I was then preparing to rejoin my husband [the late General Barr] in India, and carefully avoided mentioning the circumstance to him.

    “On my way out to Bombay I was taken seriously ill, and was so weak on my arrival that I had to be carried on shore. As our own house was some miles from the place of landing we rested half way at my father-in-law’s house. Whilst there my husband’s mother said to him, ‘Does Lizzie look at all as you saw her in your dream?’ Upon which my husband turned to me and said, ‘I had such a horrid dream about you the other night. I saw you looking pale and ill, as you do now, but you had a dreadful mark like a horse shoe upon your chest.’ Being ill, I had landed in a white muslin dressing-gown, and I slightly parted it in front and showed him the mark. He was much astonished and said, ‘How did you get that? It is exactly the mark I saw in my dream.’

    “ELIZABETH H. A. BARR.”

    (414) From a narrator, Mr. B., whose name and address (though he made no stipulation on the subject) it seems right to suppress.

    “January 16th, 1885.

    “In March, 1880, our servant A. had been with us a few months, was well recommended by people we knew, and for the time she had been with us proved trustworthy, and as good as we could expect a servant to be. The dream Mrs. B. had respecting her happened in the early morning. She dreamt that the maid came into the dining-room, sat down by her (a strange proceeding), and said she had something on her mind to tell her mistress. It was that she had a boy of three years old, whose name was Bertie. When Mrs. B. got up, which she did after breakfasting in bed as usual, she went out into the orchard where A. was hanging the clothes. Mrs. B. told her her dream, and A. made no reply, but looked very pale and peculiar. Mrs. B. left her under the impression that she had offended her. Some time after, Mrs. B. found {ii-389} A. in the kitchen, crying bitterly. On inquiring what was the matter, whether she was offended, she replied, ‘Oh, no! ma’am, your dream is quite true in all respects, even the name.’

    “It seems that A. had had it on her mind to tell Mrs. B. about this child from the first, and her mother had pressed her to tell Mrs. B. about it. Mrs. B. says she had not the least suspicion of this matter, not even after the dream.

    “The servant A. and her mistress had a great liking for each other, more than is usual with servant and mistress, and A. had never been so happy in a situation before.

    “A.’s age at the time was 23 years.

    “[A year subsequently,] when in London, visiting her relatives, Mrs. B. dreamed that her servant, A., whom she had left at home, was in dreadful trouble—could see her in tears; all night Mrs. B. was continually dreaming of her. Next morning Mrs. B. determined upon returning home, although it was arranged for a longer stay. On her arrival, A. opened the door, and at once burst into a paroxysm of grief, saying that ‘Bertie was dying,’ that she had been praying for him and for Mrs. B.’s return, and crying all the previous night, and wished to go to him at once. (It should have been mentioned that the child, Bertie, was living with A.’s mother.)

    “Mrs. B. is not remarkable for many dreams.”

    Mrs. B. writes:—

    “I certify that the foregoing statement is quite correct.

    “ELLEN B.”

    In answer to inquiries as to the first dream, Mr. B. says that his wife did not mention it to him till some time afterwards, but then could refrain no longer. In conversation Mrs. B. told me that she was quite confident that the detail of the name occurred in the dream, and was not subsequently read back into it; and also that she had had no idea whatever of A.‘s history. The dreams were exceptionally vivid in detail.

    (415) From Miss A. J. Middleton, 20, Stanley Gardens, Kensington Park Road, W.

    “1884.

    “Some years ago, I was staying with friends, and came down one day, saying I had had such a dreadful dream, that my youngest brother was drowned; the impression was so vivid I could not forget it. When the second

    post letters came, at about 2.30, I heard that a man who was boating with this brother had slipped getting into the boat, and was drowned, and my brother was in great distress about it; the man I never saw, and did not know his name. When I read the letter, my friends said, ‘How odd that you should have dreamed your brother was drowned; we should have said you had made it up had you not told us first.’

    “A. J. MIDDLETON.”

    In answer to inquiries, Miss Middleton adds:—

    “I send you the card to-day I received from my friend confirming my first dream. I fancy I stayed with them about a week. This is the only occasion on which I have had a very distressing dream of death which left a vivid and lasting impression.”

    The card is as follows:—

    {ii-390}

    “Kirkbright Vicarage.

    “March, 1884.

    “Yes, I quite well remember your telling us about your dream, and your hearing the news the next morning. Thanks to our visitors’ list I can tell you the date of your coming to us, January 21st, 1881.

    “M. COPE.”1 1 We have received a parallel case to this from Miss M. J. Potter, of 42, Northumberland Avenue, Kingstown, who tells us that in 1860 she dreamt very vividly that a cousin was drowned in a deep pond, on the night after the drowning in a mill-pond of another cousin who was living in the same house as the one dreamt of. The news of the accident arrived before Miss Potter left her room next morning, and before she had an opportunity of mentioning her dream.

    The dream in this case, if telepathic, was probably due to the idea in the brother’s mind. The next case might be explained in a similar way, by reference to what was filling the minds of those who surrounded the percipient; but it might also be regarded as a case of direct impression from the drowning man; and the mis-recognition would then be very similar to what has been observed in other examples (Nos. 170, 171, 249, and cf. 455 below). The case may further illustrate that development of the percipient faculty in illness, which was noticed in the preceding chapter (p. 349).

    (416) From Miss Copeman, St. Stephen’s House, Norwich.

    “March 2nd, 1884.

    “My mother nursed my grandmother all through her last illness, and a few days before she died they received the intelligence of the sudden death by drowning of the eldest son of the family. It was not referred to in the presence of my grandmother, but that day or the next, awaking from a sleep, she said, ‘I have just seen John in the water; has anything happened to him?’ Joseph was the name of the one drowned, and they were able to say that John, another son, was quite well, and she was quieted. It was thought she meant Joseph at the time, but in her feebleness did not remember the right name. She died a day or two after.

    “I have often heard my mother repeat this, as a remarkable coincidence not to be explained.”

    In answer to inquiries. Miss Copeman writes:—

    “May 13th, 1884.

    “I fear I cannot give all the particulars you wish to have; the coincidence is one not easy to relate clearly, for no one is living now who remembers anything definite about it. I only know of it as I heard it from my own mother’s lips, and it is 3 years since her death. I have ascertained from another member of my family that the two deaths occurred in the year 1844, with an interval of about a week between them. My grandmother’s name was Mrs. Elizabeth Buck, of East Dereham, Norfolk.

    “My father and sister confirm my statement, as they, too, have more than once heard my mother speak of it.

    “LUCY A. COPEMAN.”

    {ii-391}

    We find from the Register of Deaths that Mr. Joseph Buck was drowned at Sproughton on the 9th of August, 1844, and that his mother died on the 17th.

    [In cases like this it is impossible to be absolutely certain that the news did not become known to the sick person through a whisper, or a reference made to it when she was supposed to be asleep, which may have acted as the nucleus of a dream.]

    It occasionally happens that a scene seems to have been telepathically represented at a time when it was not occupying the agent’s senses, though it may have been consciously occupying his mind (cf. Miss Wilkinson’s case below, Chap. IV., § 2).

    (417) From the Rev. W. Champneys, Haslingden Vicarage, Manchester.1 1 A not quite correct version of this narrative, without names, is given by the Rev. J. S. Pollock. Incumbent of St. Alban the Martyr, Birmingham, in Dead and Gone, p. 30.

    “September 3rd, 1884.

    “The incident to which I imagine you allude happened to my father, the late Dean of Lichfield. I have often heard him tell the story.

    “One of his brothers was secretary of the Church Pastoral Aid Society, and in that capacity was often travelling about the country, preaching sermons and attending meetings. He was in precarious health, having once had rheumatic fever, which had left behind it heart-complaint. One night my father dreamed that he was walking through the street of a village where he had never been before. The whole scene was entirely new, and impressed itself strongly on his memory. Coming to the village inn, he walked up to the door to inquire after his brother, who had started off on one of his journeys a few days before, in his usual health. The landlady, of whom he made the inquiry, returned an evasive answer, and then he asked if his brother’s wife was there: to which she replied, ‘Not his wife, sir, but his widow:’ and with the shock of these words he awoke.

    “As soon as a message could reach him the next day (it was before the days of telegraphs), he heard that his brother had been taken ill on his journey the day before; that trying to reach the town, where he was expected, they had been obliged to put up at a village inn on the way, and that there, after a very short illness, he had died; and when my father went to the place that day, which was one he had never been to before, or even heard of, the whole scene was exactly the same that had been before him in his dream—street, houses, country, everything was the same, and at the very inn where he dreamed he had inquired for his brother, he found his brother’s body lying.

    “WELDON CHAMPNEYS.”

    Through the kindness of the Secretary of the Church Pastoral Aid Society, we have been able to ascertain that the death of the Rev. E. T. Champneys occurred on June 16, 1845, at Caxton.

    [The essential point of such a narrative as this is of course independent of the alleged correspondence of detail, which is likely to seem in memory more exact than it really was.]

    {ii-392}

    The next case may possibly be of the same kind; but we have no proof that the scene was more than an imaginary setting supplied by the dreamer (as in several of the cases in § 4 below). The percipient did not himself believe that he had been asleep; but without external evidence that he was awake, we can hardly regard otherwise than as a dream an experience in which he appears to himself to be acting a part, during a time much longer than the actual duration of the impression.

    (418) From Mr. Adrian Stokes, M.R.C.S., 16, Howell Road, St. Davids, Exeter. The account was originally published in the Spiritual Magazine, in December, 1867.

    “My uncle, the late Adrian Stokes, Esq., of Thornbury, near Bristol, was living at his villa in that little town, in the year 1842, and on the evening of a certain day in November had retired to bed, in his usual health, at his customary hour. Contrary to his habit, however, he could not sleep, but lay awake counting the hours until 3 o’clock in the morning, when suddenly he found himself in a country whose features were quite strange to him. He became aware that he was in the Neilgherrie hill country of India, where his brother Sam was on invalid furlough. It appeared to him that he remained three months there with Sam, that he attended him during his illness, and that finally Sam died, when the vision faded, and he found himself again in his bed.1 1 We have a similar case—first-hand, but remote and from an uneducated witness—where the dreamer saw her brother, a carpenter’s mate, fall from a yard and break his leg, and then nursed him till his death. She says that she marked the day, as

    it happened to be his birthday, and afterwards learnt from one of his shipmates that he had died on the date of her dream, having broken his leg by a fall three days previously. He was now satisfied that this vision had revealed a certainty to him, turned round and fell asleep, and in the morning he told my aunt all about it. He has mentioned this matter to me several times, and always expressed his belief that he was broad awake while he saw the vision, which he thought must have passed with the rapidity of ‘thought,’ and was quite sure it was no dream.

    “In due course my uncle received from his brother’s agents at Madras a letter containing information of Sam’s death at such and such a place in the Neilgherrie Hills, at the precise day and hour that my uncle saw the vision in his bed at Thornbury. ‘It was no news to me,’ said my uncle to me when telling me of the circumstance; ‘I knew poor Sam was gone several months before.’

    “ADRIAN STOKES.”

    We find from the Indian Service Register that the death took place on November 12th, 1843 (not 1842), at Ootacamund.

    In answer to a question, Mr. Stokes tells us that he was not told of this vision till several years after its occurrence.

    The following example might be referred to the same type, if we {ii-393} could be quite sure that the details following the accident really figured in the dream; but they may easily have been “read back” into it; and the case is again second-hand and remote.

    (419) From Mr. A. W. Orr, Kingston Road, Didsbury, near Manchester.

    “January 2nd, 1885.

    “Some 40 years ago, my father was house-surgeon at the City of Dublin Hospital, and one day a young man, a sailor, was brought in who had fallen from one of the yards of the vessel on which he served. He was badly injured, and in about three days he died. Late in the afternoon of the day on which the man died, an old woman, very poor and fagged, came up to the hospital and asked to see the surgeon. My father saw her, and inquired what he could do for her; when she inquired whether a young sailor had been brought to that institution, and if so, could she see him? My father told her of the man above mentioned, and that he had died that morning.

    “It turned out that the old woman was the young man’s mother, that she lived in the Co. Carlow, and that three nights previously she had dreamt that her son had fallen from the rigging of the vessel, and had been taken to an hospital. So vivid was the dream that she could not rest till she got to Dublin (where she had never been before), and the moment she saw the hospital, she recognised it as the building she had seen in her dream. Her dream was only too true, for she found that her son had died from the effects of injuries occasioned by a fall just as appeared in her dream.

    “The old woman had walked a distance of over 60 miles, and entered the city by the road which passed the front of the hospital.

    “A. W. ORR.”

    In a second letter Mr. Orr says:—

    “You may rely upon the facts being as I have stated them, as I have frequently spoken to my father on the subject, the case being of such a very remarkable character.”

    § 3. These last cases form a transition to the next class, which is distinguished by the direct correspondence of the dream with a real event that befell the agent; but many of the dreams may still, as before, be regarded as literal representations of the agent’s thought. The prominent event, as usual, is death.

    (420) The Rev. W. B. B. having communicated to me the fact that some time ago, he had had an exceptionally vivid dream—which haunted him for a portion of two days—of the death of an acquaintance, and that the death had happened coincidently with the dream, the usual questions were asked. He replied as follows:—

    “The Vicarage, ——.

    “December 9th, 1884.

    “In reference to the subject of your note, I am able to say that I had {ii-394} no means of knowing that the lady in question was ailing or even in delicate health. She was the wife of a cousin from whom or of whom I do not think I had heard for some months. I have so much to do in my parish that I have little time for correspondence, but in consequence of what I dreamed I at once wrote to the son of the lady referred to, having previously, on awaking, mentioned the matter to my own wife. My remark to her was, ‘We shall hear some bad news, I fear, from R——’ (the residence of my cousin), and I then repeated the dream. Within another post I heard that Mrs. B. had died on that night.” [The narrator goes on to say that a very near relative of his had three times had exactly similar intimations. See p. 132, note.]

    We find from the Register of Deaths that the death occurred on Sept. 2, 1866.

    The following is the corroboration of the narrator’s wife:—

    “December 11th, 1884.

    “Mrs. B. has much pleasure in confirming the statement made by her husband as to his having communicated to her the substance of his dream boding something very serious to his cousin’s family. We had had no intimation of the illness. The family lives in Ireland, and the news of the death did not reach us until two days after.”

    [The slight discrepancy as to when the news arrived does not seem important. It will be seen that the dream was impressive enough to cause a busy man to write a letter.]

    (421) From Miss C. D. Garnett, Furze Hill Lodge, Brighton.

    “December 18th, 1883.

    “On the 13th of February, 1883, when at Biarritz, I dreamt that a relative, whom we had left in perfect health in England, and between whom and myself there was a strong affinity, was dying, and that we had to leave Biarritz sooner than we intended. The dream haunted me throughout the following morning, and in the evening we received a telegram summoning us home at once. She died as we reached England. I may mention that this event was entirely unlooked for.

    “C. D. GARNETT.”

    We find from the Liverpool Daily Post that the death occurred on Feb. 15, 1883.

    Miss Garnett adds:—

    “March 3rd, 1885.

    “In reply to your questions respecting the dream I had at Biarritz: 1. What was the state of the dying person at the time of the dreamt—She was unconscious.1 1 See Chap. v., § 10, and Vol. i., p. 563, note. 2. What was the character of the dream?—I dreamt that we were summoned home suddenly (we had then been a week in Biarritz, and intended remaining two months), that we received a telegram announcing the sad state of my relative; and the dream was all concerning her—and a very troublesome one. It wasn’t an ordinary dream. I felt greatly disturbed throughout the day following, and in the evening, about dinner time, the telegram came.”

    {ii-395}

    Miss M. Garnett writes, on December 30, 1883:—

    “I understand from my sister that you desire a corroboration of her remarkable dream at Biarritz. She mentioned it to me the following morning. She was much attached to the relative dreamt of.

    “MILLICENT GARNETT.”

    (422) From Colonel V., who says that the case “was written from memory, and dates in my diary.”

    “March 11th, 1886.

    “On Sunday night, 25th May, 1884, I had a most extraordinary dream. I dreamt that my son A., a young officer in a regiment at Gibraltar, was lying very ill there with fever, and was calling out to me, ‘Father, father, come over and let me see you or my mother.’ The next morning I went to see the Rev. G., the well-known coach, living near me. On entering his room, he exclaimed, ‘Do you believe in “dream-waves”?’ I replied, No, I did not. He remarked that just as I was entering the room, he was on the point of sitting down before his desk and commencing a letter to me, asking me to come over and see him. I then said, ‘I had a curious dream last night. I saw before me my son A. down with fever at Gibraltar, imploring me to come over and see him.’ As I had that morning a letter from him, written in good spirits, I thought it curious, and gave the dream no further thought.

    “On Tuesday, the 27th May, I went to Ramsgate with my second son, for change. On the 29th May, one of my family here wired to me to return home, as news had arrived from Gibraltar that my son A. was very ill with Rock fever. I returned in a few hours. I read over my letters from Gibraltar. It appears that on the 17th May my son fell ill, and was placed on the sick list. The attack turned out to be Rock fever. He gradually got worse; on the 24th he was delirious, and on the 25th his brother officers had to get a nurse, Mrs. S., to take charge of the patient. On the 23rd a second doctor was called in consultation. So bad was the news that I received from Gibraltar by letter and telegrams, that I left London on the 4th June, and reached it on the 9th. I found the patient doing well, but very weak. I had to remain there till the 3rd July, the attack of fever continuing, and we both returned home on the 8th July.

    “I mentioned to the nurse my curious dream of the 25th May. She said she was placed in charge of the patient on the afternoon of that day. He was very delirious all that night, and was constantly calling out, ‘Oh, mother, mother, do come over to see me’; and as he probably remembered how delicate she was, and that she could not take a sea voyage across the Bay of Biscay, he also called out, ‘Father, father, come and comfort me, and let me see you again.’

    “It was months after our return home before the fever left him, and he did not quite get rid of it till November, 1884.”

    In conversation, Colonel V. informed me that he dreams very little, and scarcely ever has distressing dreams; and that, quite apart from the confirmation, this dream would have been very exceptional in its character. Mrs. S., who was an excellent nurse, and whom he regards as entirely trustworthy, has left Gibraltar, and gone, he thinks, to Morocco.

    {ii-396}

    The Rev. H. P. Gurney, to whom Colonel V. described his dream next morning, writes from 2, Powis Square, W., on March 22, 1886:—

    “I do not remember any particulars of Colonel V.’s dream. It occurred nearly two years ago, and at a time when I am particularly busy. I only recollect that he told me that he had had a curious dream about his son at Gibraltar, who is one of our former pupils. I cannot recall any particulars, but I think that his son called to him to come and visit him. I know that he afterwards found out that he was seriously ill with fever, and had to go out to bring him home.

    “H. P. GURNEY.”

    Mrs. Thrupp, of 67, Kensington Gardens Square, W., writing to us on April 2nd, 1886, says that she called at Colonel V.’s house when he was on the point of starting for Gibraltar to see his son, and that he then told her “all about his dream.”

    (423) From Mrs. S. (the narrator of case 74), who is willing that her name should be given to any one genuinely interested in this case.

    “October 27th, 1885.

    “In 1871, I was staying at Düsseldorf with my daughter, who had just been to an eminent doctor in Bonn to have an operation performed on the throat. My mother-in-law was also in Bonn, and, after the operation, had run after the cab containing my daughter and myself, and had given the former (who was a child at the time) a ten-thaler note, as a reward for the brave manner in which she had submitted to the operation. She was in excellent spirits, and laughed and joked with us before parting. A day or two afterwards I awoke, and said to my daughter, who slept in the same room, ‘O M——, I have had such a dreadful dream. I dreamt your grandmother was dead.’ The terror caused by the dream was so great that I felt compelled to wake my daughter, though I knew that in her condition this was most unwise, as she was still suffering from the effects of the operation. I felt I must tell someone. My daughter said it was ‘only a dream,’ and told me to go to sleep. I asked how her throat was, and she said it was better. I pulled out my watch from under the pillow, and found it was between 3 and 4 a.m.

    “The following morning, at 10 o’clock, I received a telegram, telling me to meet my mother-in-law’s sister at Cologne Station. I did so, and they broke to me the news of my mother-in-law’s death, which had taken place the previous night. I had been in no sort of anxiety about her, and I was only told afterwards that she had been suffering for many years from some internal complaint, for which she had been operated on on the day following that on which I last saw her. I was totally ignorant that this was going to be done.

    “This was the only occasion on which I remember having had a vivid and distressing dream of death.

    “M. S.”

    [Mrs. S.’s daughter “thinks her testimony would be of little use, as she was quite young at the time, and her memory is not quite clear on several points.”]

    (424) A lady who prefers that her name should not be published, having been asked (by Miss Bryce, of 35, Bryanston Square, W.) whether {ii-397} since January 1st, 1874, she had had an exceptionally vivid dream of the death of some person known to her, answered:—

    “1884

    “Yes, on August 13th, 1877. I was 27, and in excellent health, as I was on my way home from a month’s stay in Switzerland. The impression lasted for some hours after I rose. In the night it was so distressing as to wake me. The person of whose death I dreamt was my oldest and dearly-beloved brother, a young man of 26. He died at Blackheath just at the same time, i.e., between 12 and 3 in the early morning. I had heard the day before that he was unwell, but no fatal consequences were thought of.”

    In answer to further inquiries, our informant writes on May 17, 1884:—

    “My brother was a young man of fine physical frame, in vigorous health, going daily to the City from his home with my parents at Blackheath. He had, however, a constitutional weakness in the ‘hæmorrhagic diathesis,’ which was not appreciated by me as in the least likely to shorten his life.

    “At the time in question he had taken a fortnight’s holiday at Maidenhead, chiefly spent in rowing, at which he was an adept. After his return he fainted, one morning, and a bruise was found on his left shoulder. The letter that I received told me of this, adding that the doctor had seen him, that some anxiety had been excited, but that he was better.

    “Had there been any apprehension of fatal consequences, or even of a serious illness, I should have left Boulogne on the day I received the news (Sunday). But I remained there with my husband, and, as I said, in the night between Sunday and Monday, I had the terrible impression—the chill horror of which I cannot forget.

    “On reaching London in the afternoon of the next day (Monday), I learnt that he had died suddenly at the time of my distress; the cause being internal hæmorrhage from the lacerated muscle. He had never had internal hæmorrhage before. He had only been unwell three or four days.”

    We have verified the date of the death in the Times obituary.

    [Mrs. W.’s husband prefers not to state positively whether it was after or before the news of the death that he first heard of the dream. On the supposition that latent anxiety may possibly have been the source of the dream, the case is excluded from the group used in the calculation in Vol. I., Chap. VIII., § 4.]

    (425) From Mr. T. J. Norris, Dalkey, Ireland. The account was written many years ago.

    “In the year 1839, Mrs. Norris, of Mohill, Co. Leitrim, accompanied by her two daughters (now Mrs. West, the Asylum, Omagh, and Mrs. Crofton, Portnashangan Rectory, Mullingar) and by Mrs. Draper (now Mrs. Simonet, St. Helier’s, Jersey),1 1 Since deceased. went to Lausanne for the benefit of the health of one of her girls, and remained there for a couple of years. Mr. Norris being an extensive land agent, could not remain with them, but paid them a visit each summer. While there in 1840, and just before the day fixed for his return home, Mrs. Draper, at breakfast, informed

    {ii-398} all present that a Mrs. Wilson, of St. Helier’s, a friend of them all, had died the evening before, at such an hour and under such-and-such circumstances, and asked Mr. Norris to write to Jersey about it. He first entered all the circumstances minutely in his pocket-book, and then wrote over as requested, desiring the answer to be directed to him in Mohill, to which he was about to return. I, his only son, was with him one day, when the post came in, bringing him a letter from Jersey. He opened and read it, and then gave me his keys and desired me to bring him down his pocket-book, to open it at a certain date, and see how far his memorandum agreed with the information contained in the letter. In substance they were identical, except that it appeared that Mrs. Wilson did not die until more than half-an-hour after her appearance to Mrs. Draper. I suggested that this could be accounted for by the difierence of longitude, and on calculating this it just made up for the seeming discrepancy.

    R#8220;THOMAS J. NORRIS.”

    Mrs. West, of Sion Cottage, Sion Mills, Co. Tyrone, writes:—

    “December 7th, 1882.

    “I am not sure whether it was a dream or that Mrs. Draper thought she saw Mrs. Wilson; but if the former, Mrs. Draper must have awoke at once, as I know she looked at her watch and remarked the hour, and afterwards, when she heard of Mrs. Wilson’s death, she inquired particularly at what hour she died. We at first thought the time was different, till we calculated the difference of Lausanne and Jersey time.

    “A. M. WEST.”

    Mr. Norris has given us his reasons for fixing the year as 1840; but we cannot find the death in the Jersey Register for that year. Registration had been then only recently introduced, and had perhaps not become universal.

    [This case is very remote; but the incident which Mr. Norris relates was such as would be likely to impress the facts on his memory, at any rate to a greater extent than if he had merely been told the story.]

    (426) From Miss Churchill, 9, Eversley Park, Chester.

    “August 13th, 1884.

    [A few words are added from a second account written on November 18th, 1885.]

    “About the month of August, 1877, I dreamt most vividly of the death of a gentleman, a friend of the family, whom I had not seen for some years. I fancy I saw him in the dream, but cannot distinctly remember. I had not heard of his illness, or anything of him at the time of my dream. But the next day I heard of his death having taken place; I do not remember the hour, but as far as I can say I believe he must have been dead at the time of my dream, or dying.

    “I cannot positively say whether I mentioned my dream before hearing of his death; I think I did.

    “EMILY CHURCHILL.”

    In answer to an inquiry, Miss Churchill replies:—

    “I do not remember (with this exception) dreaming vividly of a death, and believe the one referred to to be the only one.

    One of Miss Churchill’s sisters says:—

    “I can perfectly well remember hearing the dream before we heard of {ii-399} the death. As he was a strong man, and as far as we knew in excellent health, we did not for a moment suppose it was true. If I remember rightly, he was only ill three or four hours.”

    Another sister writes:—

    “August, 1884.

    “It is so long ago that we have rather forgotten. My own impression was that Emily told us her dream at breakfast, and that we heard of the death in the evening,—that the gentleman concerned had died the day before. I know I was much impressed at the time, but I couldn’t declare that she told us in the morning. I know directly Lizzie told us of the death (she had not been at home in the morning) Emily exclaimed to her, ‘I dreamt last night that he was dead.’”

    We find from the Times obituary that the death took place on July 19th, 1877.

    In conversation, Miss Churchill mentioned—as showing how sudden the death was—that the daughters of the gentleman who died had just gone on a visit, and had to be telegraphed for. The two families lived in the same town; but the interest of the Misses Churchill was in the daughters; they rarely saw the father, and had not seen him for a considerable time before his death.

    The following is a similar case, where the death of a person not closely connected with the dreamer was dreamt of vividly, but not in a specially pictorial way.

    (427) From Miss G., whose mother sent us the main facts of the case in 1883, and who herself wrote a fuller account on January 12, 1886.

    In November, 1880, Miss G., the daughter of a country rector, was staying in her father’s former parish in London. The vicar of this parish had exchanged livings with her father, and was thus associated in her mind with both her homes, though she only knew him slightly. One Saturday night she dreamt that he was dead. There was an odd confusion in the dream, as her father’s death was also suggested. She felt it was something to do with both parishes. On entering the breakfast-room, she learnt from the friend with whom she was staying that the vicar had died in the night. She had heard some days before that he had a cold; but, as she remarks, “colds in November are anything but uncommon,” and she had thought no more about it. “He had said, the Thursday before, that he was feeling so much better that he hoped to be able to take his Sunday duty; but on the Saturday he had grown suddenly worse, and died that evening.” Miss G. does not remember to have dreamt of death on any other occasion.

    We find from the Times obituary that the death took place on November 13, 1880.

    The friend with whom Miss G. was staying writes to her (in February, 1886), “I am afraid I do not remember about your dream at the time it happened; but I quite well remember your telling me some time afterwards you had dreamed a dream which I ought to have remembered.” Miss G. is confident that she mentioned the dream before sitting down to breakfast.

    {ii-400}

    (428) From a most trusted and valued servant of the present writer’s—now Mrs. Humphry, residing at Hiley Lodge, Kensal Green—who wrote, in the week following the dream:—

    “On Tuesday night [March 24th, 1885], or rather Wednesday morning, I dreamt that Fenning, a milkman in the employ of Mr. John Jarvis [of Dale Hill Farm, Ticehurst], formerly in the employ of Mr. Thos. Jarvis, my late master, said to me, ‘He’s gone at last.’ I said, ‘Who?’ He said, ‘Why, Mr. John Jarvis is dead.’ On Wednesday morning, when I saw my fellow-servant, Rose, I told her my dream.” [This was confirmed in writing, at the same time as the account was written, by Rose Wade.]

    On March 30th, the news of the death arrived, and Mrs. Humphry at once mentioned the coincidence to her mistress. She was told to ask the day and hour of his death, and the following is a copy of her brother’s reply:—

    “Platt Cottage, Ticehurst.

    “March 31st, 1885.

    “Just a line to let you know that Mr. Jarvis passed away on the 25th—that was last Wednesday morning as near as I can tell you at 2 o’clock.

    “WILLIAM VIDLER.”

    We have confirmed the date by the Register of Deaths.

    Mrs. Humphry told the present writer that the dream was quite unique in her experience, for its vividness and the distress that it caused her.

    (429) From Fynes Moryson’s Itinerary. (See above, p. 382.)

    “Whilst I lived at Prage, and one night had sat up very late drinking at a feast, early in the morning, the sunne beams glancing on my face as I lay in bed, I dreamed that a shadow passing by told me that my father was dead; at which awaking all in a sweat, and affected with this dreame, I rose and wrote the day, the houre, and all things connected therewith in a paper booke, which Booke with many other things I put into a pouch, and sent it from Prage to Stode, thence to be convoyed into England. And now being at Nurnberg, a merchant of a noble family, well acquainted with me and my friends, arrived there, who told me that my father died some two months past. I list not write any lies, but that which I write is as true as strange. When I returned into England some four years after, I would not open the pouch I sent from Prage, nor looke in the paper booke in which I had written this dreame, till I had called my sisters and some friends to be witnesses, when my selfe and they were astonished to see my written dreame answer the very day of my father’s death.”

    (430) From the Rev. F. R. Harbaugh (Pastor of Presbyterian Church), Red Bank, Monmouth County, New Jersey, U.S.A.

    “February 7th, 1884.

    “In the afternoon of January 29th, 1881, between the hours of 2 and 4 o’clock, while asleep (in ordinary good health), and with no conscious or immediate procuring cause for the same, I had a ‘dream’ charged with every element of the horrible and distressing. I awoke greatly confused in mind, but with these very distinct impressions:—first, that some tragedy {ii-401} had occurred; and second, that some relative was implicated in it. The dream, for the while, very greatly affected me, so much so as to seriously disqualify me for my Sabbath services the day following.

    “Within a few days after this dream I received a letter from my father, which began something like this:—

    “‘You will be shocked to hear that your cousin ——, on last ——, (the same day on which I had my dream), ‘took the life of his wife and babe, and then killed himself.’

    “It is not necessary to give the details of the crime. My reply to my father’s letter contained the following:—

    “‘Shocked I certainly was by the intelligence in your last letter, but hardly surprised; for ever since last —— afternoon I have been oppressed, because of a dream, with an impression that something of the kind had occurred.’

    “From his letter in reply, I found that my dream was coincident (how exactly I do not remember) with the tragedy. With regard to the person who committed the crime, I had neither seen him nor had any communication with him, nor, indeed, any information about him, since we separated, in our early boyhood. No acquaintance of mine of so long a time could have been more absent from my mind than he. Nothing proximate to the tragedy had transpired to recall or suggest him. I have never been able to detect what it was, or might be, that brought him to my knowledge. The absence of anxiety, or anything like it, may be seen in my almost utter forgetfulness of him. Indeed, for 20 years I did not know whether he was living or dead.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Harbaugh says:—

    “Horrifying dreams are exceedingly rare with me. The doubt on my mind as to the coincidence of time (as I now recall the occurrence) is as to the hour. The day of the tragedy and of my dream were the same.” He adds:—

    “A clergyman residing in the place where the crime was committed writes, ‘I am going to see the man who was the first in the house after the deed was done, and ask him for the exact hour.’ Later he writes, ‘I find it was on Saturday evening, January 29th, at just about 7.30 p.m. The town marshal fixes the time at the same hour.’ My recollection of the day of the week and the time of the day on which I had the dream is very distinct—as well as the recollection of the letter I received from my father, telling me of it, and of my reply.”

    [If this case was telepathic, the idea of the deed must have been present to the perpetrator’s mind 4 hours before it was acted on—which seems a reasonable supposition. The telepathic explanation is of course rendered less probable by the absence of intimacy or affection between the parties; but we have had indications that mere kinship may supply the adequate condition (see, e.g., case 244).]

    § 4. Coming now to the class of more distinctly pictorial dreams, corresponding with some critical situation of the agent, but not a mere reflection of his conscious thought, I will begin with cases where what is seen is a tolerably simple embodiment of the idea {ii-402} supposed to have been transferred, and then pass on to cases where the dreamer invests the idea with fresh elements and imagery of his own.

    The following four cases are of the simplest possible type. The first of them resembles the last quoted, in the fact that there was no bond of friendship between agent and percipient; but the proximity to the latter of a third person—her father—who was connected both with her and with the agent, suggests that though the impression did not affect his consciousness, it still reached her in some sense through him (p. 267).

    (431) From Mr. G. J. Davis, St. Chloe Endowed School, Amberley, near Stroud. (The account is slightly condensed.)

    After mentioning that about 1848, he had served under a certain clergyman, Mr. S., Mr. Davis continues:—

    “About 1860, I married my present wife, and she did not, nor my children, know anything of Mr. S., and, consequently, took little interest in hearing about him. We seldom or never spoke about him, except perhaps when a letter came from him, and I might mention the fact.

    “One Saturday morning, as I was reading the Standard after breakfast, my daughter, aged about 19, suddenly broke the silence thus:—

    “‘Papa, have you heard from Mr. S. lately?’

    “‘No, I have not,’ I replied; ‘in fact, it is my turn to write. He wrote about three months ago; but I have not written since. Why do you ask?’

    “‘Because I dreamt about him last night. I dreamt he had lost the use of his side’ (here she made a motion with her hand down her side); ‘paralysed, don’t you call it?’

    “She spoke very earnestly, I noticed; but I merely replied, ‘How strange,’ and went on reading my Standard. This was on Saturday morning, you will observe.

    “Well, the next day was Sunday, and we always made it a point to call at the post-office for our letters on Sundays. We did so on this Sunday. Among them was a C—— newspaper, I noticed the address was not in Mr. S.’s handwriting; this moved my curiosity, and there being no folk about, I opened the paper, and what was my surprise to find a paragraph marked, announcing, ‘That their respected neighbour, the Rev. E. H. S., had been seized with paralysis.’ Certain persons were with him—doctors, &c.,—and they hoped he would get better, &c., &c. Of course, I was very much surprised, and when we got home, I said, ‘Sissy, do you remember anything more about your dream?’ (after reading the paragraph, and saying how strange it was, &c.)

    “‘No,’ she said, ‘but the dream made such an impression upon my mind that I lay awake thinking about it, and wondering how I knew he was paralysed, for he didn’t tell me, and I saw no one else but himself lying ill in bed.’

    “This is all literally true.

    “GEORGE JESSON DAVIS.”

    In reply to an inquiry, Mr. Davis wrote that the date of Mr. S.’s seizure was Nov. 8, 1878. We have verified the occurrence and the date in the local newspaper of Nov. 16. It would appear, therefore, that the dream must have been on the night of Nov. 15—i.e., a week after {ii-403} the actual seizure—though while its effects were continuing. This extension of time of course extends the scope for accidental coincidence, and so far weakens the case; on the other hand there is the strong point of a double correspondence, the right person being associated with the right complaint, though neither one nor the other had been in the least degree occupying the dreamer’s waking thoughts. Mr. S. never recovered from the attack, and died some months afterwards.

    In conversation Mr. Davis stated that his daughter was not in the habit of having vivid dreams, and that her mention of this one was exceptional; and that by temperament she is the very reverse of gushing or visionary.

    (432) From Mrs. Jennings Bramly, Strathmore, Killiney.

    “February 3rd, 1886.

    “I am happy to give you an exact account of the dream which I had about my brother, Professor of Greek in Trinity College, Dublin. I cannot fix the exact time; it was probably two and a-half or three and a-half years ago. It was simply a vivid dream; I by no means saw an exact enactment of what was going on. I dreamed (being at home in my own house in Killiney, my brother being in his, in Dublin) that I saw my brother covered with blood, and that I threw my arms round him and implored him not to die, and that I felt the blood touch me, and saw it drip on me. I awoke in great distress, and remained awake lest I should dream it again. In the morning I told my husband I had had a fearful dream. I did not in the least think it was true, but it was very real, and it frightened me. In spite of daylight, and companions around me, I still felt a vague uneasiness, and in order to dispel the feeling by seeing my brother in perfect health (as I quite expected I should), I went into Dublin by train, and to his rooms in College to see him. I found him sitting by the fire, and I asked him if he would come to us next day and play tennis. He replied, ‘that he should not be able to play tennis for many a day,’ and then told me ‘he had had an accident the evening before; he was in the garden with his children, and one of them had got up on the roof of a small tool-house, which had a glass window in the roof; the child was frightened,

    and my brother went up the ladder to lift him down; he put one foot on the window and reached forward for the child, when the glass broke and my brother’s leg went through, cutting a vein in the leg; it bled profusely for a couple of hours before a doctor could be found to bandage it up. This accident took place early in the evening; I, probably, was not in bed until after the bleeding had been stopped.

    “My brother noticed how white I had become while he was telling me of his accident. I told him my dream, and he agreed with me in thinking it a very remarkable coincidence. He evidently had not thought of me the previous night, or he would have said so. My attachment for him is, I believe, unusually strong, and my sympathy in all his pursuits extreme. It is right to mention that in 1879 he had had a much more serious accident, about which I had no dream.

    “M. GERALDINE J. BRAMLY.”

    Mr. Bramly writes on Feb. 3, 1886:—

    “I recollect my wife telling me her dream, as above narrated, on the following morning. She has a very accurate memory.

    “W. J. BRAMLY.”

    Professor Tyrrell writes, on Feb. 5, 1886:—

    {ii-404}

    “I remember the incident communicated to you by my sister, Mrs. Bramly. The details are accurate. She told me of her dream when she called on me in College the following morning.” Later he adds:—

    “I should wish it to be understood that I look on the dream and the accident as mere coincidence.1 1 Professor Tyrrell clearly means accidental coincidence. A similar remark might be made, as I have again and again pointed out, about almost every isolated case; yet no one, on reflection, will maintain that the cases to which it would apply have therefore no legitimate place in a cumulative argument. The accident was slight, but there was considerable effusion of blood.

    “R. Y. TYRRELL.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Bramly says:

    “I am a very restless, uneasy sleeper, and every night dream the wildest dreams possible. I have never, however, except in this instance, dreamed of any accident to anyone, or of the death of anyone.”

    (433) From Mr. Durell, Wrenthorpe, The Thicket, Southsea.

    “April 1, 1886.

    “On the night of the 4th May, 1863, when I was in Australia, I dreamed that a postman handed me a letter with a deep black border. The purport of the letter was to announce the death of an uncle in England, and that he had left me some property which would necessitate my immediate return to England.

    “When I awoke, the dream still haunted me, and I made a note of it, and mentioned it to several of my friends, feeling sure I should hear of my uncle’s death.

    “I could not do so by the next mail, but the one after that brought me the intelligence of his death on the 4th of May, the day of my dream, and he had left me property which required my return to England.

    “I had no idea of my uncle’s illness, and still less that he was going to leave me any property.

    “F. T. D. DURELL.”

    The Times obituary confirms May 4, 1863, as the date of death.

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Durell writes:

    (1) “I do not recollect ever having had a dream about death, certainly none that ever impressed me as this did; and I am not in the habit of having distressing dreams.

    (2) “I did make a note at the time of my dream; unfortunately the diary I had of that year, 1863, I lost.

    (3) “The two friends who were with me at the time of the dream, and to whom I mentioned it, are both dead.”

    In conversation, Mr. Durell distinctly confirmed the fact that the date in the letter was compared with that in his diary, and found to be the same; he does not know what was the hour of death. He is not, and was not, at all in the habit of having vivid dreams: this one made an extraordinarily strong impression on him before the receipt of the news. Mrs. Durell well remembers hearing the account very soon after Mr. Durell’s return to England.

    (434) From a gentleman, resident at Widnes, who prefers that his full name should not be published. The account is dated Dec. 12, 1882.

    “I was about 14 years old, and at school at Southport, a town about 30 miles from my house. One night I dreamed in a most vivid manner that I saw my mother dead. Next morning I was oppressed with the firm {ii-405} conviction that my mother had died, and though we happened to have a half holiday that morning, I could not throw off the feeling. While we were playing some game in our cricket field, a messenger came to say that my master wanted to see me at once. I felt that I knew what he had to say, and I suppose that my face must have shown some signs of my trouble, as, before telling me that my mother had died during the previous night, he asked me some kindly questions as to whether I felt ill. I have never had any similar kind of dream since (indeed, I very rarely dream), but I can never forget the impression made on me by this dream.

    “H. W. D.”

    [The memory of the subsequent incidents in this case to some extent confirms the coincidence. In conversation, I found the narrator very far from disposed to attach significance to an isolated case of the sort, though the impression made upon him was very strong.]

    In the following case, though remote in date, there is no reason to doubt that the facts are correctly recorded. It is at any rate a point in favour of that view—and one rarely met with in second-hand narratives of the sort—that the degree of closeness in the coincidence is left uncertain.

    (435) From Mrs. A. L. Udny, 61, Westbourne Park Villas, W.

    “My father-in-law, George Udny, of the Bengal Civil Service, at one time Member of Council there, and a great friend of Lord Wellesley when he was Governor-Greneral, was a man of deep religious feeling and high honour, but I imagine not the least disposed to believe in any superstitions or marvels; so I think his narrative may be depended on, and this was his account.

    “He was residing at Maldah, in India, in 1794,1 1 From The Life and Times of Carey, Marshman, and Ward, the Serampore Missionaries, we have been able to fix the incident as in January or February, 1794. and his only brother, Robert, to whom he was much attached, was living in Calcutta, with his wife Anne. Mr. Udny dreamed one night that he saw his brother and his wife struggling in the water, which distressing dream awoke him. He was about 200 miles from Calcutta, and very shortly received by dâk-post a letter informing him that his brother and his wife had been drowned in the Hooghly shortly before, I do not know exactly how long. Robert and Anne Udny had been to pay a visit at Howrah on the other side of the Hooghly, and not returning at night to their own house, the servants had supposed that they had been induced to stay all night, and it was only the next day found that they had left their friends and had embarked in a Boleah (a large river pleasure boat), to return—which had got foul of, and been overturned by, the cable of a vessel lying at anchor in the river, and the current had carried away their bodies some distance down the stream, where they were found locked in each other’s arms.”

    In a letter which accompanied the account, dated 25th July, 1883, Mrs. Udny writes:—

    “I had always heard that the dream was three times repeated,2 2 As regards the frequent recurrence of the number three in narratives of this sort, see p. 229, note. but the story as I have it, written down from my husband’s dictation,3 3 The account was only in part dictated, but was throughout revised by Mr. Udny, on April 27, 1861. is as {ii-406} above; and I believe he was afraid to add more particulars, as he was a most exact man, and would rather understate than exaggerate, even undesignedly, any story.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Udny adds that her husband was not born till 1802, and therefore cannot have heard of this incident till a good many years after its occurrence; “but his father lived till 1830, and it must have been often talked of after my husband had grown up.”

    In the next case, it seems possible that the dreamer was impressed by some one known to her on board the ship (she knew Captain King, the commander), and that she embodied the idea of wreck in a simple manner.

    (436) From Mr. E. Gardner Colton, Southampton Buildings, W.C.

    “July 31st, 1883.

    “Some years ago we were living in Derby Lane, Stoneycroft, Liverpool. I remember one morning, early, a Mrs. Tate, a friend of my mother’s (and who lived at Iquique, Peru, but was stopping with her father in England), came to our house and informed us she had had a very strange dream that morning early, in which she saw the steamer ‘Santiago,’ of the Pacific Company, strike on a rock in the Straits of Magellan, through which she [Mrs. Tate] had many times passed, and founder.

    “Now, the extraordinary news came several weeks later that the steamer had that night or time run on that very rock.

    “I well remember Mrs. Tate’s vivid description of it.

    “E. GARDNER COLTON.”

    We have written to Mrs. Tate, at Iquique, but have received no reply.

    Mr. Colton’s mother writes, from 61, Park Street, Southend-on-Sea:—

    “I remember this also, and it is quite correct. And Mrs. Tate was so strongly impressed by the dream that she noted the time by her watch, and, as far as I can recollect, it agreed with the time.”

    We learn from the Secretary of the Pacific Steam Navigation Company that the “Santiago” was lost in the Straits of Magellan on 25th January, 1869.

    [The Times of March 19th, 1869, says that the ship “struck on a sunken reef, not shown in the charts.” This shows that the accuracy of the dream has been to some extent exaggerated. We have no reason to doubt its exceptional vividness; but the case is clearly not one that would deserve attention, so long as the reality of telepathy was doubtful.]

    In the next case, which is recent and corroborated, the death-scene is still just such as the dreamer might most naturally conjure up.

    (437) Letter to the Rev. J. A. Macdonald, now of Rhyl, from Mrs. Harrison, of Park View, Queen’s Park, Manchester.

    “September 2nd, 1885.

    “I had a dear uncle, John Moore, St. John’s, Isle of Man. I knew he had failed in health and strength during the winter of 1883 and 1884, but was not aware that he was really ill, or worse, so had not been thinking of him more than usual, nor anticipating a change; on the contrary, I was rather sanguine that, with the return of spring, his strength {ii-407} would revive, knowing that he had only two years before recovered from a severe illness, his constitution being so excellent, though he was 85 years old when he was taken away. But on the night of March 1st, or very early in the morning of the 2nd, 1884 (I did not ascertain the time, but I had retired to rest very late and seemed to have slept two or three hours), I awoke crying, and with the agitating scenes of my dream clear before me. It was that I stood in the bedroom of my uncle, that he lay there dying, his remaining family near him, I just a short distance from the bed, looking on. When I joined my husband and daughter at the fireside, on coming downstairs in the morning, I told them my dream, and then thought no more about it till two days later, 4th March, when a letter arrived, saying that my uncle had passed away at 2 o’clock on the morning of the 2nd.

    “R. J. HARRISON.”

    Mrs, Harrison can recall no other dream of death.

    We find from the Isle of Man Register that the date of the death was March 2, 1884.

    Mr. Harrison corroborates as follows:—

    “September 2nd 1885.

    “I distinctly remember my wife telling me the above dream on the Sunday morning, 2nd March, 1884, and it has often been spoken of in the family since. The letter acquainting us of Mr. Moore’s death arrived at Manchester, from the Isle of Man, two days after, viz., Tuesday, 4th March, 1884.

    “J. P. HARRISON.”

    [In conversation I learnt that Mr. Moore’s son and daughter, who appeared in the dream, were the relatives likely to be present; so that point goes for nothing. But there is no doubt as to the exceptional character of the dream. On account of the age and infirmity of the person who died, this instance has not been included in the special group, used in the calculation in Vol. I., Chap VIII., § 4.]

    In the next two cases, again, the death is represented in a completely natural way.

    (438) From the late Mrs. Denroche, of 1, Berkeley Villas, Pittville, Cheltenham, who said that she had “never had any distressing or remarkable dream save this one.”

    “February 23rd, 1885.

    “On the Easter morning [1843], about 6 o’clock, I dreamt that I was looking out of my bedroom window, and that I saw Mr. R. walking up the avenue, and that, knowing him to be in Australia, I felt so surprised and pleased that I ran down to meet him at the glass portico. When I put out my hand, I said, ‘Oh, how glad I am to see you again.’ He looked so sad and said, ‘You will not be glad, as I bring you sad news. Your brother Stephen is dead.’ I awoke at the moment, and it seemed as though the words were sounding in my ears. When the servant came to assist me to dress, I told her my dream, and to comfort me she said that dreams always went by contraries, ‘and that he was most likely being married,’ but said I must not tell this dream to my mother or to any one who might do so, as my brother writing so seldom always made her so anxious and unhappy; and so acting upon her advice, I did not speak of it, but the thought of it constantly recurred during the four months that intervened between the Easter and a visit to Bangor, in Wales, where a letter from Mr. R., dated Easter Sunday, was forwarded to me. He wrote {ii-408} to me for the reason that he thought I could more gently break the sad news to my dear mother, and his letter commenced almost with the same words that I had heard in the dream. He told how that, a fortnight before his death, my brother had reached his house sadly out of health, and worn with the toilsome journey. At once he became too ill to write, and continued so till he died on Easter Sunday morning.

    “OLIVIA A. DENROCHE.”

    [The death must have preceded the dream by a good many hours. The case is remote; but the fact that Easter Sunday is so marked a day makes it fairly probable that the coincidence was rightly remembered. Australian newspapers have been searched, as well as the most likely English obituaries, for a notice of the death, but without success,]

    (439 and 440) From La Chance et la Destinée (1876), by Foissac, p. 599. Récit de M. Longet, membre de l’Institut, professeur de physiologie à la Faculté de Médecine de Paris. [Translation]Report from M. Longet, member of the Institut de France, professor of physiology in the University of Paris medical school.

    “Notre savant confrère (M. Jules Cloquet, membre de l’Institut, professeur de Clinique Chirurgicale) nous a raconté que sortant fort avant dans la nuit d’une soirée chez M. Chomel, et s’étant endormi, il vit en songe un fantôme qui lui représentait son frère Hippolyte. Il portait sur son dos une grande liane de papiers qu’il jeta au milieu de la chambre, en lui disant, ‘Maintenant je n’ai plus besoin de rien,’ et il disparut. A son réveil M. Cloquet raconta ce songe aux personnes de son entourage sans en être autrement impressionné. Il se rendit à l’hôpital, fit sa leçon de clinique comme à l’ordinaire, puis M. Giron de Busarainque lui dit, en lui prenant le bras: ‘Ton frère Hippolyte est malade.’ ‘Allons le voir,’ repondit M. Cloquet. Chemin faisant, M. Giron de Busarainque lui apprit qu’Hippolyte Cloquet était mort dans la nuit d’une attaque d’apoplexie. [Translation]Our learned colleague (Mr. Jules Cloquet, of the Insitutut de France, clinical professor of surgery) told us that upon leaving a party of Mr. Chomel’s quite late one night, he fell asleep, and in a dream he saw a ghost that looked to him like his brother Hippolyte. He had on his back a great bundle of papers which he threw down in the middle of the room, saying “Now I no longer need anything,” and he disappeared. [Translator’s note: liane ‘vine’ is an error for liasse.] Upon awakening, Mr. Cloquet recounted this dream to the people near him, without retaining any other impression of it. He went to the hospital, gave his lesson as usual, and then Mr. Giron de Busarainque took his arm, and said “Your brother Hippolyte is sick.” “Let’s go see him,” replied Mr. Cloquet. On the way, M. Giron de Busarainque informed him that Hippolyte Cloquet had died during the night from a stroke.

    “Le songe qui me concerne est plus explicite encore. Lorsque j’étais étudiant en médecine, et interne de Dupuytren, je rêvai que je voyais mon père atteint d’une maladie

    qui le conduisait au tombeau. Je m’éveillai dans un grand trouble que je cherchais à dominer en me disant que j’avais quitté mon père le dimanche d’auparavant en parfaite santé; nous étions au mercredi. Je me représentai que c’était une grande faiblesse de m’inquiéter d’un songe, et je résolus de n’en tenir aucun compte. Mais l’image de mon père mourant était sans cesse présente à ma pensée, et pour échapper à cette obsession, quoique honteux de ma faiblesse, je partis pour St. Germain, où je trouvai mon père atteint d’une fluxion de poitrine qui l’enleva en cinq jours.” [Translation]My own dream is even more explicit. When I was studying medicine, and was an intern at Dupuytren Hospital, I dreamed that I saw my father stricken with an illness that was carrying him off to the grave. I woke up very disturbed, but attempted to recover by reminding myself that when I had left my father the preceding Sunday, he was in perfect health. It was then Wednesday. I told myself that it was a great weakness to be troubled by a dream, and I decided to pay it no attention. But the image of my father at death’s door was constantly in my mind, and to put aside this obsession, though I was ashamed of my weakness, I left for Saint-Germain, where I found my father stricken with pneumonia. He had only five days left to live.

    [This second case would more properly belong to the preceding section.]

    Similarly in the next case, the agent’s actual thought may have been the nucleus of a dream to which the dreamer supplied a setting.

    (441) From Mr. Alexander G. Sparrow, Derwent Square, Liverpool.

    “1882.

    “About 23 years ago, my youngest sister was visiting my then bachelor quarters; there was then residing in Liverpool an old friend of mine, D. L., a bachelor past 40, and who was considered by his friends most unlikely to marry. One morning at breakfast I related to my sister a very vivid dream. I was in the Old Exchange room; not being the {ii-409} ’Change time, it was nearly empty. I was leaning against a sort of counter under the clock. D. L. was sauntering up the middle of the long narrow room; and when he caught sight of me he quickened his step, and smiling put out his hand, saying, ‘Sparrow, congratulate me; I am engaged to be married, and am as spooney as I was at one-and-twenty.’ I did offer him my congratulations, and asked who the lady was, to which he replied, ‘She is an Irish girl; I met her at Kingstown Regatta.’

    “My eldest sister was, at that time, living with her husband in Ireland. When I returned from business that evening, my sister said, ‘Your dream has come true, even the very words.’ She put a letter from my eldest sister into my hand, and I read, ‘Tell Alick his friend D. L. is engaged to one of the daughters of our rector. He met her at Kingstown Regatta.

    “ALEX. G. SPARROW.”

    The sister to whom the dream was told vaguely remembers the main fact of the occurrence.

    [In conversation, Mr. Sparrow told Mr. Myers that he did not know his friend to be in Ireland, though he may have noticed that he was not on ’Change as usual; that there was nothing to connect his friend with Kingstown Regatta; that he had thought him a “regular old bachelor”; and that the words used in the letter were the exact words used in his dream. But after so long an interval of time, memory cannot be implicitly trusted for such details.]

    The next dream presents an interesting mixture of right and wrong detail. If telepathic, and not accidental, it probably fell on the night following the event, and would then seem more naturally referable to the agent’s subsequent picturing of the scene than to an immediate “clairvoyant” impression whose development had been deferred. The dream, as so often in these coincident cases, produced a quite exceptional impression of reality.

    (442) From Mrs. Saxby, Mount Elton, Clevedon.

    “January 31st, 1883.

    Mrs. Saxby begins by saying that her husband was on the Continent at the outbreak of the Franco-German war, and that in one of her letters to him she copied out the famous “draft treaty.”

    “One night, not long after this, I saw in a kind of dream that my husband was walking on a high road, under the shade of broad spreading trees. I was charmed with the brilliancy of the green of their translucent leaves, through which the sunlight streamed overhead.

    “I noticed that a country cart with three men in it passed him, and that one of the men had remarkably bushy black whiskers. They were all dressed in blouses, and had a very peculiar kind of cap on their heads. These caps had peaks to them. Presently the cart halted, and the men had some communication with my husband, in which the man with the black whiskers took a prominent part. I noticed that the men got out and in of the cart, and stood up and spoke for some time. There was evidently something going on, and it ended in one of the men going one way, on foot, while the other men jogged away in the cart in the contrary direction, and all, including my husband, passed away.

    {ii-410}

    “I cannot state why I knew that this was one of my mysterious kind of dreams, but I did, and I felt sure that something had happened to my husband; so I sat down and wrote to him directly, telling him my dream, and describing the scene and the circumstances that occurred in it, describing also the men and the cart as exactly as I could. I even etched with my pen a picture of the man with the black whiskers, and I asked my husband what kind of trees they were with the very bright translucent leaves, and what had happened to him under them. On August 2nd, 1870, dating from Luxembourg, my husband wrote to me:—

    “‘MY DEAREST EFFIE,—I write a line from this station, while waiting for the train, to say that all is right.

    “‘This will be posted somewhere on the way up the line, and will very likely not get to you much before I am coming in sight of England, only it is better you should hear from me before any chance story appears in the papers (should it so appear) of my having been taken prisoner by the Prussians yesterday (August 1st).

    “‘I was simply at Wasserbillig, the pretty frontier station of the Luxembourg Duchy, and instead of roasting on the bridge over the little stream which here joins the Moselle, and marks the Prussian boundary, I strolled leisurely along in the deep shade of the walnut-trees by the river-bank, intending to turn back as soon as I should see the Prussian sentries.

    “‘I had not gone far before I met a cart, with four sturdy peasants in blouses. As soon as they had passed me, they stopped the cart. One of them sprang out to cut off my retreat, and the rest took me prisoner. They were soldiers in disguise, all signs of douanes or frontier-guard having been done away in order to entrap spies, the patrols going about in blouses, with revolvers underneath, and short swords tucked away in their trousers, I think.

    “‘They took me to Izel, near Trèves, the nearest outpost, first possessing themselves of all letters and papers out of my pouch, and the having upon me a MS. draft of the proposed treaty for the French acquisition of Belgium, written in French, while I asserted myself to be an Englishman, made a fine point against me.

    “‘The Major in command of the post was, luckily, a gentleman, though very strict in his examination, and the thing ended in my being released, and sent back to the Duchy under guard, but I was within an ace of being sent into the interior, to headquarters, for adjudication as a spy.

    “‘You did not imagine what your diligence was putting in pickle for me, in copying the treaty, did you? Good-bye.—Ever your affectionate husband,

    “‘S. H. S’

    “After this my husband told me that the sergeant who took him prisoner had bushy black whiskers, and answered to the description I had given of one of the men whom I saw in the cart. He also told me that the soldiers, disguised as peasants, did not wear the caps with peaks, which I had drawn; but, strange to say, I had drawn the common foraging cap of the Prussian soldier, I not knowing what those soldiers wore.

    “He also told me that when I sent him a copy of the draft treaty it had not appeared in any of the Belgian papers.

    {ii-411}

    “If I recollect right, our letters crossed in reaching us.

    “J. E. SAXBY.”

    Writing on March 25, 1886, Mrs. Saxby adds:—

    “The only hitch about it is that according to my calculations I saw the whole thing happen before it did happen, but I cannot help guessing that, because of the uncertainty of letters at the time of the war, I made a mistake as to dates. All I am quite sure there could be no mistake about is, that my husband’s letter about the event and mine telling him what I had seen, crossed on the road. I have got his letter to me, and he

    brought home mine to him with the picture on it; but he subsequently burnt it, so my date was lost.”

    In the next case, a feature is introduced into the dream which happened to be impossible, but was in no way fantastic or symbolic.

    (443) From Mr. J. D. Best, 70, Meldon Street, Newcastle-on-Tyne.

    “December 23rd, 1885.

    “The experience that you refer to took place just four years ago. My age was almost 19, and at the time I was in perfect health mentally, though physically rather fagged. The particulars, as far as I remember them, were as follows:—

    “I had spent the evening of December 5th in close study at Greek grammar. About 11 o’clock I stopped, and sat down by the fire to read Manon Lescaut. Some time afterwards I fell asleep, and it was then that the idea of my grandmother’s illness or death (I am uncertain which) first came to me. On wakening, about 12.30, I found my dictionary under the bars, and my anxiety for that made me, for the moment, forget my dream. Carelessly leaving the gas burning, I went to bed; and all I remember is that every particular of the room which I saw was strongly impressed upon me; that the old lady was breathing very heavily; and, strangest of all, my mother, who was and is in Australia, seemed in the room. She, as I thought, turned to me, saying, ‘I fear, Duncan, she is dying!’ How long it was before I wakened I cannot say; but every fact was strangely distinct, for I seem to remember even the ticking of the clock. The gas being quite bright when I awoke, I rose to extinguish it, and quite accidentally noticed the time.

    “On receiving the intimation of her death, on the morning of December 7th (Wednesday), the time, I noticed after my surprise had passed away, was between 4 and 5 a.m. On further inquiry, my aunt said that it was between half-past 4 and 5 o’clock. The time I had noticed was 5.30. I did not know that my relative was ill until I heard the news of her death. She was no great friend to me, and consequently I rarely troubled her, or thought of her. I had received a letter a week before, saying that she was not very well; but as she was a woman of about 76 years, I took but little notice of this, and had thought no more about it.

    “You ask if I have ever had other dreams of death, which did not correspond with the reality. I think I can honestly answer ‘No.’

    “JOHN D. BEST.”

    [Mr. Best has gone to Australia, which prevents us for the time from obtaining further details.]

    {ii-412}

    The next case introduces a distinctly bizarre element—the percipient’s imagination reacting in a typically dreamlike fashion on the telepathic impression.

    (444) From Miss Hutchinson, 3, Bagdale, Whitby.

    “December 6th, 1885.

    “On the morning of the 15th February, 1864—the day after Valentine’s Day, which impressed it on my mind—my father told me he had had that night a most painful and vivid dream, begging me not to mention it to our mother. The dream was this. Our dear E. clinging to him wet and naked, and begging him to save him, for he was drowning; but the form was not that of a man of 22, but what he was as a baby.

    “Early in March we received the sad intelligence that E. was drowned off the Cape, on the 14th February, through the swamping of a boat. He and one of his brother officers were caught in a squall when returning to H.M.S. ‘Tartar,’ after a few hours leave. These are the plain facts.

    “ELIZABETH L. HUTCHINSON.”

    In reply to inquiries, Miss Hutchinson adds:—

    “Both my father and mother are dead, and if my father made any note of the dream at the time, it has been destroyed. It was natural for him to tell me, being the eldest in the family, six years older than my naval brother. It was on the morning of the 15th that he told me of his dream. A fortnight later, the Cape mail brought the sad news. An apparently foolish and trivial thing impressed the date on my memory at the time that it was told me, the day after Valentine’s Day.”

    We find from the Admiralty that Lieut. A. E. Hutchinson’s death occurred on Feb. 14, 1865; and Miss Hutchinson has kindly sent us a photograph of a tablet, erected to his memory, which records that he was drowned in Simon’s Bay on the night of that day, by the swamping of a boat. The difference of time between England and the Cape is not much over an hour.

    In the following case the brightness of the figure, and its gesture, were imagery sufficiently appropriate to the circumstances. We should hardly be justified in treating the experience as other than a dream; but it must be remarked that the form of the vision—a single figure appearing in the room where the percipient knows himself to be—is very unlike ordinary dreaming (see cases 527 and 545).

    (445)[☼] From the Rev. John Mathwin, Vicar of West Pelton, Co. Durham.

    “December 19th, 1884.

    “Forty years ago, or thereabouts, when I was about 20 years of age, a lady friend of mine, a distant relative by marriage—age between 40 and 50—had for some time been in a delicate state of health, though not confined to the house. We frequently had quiet conversations together on religious matters. Neither of us was of an excitable turn of mind. As well as I can now recollect, I last saw my friend alive about a fortnight before her death. She did not seem at that time to be worse than {ii-413} usual, and apparently might have lived at any rate for a few years. However, one night when I was in bed—say about 4 o’clock in the morning—I had what I may call a vision. A figure appeared before me neatly draped, and a certain brightness about it seemed to awake me. I at once felt conscious that someone was near me who wished to make a communication to me. I soon recognised the face of my invalid friend. She seemed to wish to give me time to collect myself—evidently intimating that there was no cause why I should be afraid. As a matter of fact I had no fear at all. My then feelings may perhaps be best described as partaking both of wonder (or expectation) and pleasure. When, apparently, the figure had convinced herself that I recognised her, and that I had satisfied myself that I was under no delusion, she seemed to beckon me cheeringly with one or two fingers of her right hand, and to say to me, ‘It’s all right; come on.’ She then vanished, and I neither saw nor heard anything more.

    “Though there was no injunction given to me not to tell what I had seen, I yet felt that the communication was of too solemn a nature to allow me at once to talk of it openly. But I said to my brother at breakfast, about 8 o’clock that morning, that I had dreamt in the night that Mrs. So-and-so was dead, and it turned out, as we heard about 10 o’clock, that our friend had died during the night. For some years I never mentioned this experience to anyone, but afterwards I felt no hesitation in talking about it to intimate friends.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Mathwin writes on Feb. 17th, 1885:—

    “To my brother I spoke of what I call the vision as if it had been a dream; but this was because I did not wish to draw his attention very specially to it, although I felt constrained to mention it to him in some way.

    “He tells me now that he has no recollection of my having spoken to him about it, as I did at breakfast, on the morning of the death, but before we knew of the death having taken place. I am not, however, surprised that my brother should not now recollect the remark I made to him at that time.

    “I never had any similar experience before, neither have I had since. I had no reason to expect any communication of the kind at any time.

    “JOHN MATHWIN.”

    [In an uncorroborated case of so remote a date, it is of course impossible to be certain that the coincidence was as exact as in memory it appears to have been.]

    The next case is very similar, though it was possibly not the dying person who was the agent.

    (446) From Mrs. Penny, The Cottage, Cullompton.

    “November 30th, 1882.

    “One day I slept late, having a bad headache, and dreamed that I was in a wonderfully beautiful garden, and while I walked along its alleys a friend of one of my sisters, F. H., came smiling towards me, dressed in white, and looking radiant with joy. She said, ‘I am here now,’ and it is {ii-414} always so lovely.’ On waking, I found breakfast and letters brought up, and one open on my pillow to my sister from the sister of F. H., telling her that she had died after a very short illness.

    “Now, as this poor F. H., who seldom had a day’s happiness, was to me only an acquaintance, I conclude that the aura of her sister conveyed to my higher consciousness the fact of which she was full, and in the

    momentary duration of a dream this fact got translated into the adjacent ideas of life in Paradise.

    “Very likely the consciousness of my two sisters did affect my dreaming brain by some wave of new and energetic impulse; but I know there had been no possibility of talking in my room that morning. Though it all happened years ago, I can vouch for the accuracy of my memory. I cannot be sure whether it was in 1852 or a year or two later.

    “A. J. PENNY.”

    We find from a notice in the Gentleman’s Magazine that F. H. died on June 6, 1852.

    (447) From a German nurse who has been for 22 years in the service of Mrs. Balgarnie, of 9, Filey Road, Scarborough.

    “July 9th, 1885.

    “In February, 1871, I dreamed one night that I received a letter, on the envelope of which was written in my father’s handwriting, ‘O Death, where is thy sting?

    “Next morning I went in great trouble to my mistress, saying I felt perfectly sure my father must be dead, and related my dream. This fact was immediately written down, but the paper cannot now be found. Three days after the news came that my father had died that Sunday night, quite suddenly. During the day of the night on which he died he had evidently wished to tell me something, for he twice said, ‘Tell Marie, tell Marie!’ He soon became unconscious, and died in his sleep. I had not seen him for eight years, and though I knew he was not well, I had no idea that death was expected. My father lived and died in Germany, while I was, and am, in England.

    “MARIE LAUTIER.”

    Miss Balgarnie, writing on December 11th, 1884, gave us a precisely similar account, saying,“the date and circumstances were put down by us immediately” on the narration of the dream.

    Mrs. Balgarnie writes on July 28, 1885:—

    In answer to yours, I can only say that the nurse told me her dream, on my entering the nursery one morning, adding, ‘I am sure my father is dead.’ And so it proved; in three days the letter announced the fact, and that he died with her name on his lips.

    “I do not think I can give you any more particulars. I can’t find the memorandum of the incident.

    “M. BALGARNIE.”

    [The narrator’s father, it appears, had been ill for 3 or 4 months; and she states that, though she had not heard of his being worse, her thoughts had been a good deal occupied with him. Mrs. Balgarnie, however, thinks that she now rather exaggerates the extent to which this was the case, from an objection to having her experience regarded as of any special interest.]

    {ii-415}

    In the next case, the imagery is again distinctly suggestive of death, and fantastically represents the popular conception of “spirit” as a tenuous form of matter, but has no emotional character.

    (448) From Mr. W, Brooks, Brooksby House, 87, Petherton Road Highbury New Park, N.

    “May 27th, 1885.

    “On the 15th November, 1875, at 5, Wallace Road, N., at 7.45 a.m., or thereabouts, I saw my late brother as a spirit, but when I spoke to ‘him,’ he gradually disappeared. I then woke up.

    “On arriving at Hastings the following morning, I learnt from my sister that the above was the time my brother died there. This was the only time I ever saw him in the form of a ‘ghost.’

    “W. H. BROOKS.”

    We find the date and place of death confirmed in the Times obituary.

    The following is a more detailed account of the dream:—

    “The ‘appearance’ was: There was a long room or gallery, and several of my friends there, including my brother. He was like ‘Pepper’s Ghost’ as regards substance, or rather want of substance. None of the other friends had a hazy appearance. They were in ordinary attire, as I should see them in a room. My brother was the only ‘ghostly’ figure. He advanced gradually towards me, which made me feel a little nervous, and looked kindly at me. I advanced a little and said, ‘James, why do you not speak?’ which utterance seemed to make him recede. He retired a little down the room, and gradually became more indistinct, and disappeared. None of the friends seemed to take any decided notice, and did not speak. I then woke. My forcing or insisting upon a reply seemed to be the cause of my waking, and I had to look round to gather myself together and ascertain that I was in bed when I so awoke.

    “I do not think I can afford any corroboration. On the afternoon of the same day, I mentioned the matter to my aunt and her husband. She is now dead, and I do not think my uncle would recollect the account. I did not make much of it, as I was a disbeliever in ghosts. I dared not mention the occurrence to my mother, as she would have grieved all day about my brother if I had.

    “I have never had any other similar instance. I have had relations die, but have been near them at the time of death.

    “W. H. BROOKS.”

    In later letters Mr. Brooks writes:—

    “I have communicated with my uncle as I promised, but he does not recollect any of the circumstances.

    “In reply to your further queries:—

    1. “The dream did not make a particularly unpleasant impression; it was certainly unpleasant and unusual, and on waking I felt nervous, but the occurrence faded from my memory slowly, so far as the sharp impression was concerned, All day Sunday, however, I was wondering how my brother was, and when I saw my sister on the Monday I thought of the strange coincidence.

    2. “My sister recollects when she informed me (of the ‘time’ of the death) on the Monday that I remarked, ‘How strange! that is the time I saw James at my bedside.’

    {ii-416}

    3. “I had no reason to expect my brother’s death at the time it did take place, except an expectation that one’s worst fears might at any time be realised in a case where consumption had taken hold.”

    The following is from Mr. Brooks’ sister, Mrs. Plaistowe:—

    “Brooksby House, August 4th, 1885.

    “In answer to your letter, I have to state that my brother William, on his arriving at Hastings in November, 1875, and being informed by me of the hour of my late brother James’s death (viz., a quarter to 8 a.m.), said that it exactly coincided with the time that he, my brother William, saw James in a spirit or vision. [In conversation, Mrs. Plaistowe stated that Mr. Brooks came down on the Monday afternoon, and, on hearing the hour of his brother’s death, came to the conclusion that the dream was exactly coincident.]

    “I may remark that the death was unexpected by the members of the family, as James was away from home with me at Hastings; and although he had been suffering from consumption for three or four years, no intimation of his becoming worse had been received by any one in the family, so that my brother’s statement to you is corroborated by me.

    “M. PLAISTOWE.”

    On examination it turned out that Mr. Brooks’ strong impression is that his dream occurred on a Sunday morning—in which case it preceded the death by some 24 hours, though of course falling at a time of critical illness. This view accords with his recollection of mentioning the dream to his uncle and aunt in the afternoon; but is opposed to his recollection (which Mrs. Plaistowe supports) of noticing at the time that the coincidence was exact. There being a doubt on the matter, the case must not be included in the special group of death-dreams dealt with in Vol. I., p. 307.

    (449) The journal Psychische Studien (Leipzig) for March, 1874, contains a long and interesting account, written down for the late Professor Perty, of Berne, by the wife of the Russian Imperial Councillor, M. Alex. Aksakof, who says that he has frequently heard all the particulars.

    Madame Aksakof was 19 at the time of the occurrence, and says that she “had no ideas about Spiritualism, and no tendency to enthusiasm or mysticism.” The principal incidents were that Madame Aksakof’s brother-in-law, Dr. A. F. Sengireef, from whom she had parted about half a year previously with some coldness, appeared to her, on the night of May 12th, 1855, in what seems to have been a very prolonged and feverish vision, in which she must have been partially awake, as in the course of it she heard the clock strike 3, and her child and its nurse move. The figure in the vision held his cold hand on her mouth, and repeatedly bade her kiss it; and then, after spreading out a roll of parchment beside her, recited a prayer in front of a crucifix:, and finally disappeared, to the sound of sacred music and in a blaze of light. She noticed his “long black hair hanging down on his shoulders, and a large round beard such as I had never seen him wear. The day after this terrible event,” she continues, “we received the news of the illness of my brother-in-law, Sengireef, and about a fortnight later, tidings of his death, {ii-417} which took place

    in that night of the 12th–13th of May, about 5 o’clock in the morning. The following is noteworthy. When my sister-in-law, a few weeks after the death of her husband, came to live with us at Romanoff-Borissogliebsk, she mentioned incidentally to a lady in my presence that her late husband had been buried with long hair hanging down to his shoulders, and with a large curious-looking beard which had grown during his illness.”

    M. Aksakof suggests that the parchment in the vision may have represented a “sin-remission chart” which it is a Russian custom to place in coffins.

    I will now give a group of cases where death is symbolised in some more mundane and gloomy manner.

    (450) From a lady whose name I am at liberty to mention, but not to print.

    “March 5th, 1885.

    “Two friends of ours, Mr. X. [name given in confidence] and Mr. Y., lived together till the marriage of Mr. X., and were, therefore, intimately associated in our minds.

    “It happened that though Mrs. X. and I had exchanged cards we had not met, and I merely knew her by sight at the time when Mr. Y. also married. But as I had found Mrs. Y. at home, I was slightly acquainted with her.

    “It was a few months after Mr. Y.’s marriage, on the night of May 14th, 1879, when my dream occurred. I was staying at Bristol at the time. It seemed to me that I was making my first call on Mrs. Y., and that she proceeded to show me her trousseau—a thing that would never have occurred to her in actual life, or to any but very intimate friends. A variety of dresses were displayed, and as I was looking at a black-net evening dress, with crimson trimmings, thinking it was very like one of my own, a sudden transformation took place. Mrs. Y. had changed into Mrs. X., and the dress was a widow’s dress complete. I woke very strongly impressed with the dream, and mentioned it to my father the next morning. It haunted me till, on May 15th or 16th, I saw the Times announcement of Mr. X.’s death.

    “Afterwards I learnt that, on the afternoon preceding my dream, Mr. X. had returned home, apparently in his usual good health, only rather tired, but within-half-an-hour had died of quite unsuspected heart disease.

    “My father was ill at the time of my dream, and does not remember the circumstance. But my sister remembers it clearly, and testifies to the fact [by her initials].

    “A. E. R.

    “J. T. R.”

    We find from the Times obituary of May 16, 1879, that the death took place on May 14.

    In answer to inquiries, Miss R. says:—

    “My sister was not with me, so I could not speak about it to her. I cannot find any of my letters written after May 14th, so do not know if I wrote {ii-418} to her on the 15th or not. But she came to me (as my father was taken seriously ill about that date) and heard of the dream and of the death at the time [i.e., she heard of the dream at the same time as she heard of the death]. I am quite certain that the dream was on the night of the day of death, May 14th.”

    Fortunately Miss R. has been able to obtain a copy of a letter (post mark, Bristol, May 17, 1879), which she wrote to a friend 3 days after her dream; in which the following words occur:—

    “Poor Mr. X. died on Wednesday; I do not know of what.

    “On Wednesday night [May 14th] (having heard nothing of them, Mr. and Mrs. X., for months, since I saw them looking well and happy together), I dreamed Mrs. X. was showing me her trousseau, and that she called special attention to an elaborately made shroud. She said that Scotch people always considered these the most necessary part of a trousseau. The one I saw was her husband’s; hers changed to simply a black dress, as I looked at it. It was a very vivid dream and impressed me. Last night we saw the death in the Times, May 14th.”

    Referring to the account above quoted, Miss R. adds:—

    “I do not know why I should have forgotten about the shroud; this must have been one of the many dresses I saw before the change took place. My friend did not know the Y.’s, and did not know Mr. X., so that I left out any superfluous matter.”

    (451) From a niece of the late Rev. G. L. Foote, Rector of Christ’s Church, Roxbury, Litchfield Co., Conn., U.S.A.

    “1884.

    “In 1848, the Rev. George L. Foote drove with his family to Windham, Greene Co., N.Y., to visit Mrs. Foote’s mother. At this time, his youngest brother, Henry, afterwards Dr. H. H. Foote, of Newtown, Fairfield Co., Ct., was studying medicine in Durham, about 10 miles from Windham, and living with an aunt who resided there. Mr. Foote, with his family, arrived in Windham on Friday, and it was his intention to start on his return to Roxbury on Monday, deferring his visit to his brother and aunt until his return for his family a few weeks later. On Friday night he dreamed that he was taking the body of his brother home to Newtown in a metallic coffin, and that he had died of small-pox. He thought not enough of the dream the next day to speak of it, but on Saturday night he dreamed the same dream in every particular twice,1 1 As to the repetition, see Vol. i., pp. 357, 445, and cf. case 213, and cases 457 and 484 below. and it so impressed him that he was unable to keep it out of his mind.

    “The clergyman of the place desired him to preach for him on Sunday, and he consented; but during the whole of the service and the sermon, the recollection of the dream continually intruded itself upon his thoughts. After service he told his brother-in-law, O. S. Tuttle, now of Minneapolis, Minn., that it was impressed upon his mind that something was wrong at Durham, and he wished he would harness his horse and drive him over there. He accordingly did so, and as they drove up in front of the house of his aunt, she came out upon the porch, and holding up her hands, exclaimed, ‘George Foote! What has sent you here? I have just {ii-419} persuaded Henry to let me write to ask you to come and take care of him; he is sick with small-pox.’ Although she had had the disease and consequently was not afraid of it, she knew she could not alone take care of him, and that of all the relatives George was the only one who could with perfect safety attend him, as, while in Trinity College, Hartford, he had varioloid, in consequence of taking care of a room-mate who had the same disease. Mr. Tuttle returned to Windham, leaving Mr. Foote to nurse his brother through the sickness, which was so terrible that very few have ever been so low and have been raised again to health and strength.

    “Mr. Foote used often to say that, if anyone had been nursing his brother who had no special interest in him, he had no doubt he would have been buried; for at three different times he himself thought the last breath had been drawn, but he persevered in the use of restoratives, and by the most assiduous care helped fan to a flame the apparently dying spark.”

    Mr. H. L. Foote, son of the Rev. George L. Foote in the narrative, writes:—

    “The above account is given by the niece of the Rev. George L. Foote, and is substantially the same that I have heard spoken of by the members of my family.”

    The Rev. R. Whittingham, of Pikesville, Maryland, U.S.A., a Corresponding Member of the S.P.R., writes on September 9, 1884:—

    “Several years ago I heard the Rev. Mr. G. L. Foote allude to this dream as having saved his brother’s life, according to his belief. He was ignorant of any existence of small-pox [at this place] as it had not been prevalent; nor did it become epidemic, although there were three or four other cases at the time.” [This last point is from a reply of the Rev. G. L. Foote himself to an inquiry which had been specially addressed to him on the subject.]

    (452) From Miss Tracy, Mawson Road, St. Barnabas, Cambridge (now Mrs. William Tracy).

    “December, 1885.

    “My mother died on the 11th of February, 1882, about 8.30 p.m., on a Saturday, at Beccles, Suffolk. At that time, my youngest brother, who is blind, was (and is still) at the Blind College, Worcester. On the evening above mentioned, he went to bed as usual, and, I believe, to sleep. Rather later in the evening, one of the masters went into the room where my brother was, to see if all was right. When there, he heard one of the boys crying, and found it was my brother, who said his mother had come to him to say good-bye, as she was going away, &c. It was some time before he could be quieted. He did not hear of his mother’s death until the Monday following. He was at the time 9 years old.

    “This is as nearly as possible what I was told nearly four years ago. If the master who heard him was found out, he would be able to give it more correctly.

    “E. M. TRACY.”

    In conversation with a friend of ours, who made inquiries on our behalf, Miss Tracy said that her mother had died very suddenly. She had complained of a slight headache about 5 o’clock, and died between 8 and 8.30. She was unconscious

    for some time before she died; therefore it would have been impossible to tell the exact moment of her death; {ii-420} and in the consternation of the moment they did not look at the time. The boy said that he had seen his mother (it appears that he always speaks of seeing people, though quite blind); that he had tried to hold her, but that she had slipped away from him. He did not refer to the vision the next morning, nor has he ever alluded to it since; and they do not wish him to be reminded of the circumstance.”

    The Times obituary confirms the date given, and the fact that the death was sudden.

    The following letter is from the Rev. S. G. Forster, Head-Master of the Blind College, Worcester.

    “December 17th, 1885.

    “The facts of the boy Tracy’s dream, as elicited from himself, are that he dreamed on the Saturday night, during the night (and did not wake up till 7 a.m. next morning), that his mother was dead, and was being buried in part of our old place called The Swings. His mother, as I understand (but Miss Tracy could clear this up), died at 8 p.m. on Saturday night. Tracy would go to bed at 9 or 9.15, an hour or so after the occurrence. Owing to the surprise and trouble at home, we did not hear of it by letter till the Monday after.

    “S. G. FORSTER.”

    In reply to inquiries, Mr. Forster writes on January 5, 1886:—

    “I do not remember who the particular person was to whom he told his dream, but I can distinctly state we all knew of it, and that the dream was described before the fact was known.”

    Mr. Forster subsequently ascertained that the dream was first related, not to a master, but to Mr. L. G. Sandford, one of his pupils, who has written to us as follows:—

    “Icomb Rectory, Stow-on-the-Wold.

    “February 12th, 1886.

    “I regret that, at this distance, I cannot give you dates. As far as my recollections go, Tracy told me of his dream on the morning following the night on which he had it. It was simply that his mother had died. Beyond this, it was mixed up with all the inconsistencies and absurdities common to dreams, and which I do not think it necessary to mention, unless you particularly wish to hear them. The news of his mother’s death reached him on the day after he told me of his dream, her death having happened on the same day—that is, the day on which he told me. I believe she died late in the afternoon, but of this I am not sure.

    “L. G. SANDFORD.”

    (453) From a lady who prefers that her name should not appear.

    “My father was one of a family of 21 children, between many of whom naturally little or no communication was kept up in after years. Among them was an uncle living at Blackheath, whose wife I had never seen, and all I knew of her was that she was suffering from a mortal disease, but of her prospects of a more or less prolonged life I had heard nothing, nor had my thoughts been in any way turned towards her—when one Sunday night, while I was on a visit to an aunt in Hampshire, I dreamt that I had a letter from my aunt at Blackheath, urgently pressing me to come and see her. Accordingly in my dream I set out, and travelling all night, arrived at Blackheath on Monday morning. I was {ii-421} shown up to my aunt’s room, who lamented to me that she had been so much estranged from our branch of the family, and after talking for a while, she looked at her watch and said, ‘It is a quarter past 8, now you must go’; telling me to go down to the others. I had great difficulty in finding my way in an unknown house, and was a long time about it, but at last, when I saw by my watch that it was a quarter to 9, I reached the dining-room, and found there a number of my relations in mourning, who explained it by saying that my aunt was dead.

    “In the morning I had a very vivid impression of my dream, which I told to my relations with whom I was staying; and I had so strong a feeling of the reality of the intimation, that I wrote privately to my dressmaker to countermand a pink silk dress that I had ordered. The next day, when a mourning letter arrived, I said, ‘Now you will see that Aunt Eliza is dead.’ And so it proved to be the case, my aunt having died at 8.30 on Monday morning, midway between the time at which she had told me in my dream that I must go, and the time I reached the dining-room where her relations told me that she was dead. It will be observed that my dream was several hours before the actual death.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that the death occurred on February 2, 1869, which was a Monday.

    [The countermanding of the pink dress may certainly be taken as a sign that the dream produced an exceptional impression. The narrator is out of England, and we have been unable to obtain the corroboration of her relatives.]

    (454) From Mr. Richard Mountjoy Gardiner (Solicitor), 8, Bath Terrace, Blyth, and 13, Groat Market, Newcastle-on-Tyne.

    “February 6th, 1884.

    “In 1875 I was in a sailing ship bound for Australia. Amongst the officers on board was one of my dearest friends; he was third mate, and had to keep watch from 8 to 12 on the forecastle. I invariably made it a rule to stay with him during his watch. One night, after his duty was over, instead of staying for an hour and smoking a pipe as was his general custom, he ‘turned in.’ I remained smoking and talking to the sailors. About 1.15 my friend came up to me in a very excited manner and said, ‘I am sure that the Major’ (who was his father) ‘is dead, as I dreamt I saw him put in his coffin.’ I tried to calm him as much as I could, and told him it was nonsense. However, he would not go back to his cabin that night, so we remained on deck until morning. With the return of daylight he recovered his spirits, and felt inclined to laugh at his dream. In the evening he kept watch as usual, but again turned in a few minutes past 12. I remained on deck; about 1.10 he came rushing up and said he knew his father was dead as he had seen the coffin put into the hearse, and had followed it to Kensal Green Cemetery, and had seen it lowered into the grave. I took him into my cabin and made him sleep in my bunk. He was very quiet for a few days after, and could not bear to have the subject mentioned. However, he shortly recovered his usual good spirits. [On their arrival at Melbourne, a letter conveying the news of his father’s death was found there.] After a few weeks he was able to calmly talk the matter over, and on our consulting our diaries, we found that his father had died on the same night as his first dream, and {ii-422} was buried on the second. On our return to England, we ascertained (after calculating the difference of time) that his father died and was buried at the exact time that he dreamed it. The most curious thing was that he died at an hotel in Harley[☼] Street, Cavendish Square, London, of dropsy, and the proprietress—for the convenience of her visitors—requested that he might be buried the day after he died, which was done. There are others besides myself who can vouch that the whole of what I have written is true.

    “Another curious fact about my friend’s dream was that he dreamed his father was buried at Kensal Green, which was the fact, though his family vault is at Brompton Cemetery, but for some reason there was not time to go through the necessary formalities to have it opened.

    “RICHARD MOUNTJOY GARDINER.”

    [We hope in time to receive an account of this incident from the dreamer himself, Mr. G., who is now on distant service. Inquiries have been made at every lodging-house and private hotel in Harley Street, but most of them have changed hands since 1875, and we could obtain no record of the death. There is probably some mistake as to the Kensal Green Cemetery; for we find that no Major G. was buried there in 1875. But apart from this, it is difficult to see how the statement as to the second dream can possibly be correct. For since the letter had time to outstrip Mr. Gardiner’s ship, that ship must have been quite 6 weeks’ sail from Australia at the time of death, and probably not far east of long. 0°. To have exactly coincided, therefore, with the second dream, the funeral would have had to take place at midnight. It will be observed that the second dream, while difficult to account for by telepathy, would be a very natural sequel to the first. Cf. case 468 below.]

    (455) From Mr. G. H. F. Prynne, 10, Torrington Square, W.C., who wrote the following letter to his mother, from Australia, in the autumn of 1874:—

    “I was extremely sorry to hear [in a letter from his mother] of the sad death of poor Miss E. I remember her very well, and have her name in my diary for 1871 mentioned several times, and it is a most extraordinary thing that on the night of the 7th of April (or 8th), I am not quite certain which, I had an

    extraordinary dream.

    “I dreamt I was walking along some road with dear Ted, and that I met two people, carrying a box. We both asked to see the contents. These gloomy personages stood still, put the box on the road, and then ran off. I came and opened the box, which I had no sooner done than a dead hand of a corpse fell on to mine. I can well remember the feeling of horror that came over me, and I ran back, saying I would not examine the box further. The face seemed to me like that of Edith L. Eddie said he would see who it was, and on returning I found it to be the corpse of some well-known person, which in the latter part of the dream I recognised to be that of Miss E.1 1 As regards the particular form of delayed recognition, this case resembles No. 249 and once more exemplifies the parallelism of dreams and waking hallucinations.

    “The dream seemed so much out of the ordinary that I told it fully to H. and two other friends at breakfast, and also to the W.’s two days afterwards.”

    {ii-423}

    Colonel B., father of the Miss E. referred to, writes that Mr. Prynne had met his daughter a few times, in 1871, when she was about 14½ years old; and that she died on April 8th, 1874. From the Times obituary, we find that she died in the morning of that day. Thus whether the dream in Australia was on the night of the 7th or of the 8th, it may very well have been within 12 hours of the death.

    [Mr. Prynne has tried to procure corroborative testimony to his immediate mention of the dream; but his friends have moved, and he has not yet succeeded. He is certain that his dream was on one of the nights mentioned, though he does not now recall what enabled him to fix it so accurately some months afterwards. It will be observed that the doubt which he felt between two nights is a strong indication that he had some independent means of narrowing down the time to that extent. He believes that he mentioned his dream in a letter to his mother at the time, before hearing of the death; but no such letter can now be found.]

    (456) From Mrs. Mogridge, of 137, Cowbridge Road, Canton, Cardiff.

    “January 3rd, 1884.

    “My little girl, aged 7, came into my room on the morning of the 25th of December, 1882. She said, ‘Oh, mamma, I have had such a dream: I saw baby Harris in a little box on the table downstairs, and her hands were crossed; and she looked so white.’ [Mr. Mogridge tells us that the Harrises were acquaintances in a distant part of the town.] I am certain she had not seen the child, nor had she heard us speak of it or the family, and I do not think she had seen it more than once during the four months of its life.

    “On the evening of the 25th or 26th, my daughter, aged 17, told me of the death of the child, which took place on the night of the 24th. And a day or two after, the mother took my little girl into her house, and showed her the child in the coffin on the table (where it had been placed for the convenience of the inquest), exactly as she had described it to me in her dream.

    “M. A. MOGRIDGE.”

    The death was caused suddenly by an accident; and the Register of Deaths confirms the date given.

    [We should not be disposed to lay stress on the correspondence here, beyond the simple coincidence of the death. The details were not written down, and may have crept in afterwards; and in any case the coffin, as we have found, is a very common dream-symbol. The case is one of those where personal knowledge of the witness has been a specially important element in our judgment.]

    (457) From a lady whose friends would prefer that her name should not appear.

    “1884.

    “I had a dear friend at Ilfracombe—the wife of the incumbent, the Rev. W. M. We did not correspond much, and I had not seen her for some months. I went down to Plymouth, and the first night, as the rooms we took were not quite ready for us, my friend, Miss P., slept with me. I awoke frightened and sad, having dreamt thus:—

    “I sat in a wide hall in some unknown house. Mrs. M. entered and walked slowly towards me dressed in white, with a long dark cloak over {ii-424} her snowy robes. As she neared me she uncovered her arm, and I saw that she was carrying a little dead baby. As I looked at her, I felt that she was mad, and yet dead, too! Mr. M. followed her, and signed to me that her mind was gone. It was her pallor that made me feel she was a spirit; the expression in her eyes told me she was insane, or delirious. Mrs. M., after showing me the dead child, turned silently away and went up a staircase on to the roof, which was a flat roof. Mr. M. and I followed her. She dug with her hands at this roof, and earth seemed to come up. She buried the baby in this earth, then lying down upon this strange grave she sank through it, and disappeared from sight. I awoke, and woke Miss P., and related my dream. She soothed my alarm, and, being very tired, I fell asleep. The dream was repeated, and before morning I had dreamt it three times,1 1 See p. 418, note; also p. 229, note, as to the number three. and knew, instinctively, it was in some way true.

    “Throughout the day I was restless and unhappy. The next morning a deeply-edged letter came, and as I saw the black-rimmed envelope I cried out, ‘Oh, my dream, my dream! Mrs. M. is dead!’ And so it was. She had been prematurely confined of a dead child; had delirium and fever, and died unconscious, or rather, insane, on the night of my dream.”

    We find from a notice in the Western Times that the death occurred on Nov. 13, 1862.

    In answer to inquiries, the narrator says:—

    “My friend Miss P., who was with me that night, I have lost sight of for years. Yes, I often dream, but I have not realised a death in an illustrated form except that once.”

    [One rather distrusts this amount of detail, remembered after a lapse of a good many years; but some kind of death-imagery was probably a feature in the dream.]

    (458) From Mrs. Wilhams, 1, Wilmington Place, Clerkenwell, W.C. A shorter account was given in writing to our friend, the Rev. A. T. Fryer, in February, 1883, immediately after the receipt of news of the death.

    “January 1st, 1886.

    “I had an uncle, father’s brother, living in Birmingham. On the night of the 21st December, 1882, I dreamt that I saw him standing by my bedside. I saw him quite plainly, and he said, ‘If you wish to see me, you must come at once.’ Afterwards I saw him in a cart, laid in a coffin. I woke my husband and told him about it—said that I felt sure something had happened. He said it was only fancy, and told me to go to sleep. In the morning we talked about it again. The 22nd December was the anniversary of our wedding, and that fixed the date of the dream in our minds. We heard nothing about the death until February 9th, 1883, when, in answer to a letter from my husband, the enclosed card and letter came from my aunt in Birmingham. The impression on my mind was certainly that something had happened to my uncle. The dream must have been within a few hours, as he died at 5 a.m. 22nd December, and it was in the night of the 21st–22nd that I had the dream and woke my husband.”

    {ii-425}

    The following is an extract, copied by the present writer, from the letter written to Mrs. Williams by her aunt:—

    “February 8th, 1883.

    “I have lost my poor brother. He went to bed on the 20th December; on the 21st I found him, at 9 o’clock in the morning, in a fit. I sent [for] a doctor. He never spoke, and died the next morning at 5 o’clock—on the 22nd. Poor fellow! Now I am left without anyone.”

    The enclosed mourning-card contains these words:—“In affectionate remembrance of David Gillan, who departed this life December 22nd, 1882, aged 64 years. Interred at Witton Cemetery, December 28th.”

    In conversation, Mrs. Williams told me that she did not remember having dreamt of death, or of her uncle, on any other occasion. Her husband stated to me that his wife woke him immediately after her dream, and that she told him the details of it next morning, and that they noted the date as being the anniversary of their wedding. I asked to see their marriage-certificate, and found that it was for Dec. 22, 1872. Mrs. Williams was not aware of anything being amiss with her uncle, nor had she for a long time previously heard of his being ill in any way at all. His death was sudden.

    The next case is, of all the dreams included in this book, the one least easy to harmonise with the view of telepathy that the great bulk of our evidence supports, owing to the absence of any perceptible link between agent and percipient. If we could suppose that we had lighted on the one

    death-dream (of those occurring during the last 12 years, within our circle of inquiry) which by the doctrine of chances might probably have coincided with reality by accident (Vol. I., p. 306), this would be the one to select. But though the type is abnormal we should not be justified in suppressing examples of it on that account; and the “borderland” cases, Nos. 490 and 506, of the next chapter, might be adduced as somewhat similar.1 1 Mrs. Alfred Wedgwood, of 20, Shorncliffe Road, Folkestone, dreamt that she heard of the deaths of Mr. Hayward and M. Rouher the night before she saw the announcement of them. The names were in the papers of the day before she had her dream, but she is confident that she had not seen them. If telepathic impressions, caught from an idea which is abroad, are possible (p. 365), this might be a specimen. On the other hand, it may only illustrate the indefinite scope for accident that dreams afford.

    (459) From Miss E. F. How, Stainforth House, Upper Clapton, E.

    “April, 1884.

    “Date of dream, night between June 20th and 21st, 1883. Age 28. Health perfect. [The form of these sentences is due to the fact that the information was filled in on a census-form (Vol. I., p. 304).] The dream was so vivid that I described the details to my mother; it was of a child being buried alive by two men servants. I asked its name, and was told it was a Fitzgerald, infant son of the Knight of Kerry. The impression was most distressing, and remained all day, and returned in a less degree whenever anything recalled the dream. At the {ii-426} time I knew absolutely nothing about the Knight of Kerry: I did not even know whether he was a married man.

    “On June 25th, I saw in the paper an announcement of the death of the only child of the Knight of Kerry, on June 21st. [We have verified the date in the Times and in Burke’s Peerage.] This at once recalled the dream, which I had entirely forgotten.

    “I accounted for this coincidence by imagining my eye had unconsciously fallen upon some paragraph mentioning the illness of the child, but I am told there never was any announcement of the kind.

    “All the details of the dream were wrong.

    “E. F. HOW.”

    In answer to inquiries, Miss How adds:—

    “The whole of the dream, with many details now faded from my memory, was told to my mother on the morning of June 21st. She laughed at the dream, but on June 26th she greeted me with: ‘I have seen in a paper that the Knight of Kerry did lose a child the night1 1 We cannot discover that it was mentioned in the papers that the death took place in the night. of your dream; you must have seen that it was ill.’ I had then also seen the announcement in the paper.

    “This winter I met some friends of the present Knight of Kerry, and from them heard that there had been no notice in the paper excepting of the birth of the child.”

    Asked whether she had previously known that the family name of the Knight of Kerry was Fitzgerald, Miss How replies that she had, having once met a member of the family abroad.

    The following is from Mrs. How:—

    “Stainforth House, Upper Clapton, London, E.

    “April 25th, 1884.

    “On the morning of June 21st, 1883, my daughter related to me, in detail, a vivid dream she had the night before.

    “I remember perfectly that when she came down in the morning she said she dreamt that the infant son of the Knight of Kerry, a little Fitzgerald, was being buried alive; that she struggled to save it, but felt no surprise at the people trying to bury it alive. A few days afterwards I saw the death of a young son of the Knight of Kerry in the paper, the date being June 21st.

    “FRANCES A. HOW.”

    [The accuracy of Mrs. How’s recollection is shown by her further mention of some details of the dream, which Miss How had previously communicated to us, but had not in any way recalled to her mother’s memory.]

    In connection with death-imagery of a gloomy kind, I may remind the reader of the passage in Guerzoni’s Garibaldi (Florence, 1882, Vol. I., pp. 398–9), in which Garibaldi describes his dream of a funeral procession, of a corpse with his mother’s face laid down beside him, and of his impression of an ice-cold hand, remaining even after he was awake. “On that day,” he continues, “and in that hour, I lost my parent, the best of mothers.” The dream occurred on March 19, {ii-427} 1852, when Garibaldi was on a voyage to China; and there is nothing to suggest that he knew his mother’s death to be impending.

    I will conclude the list of symbolic dreams with the example mentioned in Vol. I., p. 368, where a particular dream, not in itself suggestive of death, has on a noticeable number of occasions more or less nearly coincided with deaths affecting the dreamer. I need not repeat the remarks already made as to the total inconclusiveness of most alleged specimens of this class, and the proneness of mankind in general to remark and record the few hits, and not the thousands of misses.

    (460) From Mrs. Burton, Longner Hall, Shrewsbury,

    “February, 1883.

    “I am a healthy woman, in a responsible position, neither dyspeptic, hysterical, nor morbid, and my mind is chiefly occupied with matters of business. I am 41 years of age, and a grandmother.

    “Ever since I was 21, the following dream has occurred with certain varieties:—In my sleep I see suddenly, by a brilliant light, a naked infant, either lying in or falling into a bath. Sometimes I see a person standing by the bath whom I recognise, which gives me a clue on waking, by which I know in what family the death is likely to take place; at other times I only see the infant and the bath; then I know I shall hear of a death within 12 hours, and I suffer anxious suspense until I hear the news.

    “I should weary you if I related all the strange fulfilments of this dream, but am willing to send you a few instances with dates, &c., if you wish it.

    (1) “On the night of the 29th of January, 1873, I dreamt that I saw a baby in a bath. When the postbag came in the morning, I said to my husband, ‘Please don’t open it yet, I am sure there will be news of a death in it, but I can’t tell whose; none of our friends are ill, and the dream was so vague.’ He laughed, and proceeded to open the bag; it contained a letter from the Rev. S. A., announcing the death of his only boy. [Here the dreamer had no knowledge of the illness of the person who died.]

    (2) “On the night of April 24th, 1877, I dreamt that I saw an infant in a bath. On the 25th, I heard that my cousin, B. C., had died on the 24th. [Here the dreamer had no knowledge of the illness of the person who died.]

    (3) “On June 11th, 1877, while asleep in a chair, I dreamt that I saw my husband’s aunt, Mrs. B., looking at an infant in a bath; she was dressed in white, with a strong light round her. She died in the evening of that day. [Here the dreamer knew of the illness of the person who died.]

    (4) “Before my husband’s death on November 17th, 1880, I had my warning dream. I seemed to stand in deep mourning watching an infant in a bath. [Here the dream preceded the death by more than a day. The husband had been long ill, but his immediate death was not expected.]

    “C. S. BURTON.”

    We find the above dates of death in cases 1, 3, and 4, confirmed by the Times obituary, and that in case 2 by the Register of Deaths.

    {ii-428}

    [Mrs. B. has kept a diary of her dreams, which shows that she has had several dreams of accidents which have never taken place. She thought that she had never had the dream of a baby in a bath without receiving news—usually within 12 hours or thereabouts, and never later than 2 days after—of the death of a relative, friend, or at least acquaintance or servant; but on more minute inquiry, it proved that in one case there had been an interval of as many as 11 days. She promised to keep in future a more carefully written record; but writing in March, 1886, she says that she now seldom dreams, and seems to be losing her sensitiveness. She has no idea why the telepathic impressions of death (if such they could be considered) should associate themselves in her mind with these particular images.]

    § 5. I now come to the large class of “clairvoyant” dreams—this word being used in the restricted sense explained in Vol. I., pp. 368–9. The perception still varies greatly both in clearness and amount, and often foreign elements are introduced; so that this class differs rather in degree than in kind

    from the last. The cases are so numerous that I must present some of them in an abridged form; but I shall suppress no item which could be regarded as a weak point in the evidence.

    I will first give a case which, though second-hand, rests on the authority of two persons to whom the dream was narrated before the reality was known. The whole labour bestowed on the present work would be amply repaid if by its means half-a-dozen such incidents, which would otherwise have been left to float, like this one, on the uncertain tide of human memory, obtained immediately and for ever the security of a written record.

    (461) From the Bishop of Bedford, who, in January, 1883, corrected for us the account that appeared in the Spectator for Sept. 9, 1882, after comparing it with the written record. The account was written down, he says, “not less than from 20 to 25 years after the occurrence, probably a few years later still. I asked my father and aunt to verify and correct my account, which they did.”

    “Stainforth House, Upper Clapton, E.

    “January, 1883.

    “When my father, Mr. W. Wybergh How, was a young man, he left his home, which was at Isell, near Cockermouth, to settle in Shrewsbury as a solicitor. In the year 1819 he revisited Cumberland, staying of course with his father, the Vicar of Isell. He and his sister, Miss Christian How, who was to return with him to Shrewsbury, had arranged to leave on a certain Monday, and to spend that night with a former governess, who was married to a Mr. Forrest, and lived at Everton. On the Sunday, after church, Mr. and Mrs. Wybergh, my father’s uncle and aunt, who lived at Isell Hall, told them they had invited a party of young people for the Monday night, and would not hear of their leaving that day. They were persuaded to stay, and wrote to Mrs. Forrest, although fearing {ii-429} there was no post which would reach her sooner than they themselves would on Tuesday night. The party was a very merry one, a large number of their old friends being there. The only fact I need name at present is that a Miss Harriet Fenton, a young lady who had lately lost her brother and was in deep mourning, sat most of the evening alone upon a sofa, not joining in the amusements of the rest.

    “My father and his sister reached Everton by the coach on Tuesday night; and when they explained the reason of their delay Mrs. Forrest told them, when the coach had come in the night before without them, she had gone to bed, and had dreamed it was a party for which they had stayed, and that she had dreamt of being there. A little later, while they were at supper, she said she must tell them her dream, as it was so wonderfully vivid; and first of all, she told them who were there. As she had been governess at the vicarage, and knew all the neighbours, this excited little surprise. She then, however, went on to describe the most minute circumstances of the evening, saying she had seen some of them dressed up in fancy dresses and dancing about in them; that they had got a dirty round table, which she had never seen before, into the drawing-room, and were eating something out of a bowl upon it (they had a syllabub, and someone saying it must be eaten from a round table, one was sent for from the kitchen); that old Mr. and Mrs. Wybergh and old Mr. and Mrs. How, who were playing at Boston in the inner drawing-room, came in and asked what they were doing, finding fault with them for having brought in the dirty kitchen table; that the old people were not allowed to come to the round table, but were told they might taste what was in the bowl; with other minute details. Mrs. Forrest had told her husband the dream early in the morning in bed, and had afterwards told her children, one of whom corrected her in her narrative, saying, ‘Oh, mamma, you told us so-and-so this morning,’ the correction being the true version of what had occurred. My father and his sister were very greatly startled and astounded as Mrs. Forrest went on, but were still more so when she ended by saying, ‘And I was sitting all the evening on the sofa, by the side of a young widow lady!’ This was the only mistake; but years afterwards I met this lady (then Miss Fenton), and we spoke of this wonderful dream; and she told me it was not so very far from being all true, for she was at the time engaged to be married, and did marry very shortly, and her husband died on their way out to India directly afterwards.

    “I have only to add that the letter written to Mrs. Forrest arrived the morning after, i.e., on the Wednesday. The narrative was (with the one singular exception mentioned) a perfectly accurate account of all that took place to the minutest details, and the dream appears to have been dreamt at Everton at the very time of the occurrence of the events at Isell. My father and my aunt, before their death, verified and vouched for the above story.

    “W. WALSHAM BEDFORD,”

    “Bishop Suffragan for East London.”

    (462) From Mr. J. Ridley, 19, Belsize Park, N.W., who tells us that he has had no other impressive dream of death.

    “March 5th, 1885.

    “Whilst staying at Mrs. M.’s in June, 1867, on the night either of June 3rd or 4th, I had a vivid dream that I saw an old friend [name {ii-430} given in confidence] lying dead with a wound in his head—noting the colour of his hair and other particulars. I told Mrs. M. of this dream, and later in the day we heard that the friend I had seen in my dream had actually been killed by a blow on the head, in a fall from a conveyance, on the night before the dream. The wound was on the opposite side of the head from that seen in my dream.

    “The scene of the accident was some miles from the house where I was staying.

    “J. R.”

    Mrs. Mawson, of Ashfield, Gateshead, with whom Mr. Ridley was staying at the time of the dream, was asked by Mr. Ridley’s daughter, at our request, if she remembered anything of the dream. She replied on March 3rd, 1885:—

    ’I remember very distinctly Mr. Ridley telling me his dream, and how strongly it impressed me at the time. I remember that your papa had the dream, and spoke of it before the news of J. M.’s death reached him, but I cannot call to mind exactly what was the cause of death—in the dream, I mean; but I think your papa thought he saw him injured by a fall from his horse or conveyance. I think he told me that he saw him lying on the ground injured, and his wife mourning and weeping over him, but I cannot be certain of the exact particulars, only I know that the dream was singularly like what in reality took place on the very same night.

    “E. M.”

    Miss C., a resident in the village where J. M. lived, was asked if she could discover the exact date of J. M.’s death. She replied:—

    “West Boldon.

    “March 4th, 1885.

    “To-day I saw E. M. (now Mrs. H., the daughter of J. M.). Her father died on June 4th, 1867. On the morning of that day, as Mrs. M. M. was on her way to Hylton, she found him lying insensible at a turn of the road. He was in the habit of driving furiously. It was supposed that in the dark he had not managed the corner, and so was thrown out. He never recovered consciousness.

    “A. C.”

    [If Mr. Ridley’s dream was on the night of the 3rd, it must have been within a few hours of the accident; if it was on the night of the 4th it may still have been within 12 hours of the death.]

    (463) From Miss Augusta Gould (now Mrs. Temple), the narrator of case 441, above.

    “December 19th, 1883.

    “When a child, I dreamed of places I was not likely to see, and when by chance I did see them they were exactly as my dream foretold.1 1 This experience has pretty often been described; but it would be impossible to attach any importance to it, unless the dream had been written down or described in detail before the reality was seen.

    “A curious dream happened one night, I believe in the spring of 1880. I saw the bedroom of an old lady friend, with blood2 2 Compare cases 135, 221, 432, 466, 467. all about the floor and the window broken. I told my brother I was afraid there might be murder for the sake of money. He laughed at my fears, but the next Sunday, on his return from taking service at Lord H.’s private chapel, {ii-431}

    near the home of the lady, he informed me of a great alarm her friends had had. They found her insensible in bed, one day, covered with blood, as was the floor of the room, and the window broken. Afterwards, she related that she had awaked in the night, finding her face and chest streamed over with blood, and a suffocation oppressing her; had got out and tried to open the window, but being faint and unsteady had run her hand through the small panes, then turned and fainted before she could get into bed again, and after doing so knew nothing more. I may add that the doctor said this serious attack had saved her from apoplexy.”

    In answer to inquiries, Miss Gould wrote:—

    “January 3rd, 1884.

    “I cannot remember if the accident to the old lady was on the same night as my dream of it; but certainly the dream was two or three nights before I heard of the accident.

    “My brother, to whom I mentioned the dream beforehand [i.e., before the news of the event], died in 1881.”

    (464) From Miss Barr, Apsley Town, East Grinstead, the narrator of case 111.

    “April, 1884.

    “When I was in Singhur, in 186-, I had a very strange dream. I saw, as in a small disc of light22 Cf. case 220, and the remark which follows it.—something like a magic-lantern picture, only in small—the following scene:—The inside of a small hill tent, lighted (from above, apparently—the whole scene was in vivid light) on the floor, close beside a dhurrie (a small Indian carpet), and, between that and the door, a very large black scorpion, and entering by the door the figure of a man, an intimate friend, now dead. The vision was apparently of but momentary duration, and disappeared before I could see more. I made a note of the fact, with the date, in my diary. On the return of this friend, a few weeks afterwards, from his hunting expedition, he volunteered the information that they had been much pestered by insects of all kinds, and added that one night he had gone into his tent and found there ‘a whopping big black scorpion.’ The black scorpion is not quite so common as the ordinary or pink scorpion.

    “I asked him what that night was, and he told me. I remember that he fixed the exact date, either from having made a note of it, or from some other incident having occurred on that same day. I never told him of my dream.”

    [Miss Barr stated in conversation that she and her sisters had satisfied themselves at the time that the days corresponded.]

    (465) From Mr. J. W. Beilby, of Beechworth, Victoria (mentioned above, p. 226), son of Dr. Wm. Beilby, well known in Edinburgh forty years ago. The account was first printed in the Harbinger of Light, Melbourne, August, 1879.

    “In 1849, I was on a certain night sleeping at an inn in the Portland district, being there mustering stray cattle to deliver, with my station sold, when intending to return to Scotland. I dreamt I was, with other members of my family, at my father’s death-bed in Edinburgh. Everything said and done was vividly represented, but I wondered that my father was not in his usual bedroom. Several months afterwards news of {ii-432} my father’s death, on that very night, reached me; but it was not until a sister arrived in the colony, later, that every minute particular was corroborated, and I learned the reason for his occupying the bed I saw him die in, in his dressing-room.11 We have a very similar case from Mr. Alex. B. Burton, of 4, Baronsfield Road, St. Margaret’s, Twickenham, who, on January 7th, 1880, dreamt very vividly of his father’s death as taking place in a room quite different from that which he believed him to be occupying at the exact hour. He got out of bed, and marked the time by his watch as a little past 4.30. The facts and the time of the death exactly corresponded; and Mr. Burton’s mother testifies that the dream was described to her before she mentioned the actual change of room. The death of the father was, however, known to be imminent; and the case is therefore not numbered as evidential.

    Mr. Beilby tells us that he seemed, as if in a vision, one of those around his father’s bed; and that the night was May 30th. We find, however, from the Edinburgh Courant that Dr. Beilby died on June 7, 1849.

    [Such an error of date is not important, in a case where the narrator has no separate recollection of the date of his own experience. But at this distance of time it is impossible to be sure that the degree of coincidence was accurately ascertained, or that it has not become more exact in memory. To our request for corroboration, Mr. Beilby replies:—“My sister is too remote to refer to as to facts stated in my last letter.” This is not the only instance in which the idea of writing a letter to a distant country has seemed to paralyse an informant’s power of assistance.]

    (466) From Mr. B. Lomax, Curator of the Brighton Free Library and Museum.

    “January, 1883.

    “In 1860, I took my newly married wife to live on the Fryer’s Creek Diggings. Her mother, Mrs. F., lived in Melbourne, so that mother and daughter were 73 miles apart. After a few weeks, having to attend at the Survey Department, I returned alone to Melbourne, intending to pass a week at my father-in-law’s house. On the third day, Mrs. F. (who, by the way, was a cousin of the late John Oxenford) came to me in tears, and entreated me to return, as she had last night dreamed that she had seen her daughter covered with blood, and led to bed by two women. Moved by her anxiety, I returned that night, and found the fact as she had stated. A sudden fright, caused by the violent entry of a drunken woman, had brought on a miscarriage, and she had been assisted and tenderly nursed by two neighbours.

    “BENJAMIN LOMAX.”

    With this dream may be compared the following hypnotic vision.

    (467) From Beiträge zu den durch Animalischen Magnetismus zeither bewirkten Erscheinungen, by W. Arndt (Leipzig, (1818), pp. 76–9. Arndt held a post to the name of which the nearest English equivalent is Secretaryship to the Royal Prussian Superior County Court. The percipient was a Madame S., 19 years of age, who had been suffering from hysterical attacks, and was hypnotised by Arndt during a period of some months, in 1812.

    “During a magnetic séance, the sleeping patient, who had just before been quite gay, all at once began, without any perceptible cause, to utter lamentations, to wring her hands, and to weep. When I asked her the reason, she said, ‘Ah, God! Ah, God! my father; my good father! he is dying.’ ‘How do you know that?’ ‘Ah, God! don’t I see it! he is {ii-433} losing a terrible amount of blood! Ah, he is dying, dying!’ After trying in vain to pacify her and rid her of this fancy, I woke her. She opened her eyes with the brightest smile, and all gloomy thoughts had vanished. To divert her still more, I conversed with her on various subjects; then, as I had broken into her sleep, I hypnotised her again. Before long the disquieting picture again appeared to her. To put an end to her grief, I again woke her. Her joyous look on waking showed that she was quite unaware of what she had just been describing.”

    On her being put to sleep a third time, the vision was repeated, and her lamentations were heart-rending; but this time she was allowed to sleep, and she gradually became more composed. She woke at last with the exclamation, “Alas!” For the rest of the afternoon she was very melancholy, without being able to say why; and neither Arndt nor her husband (the only two persons who had been present) revealed to her what had passed. Next day she had recovered her spirits.

    Her father was at the time 70 German miles away. His last letters had assured her that he was well; nor had she the slightest cause for anxiety on his account. But some weeks later Arndt found her much cast down; and on inquiring the cause, was told that at about 3 p.m. on the day of her strange experience (which Arndt says that he had noted), her father had slipped while descending into the cellar, and the cellar door had fallen on his breast, which caused violent hæmorrhage, and very nearly cost him his life. “So the fact which could not by any possibility have been suspected, actually happened, at the very hour at which the patient at a distance perceived it.”

    (468) From the Rev. F. Teasdale Reed (Unitarian Minister), Colehill, Tamworth.

    “October, 1884.

    “I had an uncle who, after spending 33 years on board ship, left the sea, got married, and settled down near London. His only son, Jack, and myself were constant playmates, and for a short time school-fellows also. [Jack ran away to sea.] Months passed by and no news came. At length—perhaps it was 12 or 18 months afterwards—my thoughts

    were again directed to my missing cousin. It was in this way.

    “One Sunday morning, my father invited me to go with him to see my uncle and aunt. On the road he told me that during the night he had had a most remarkable dream, and he wished to test it as far as he could, for he was strongly persuaded that it would be fulfilled. At the same time he urged me to notice the date, and preserve in my memory the details as far as possible. I may just say, in parenthesis, that we continued our journey, paid the visit, but found that nothing had been heard of my cousin. The dream, so far as I can recollect it at this distance of time, was somewhat as follows:—The scene is in a foreign port (guessed at the time to be Spanish). On board a British man-of-war that is anchored there a young man (my cousin Jack) is giving instructions to some men at work in the rigging. He is apparently dissatisfied with what they are doing, for he hurries up, makes some slight alteration, and then descends. A rung of the rope ladder gives way as his foot touches it, he falls backward, head first, and dies instantly. The surgeon hurries to the spot, examines the body, but leaves it, as he can do nothing there. Then arrangements are made for the burial. The coffin is taken on shore, some of the officers and {ii-434} men accompany it, and it is solemnly lowered into the grave. There the dream ended.

    “Some time after, my father (he had already ascertained the time it would take for a letter to come from the Spanish coast to England) asked me one morning if I still remembered his strange dream. He then made me repeat it to him. After that he said: ‘Well, if there is anything in it your uncle will have heard something about it by this time, let us go and see him.’ When we reached the house we could see at a glance that something had happened. My father at once asked if there was any news yet of Jack. Yes, that morning’s post had brought a large envelope bearing the Lisbon post-mark. It was written by one of the officers of a man-of-war that was then anchored at Lisbon, and its purpose was to make known the death of my cousin. After a very kind and favourable notice of Jack’s general conduct and abilities, it gave full details of his death and burial. Those details tallied exactly with the details given in my father’s dream, and it occurred the very date of the dream. I was perfectly amazed. I inspected the letter and could not see any point in which there was the slightest contradiction or even divergence. Of course my uncle was then informed of the dream.

    “F. T. R.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Reed adds on October 28, 1884:—

    “I can quite understand your desire to verify, as far as possible, every statement made, but unfortunately I shall not be able to furnish much corroboration. I have just a little; what there is I will place before you. I found the enclosed ‘inspector’s certificate.’ I see it corrects my story in one point, and confirms it in another. I said that the event happened about 32 years ago; this document is dated 1847, i.e., 37 years ago. At the time of writing the paper I did not sufficiently think over the question of time. I would add that the family consisted of my uncle, aunt—who are both dead—my cousin John (of whom I have written), and his sister, who is still alive in Australia. She may be able to furnish more particulars. [We have written several letters to this lady, which have not been answered.] However weak it may be in collateral evidence, I am positive as to the fact of the dream, and that I have fairly represented it in its essential points.”

    The inspector’s certificate shows that John Tabner, seaman, died at sea, on board H.M.S. “Canopus,” on the 24th of April, 1847. In the Navy List for June, 1847, we find the ship reported as “off the coast of Portugal.”

    [In the absence of an independent account of the details of the death, and of written notes of the dream, we cannot assume that the coincidence of detail was so close as seems to be remembered. Clearly there would be a difficulty in explaining the closing scene of the dream as telepathically produced, though the dream may naturally enough have taken that course. Mr. Reed mentioned in conversation that there had been a very strong bond of affection between his father and Jack. He was himself 11 years old at the time.]

    (469) From Mr. W. Noble, J.P., Forest Lodge, Maresfield, Uckfield.

    “September 8th, 1882.

    “The Baroness van Lynden (my mother-in-law) had a maid who {ii-435} subsequently lived with Mrs. Noble and myself as housekeeper, and died in this house after 35 years’ consecutive service in the family; her name was Elizabeth Gowling, and she came of a most respectable stock of the farming class from Appleby, in Westmoreland. She left Westmoreland when she was young, and had not been near it for a good many years, when the very curious event occurred which I am about to relate.

    “I must say here, that when living in Appleby, Gowling had known a woman, by sight, whose name, I regret to say, I have forgotten, but who lived in a suburb called Bongate. They had in no sense ever been friends, nor had any communication passed between them, or any mention of the woman’s name ever been made to Gowling by any one, after she left her native county.

    “Well, one morning she came down, as usual, to dress her mistress, and, in obviously a very nervous and excited state, told her that she had just had such a terrible dream that she could not get it out of her mind. She had, she said, dreamed that this Bongate woman had gone to a drawer, taken out a piece of rope, proceeded to an outhouse, and hanged herself, and that her daughter had come into the outhouse and cut her mother down. My mother-in-law, of course, pooh-pooh’d the whole affair, told Gowling not to be silly, that dreams were all nonsense, &c., &c. But a week or two afterwards Gowling received a local newspaper from some one of her Westmoreland friends, which contained, inter alia, an account of an inquest on this very woman; who, on the night in which the dream happened, had proceeded to an outhouse and hanged herself, and had been cut down by her daughter.

    “WILLIAM NOBLE.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Noble says:—

    “It was some considerable time after it happened that I first heard of it; but I have done so, without the smallest variation, repeatedly, both from my mother-in-law and from Gowling herself.”

    In conversation with Mr. Podmore, Mrs. Noble gave an account which precisely corresponded with her husband’s, and stated that she herself—then a young girl—had heard Gowling describe the dream on the morning after its occurrence.

    From the Coroner of the district, who has kindly made inquiries, we have learnt the name of the woman who committed suicide, and the fact that the occurrence took place about 40 years ago; but his and our endeavours to trace the exact date have failed.

    (470) From Mr. Henry Maitland, Balmungo, St. Andrews.

    “December 28, 1885.

    “On the 16th of August, 1820—it was the anniversary of his wedding—my father took my mother and eldest sister to dine and spend the night at the country house of an uncle a few miles off. I can see the trio now, through the long vista of years, starting for Lathrisk on the Irish car, my father in high spirits, and seemingly in perfect health.

    “That night, my two sisters, who were left at home, one 20 and the other 21 years of age, slept together; and early next morning the younger one awakened her companion, to tell her she had had a strange, unhappy dream. She dreamed she was at Lathrisk with her father and mother; the family party were at dinner, and all went well till the servants had {ii-436} cleared the table and withdrawn. My father, she said, then suddenly rose and walked to the window, which he opened as if for air. She, in her dream, went round and set a chair for him, putting her arm round his shoulders to support him in what seemed a sudden faintness. My uncle then came and supported my father, and the doctor soon arrived; but before then my father had breathed his last. Dreams, however impressive to the dreamer, do not sound equally so in other ears, and this one was no exception to the rule; the elder sister made no account of it, and no more was said on the subject.

    “A few hours later, a messenger from Lathrisk brought the sad news of my father’s death, and the whole details of the closing scene were strictly and literally identical with those of the dream, excepting only that my eldest sister, who went with her parents, was the actor, in place of the dreamer, who remained at home.

    “My father was in his 50th year, full of health five minutes before he died; and the mental condition of the family was that of joy and hopefulness.”

    We find from the Edinburgh Courant that Mr. Maitland’s father died on August 25th (not 16th), 1820. Mr. Maitland explains that he knew his father’s wedding day to have been August 16, from an entry in a family Bible, and that he was either told that the day of the death was the same, or has himself, in memory, modified close proximity into identity.

    In reply to inquiries, he adds, on Jan. 3, 1886:—

    “I am the sole survivor of my family. I was not told of the dream at the time; my age (7 years) precluded this. Let me give you the assurance that both sisters concerned were women in whom, perhaps above most persons, the precious quality of conscientiousness formed the basis of character. In 50 years’ close relationship to them, I never heard them speak of a dream but the one in question; and I don’t believe either of them was, either literally or metaphorically, a ‘dreamer.’

    “HENRY MAITLAND.”

    In conversation Mrs. Maitland told me that she also had heard the incident described by the dreamer, her sister-in-law.

    [It is needless to observe that no amount of scrupulousness on the part of a witness can sufficiently guarantee unwritten recollections of a long-past incident, involving some amount of detail. But the quality of the evidence in this case is at any rate good second-hand; and one can hardly doubt that a coincidence of a striking kind occurred.]

    (471) From Mrs. Sykes, who at the time to which the narrative refers, was residing with her brother-in-law, the late Dr. Symonds, of Clifton Hill House, Clifton, Bristol.

    “1883.

    “On the 6th of November, 1854, I want to see a poor woman named Scott, living in St. Michael’s parish, Bristol. She had a son in the army, and his regiment was serving in the Crimea. As soon as she saw me, she said, ‘I know my dear boy is dead.’ On my asking what made her think so, she said, ‘Yesterday morning I saw him quite plainly. He and others were fighting and I saw him fall; the men seemed in disorder and were all in their shirt-sleeves. I saw Willie as plainly as I see you now.’ I tried to comfort her, saying how improbable it was they should be fighting {ii-437} in their shirt-sleeves. ‘It is true,’ she said. ‘I know he is gone, and I shall always know the day and time, Sunday morning, November 5th, for I awoke from the sight of this battle as the 8 o’clock bells rang out from St. Michael’s Church.’

    “Quite late that day (the 6th) we heard of the battle of Inkermann and that the soldiers were surprised early on the 5th, and had not time to dress entirely, but fought in their shirt-sleeves. Young Scott’s regiment was there (I forget which). This poor woman never heard of her son’s death till some time afterwards, when the list of killed came out; but so convinced was she of the fact that she wrote his name and the date of his death on a tracing (life size) of her soldier son, that she and her other son had drawn on the wall, before he went to the Crimea. This rude drawing I saw.”1 1 In connection with this case, I may quote a narrative which I refrained from giving as evidence in the last chapter, on account of the pre-occupation of the percipient’s mind with her absent son. It was procured through the kindness of a Cambridge friend, Mrs. B., whose sister, Mrs. G., is the narrator. “The following narrative was told to me by my aunt, Mrs. B.; the son to whom it relates is F. G. B. (68th Regiment), who fell at Inkermann on Sunday, November 5th, 1854. The narrative was told to me on Sunday afternoon, September 2nd, 1883, and written down at the time. She had told me substantially the same narrative many years before, though she did not like talking of it. My son, who was also present when the story was told, read over my account, and pronounced it correct. I do not believe that my aunt ever experienced any similar impression. I have known her intimately all my life, and stayed with her for months together, and never heard her mention anything of the kind. She had always prayed that she might know at the moment if he were killed or badly wounded. The 5th November was a Sunday. She was at Buscombe Church, and early in the service (while kneeling in the Confession) she had a sudden sensation; she saw nothing, but felt sure something was by her, and that it was her son. Her husband asked her what was the matter, but she kept up, and did not leave the church. On returning home, she said she was sure they would hear bad news. When the news did arrive, some days later, they found he was shot at the very hour when she felt his presence in Buscombe Church.” Professor Sidgwick writes on September 5th, 1883:— “Mrs. B., who knew her aunt well, has just told me that she never heard of her having any similar impression.” It is probable, from Kinglake’s and Russell’s accounts, that Lieutenant B. was killed in the morning; but at what hour is not known. For the form of the experience, compare the subjective impressions described in Vol. i., p. 483. The case is eminently one where, after the receipt of the news, the impression would be likely to assume in memory a definiteness and uniqueness that did not really belong to it.

    “M. A. SYKES.”

    [The Christian name William is probably incorrect; among the noncommissioned officers and privates mentioned by the London Gazette in the list of Inkermann casualties, as killed in the battle or dying of wounds very shortly afterwards, are three Scotts—John, Henry, and Peter. The detail of the shirt-sleeves cannot be pressed; but the sense of reality must have been strong, to prompt the writing of the name and date.]

    (472) From Miss Weale, Nepaul, Croft Road, Torquay.

    “January 26th, 1884.

    “My mother was tired, and went to lie down, and fell asleep and dreamt that her younger half-brother, Godin Ellis, had died in India, and she heard in her dream hurried remarks about it, and heard some one speak the name of the officer standing by. She awoke with such a deep sense of its reality that, when my father came up to dress for dinner, she proceeded to ask him to kneel down and say the prayers from the Burial Service, for that Godin was dead. She proceeded to tell him {ii-438} the name of the place, and the hour, and the name of an officer standing by. She insisted on my father writing down the particulars, and he, to quiet her, complied, and also joined her in saying the prayers; but he would not allow her to go into mourning, and disbelieved that it would be found correct, because Godin had not intended going into the Madras Presidency.

    “In due course of time the news came, and full written particulars from the officer whose name she had heard; and it had happened at the hour and day (allowing for reckoning), and in the little place, and as she described it—an accident with a gun. He had only known the officer for a few days, and the name was one unknown to my parents. My mother had been certain her dream was, as she termed it, a vision of the true. She was a very healthy, sensible, calm-minded woman.

    “C. J. DORATEA WEALE.”

    In reply to inquiries, Miss Weale wrote:—

    “My mother scarcely ever had a dream. The dream took place as far back as in 1837, I think, but that very day she told us. All were told in the house, and she was vexed because my father would not let her go into mourning. The relatives who know, with me, of my mother’s true dream are foreigners, and scattered about the world, and I rarely write to them. But it was all written down, and given to the Rev. Dr. Neale at the time.”

    [Here, again, the occurrence is far too remote for certainty as to the details of the dream. But some of the collateral incidents, e.g., about the mourning, are such as would be likely to impress themselves on the daughter’s mind. We have done our utmost to trace the exact date of the death, but without success.]

    (473) From a lady who scruples for the present to allow the publication of her name, as a near relative has an abhorrence of the subject.

    “May 26th, 1884.

    “I cannot fix the date—it may have been about 18 years after my mother’s marriage—one morning at breakfast my mother told us she had had a very strange dream. She had dreamed of Mrs. W., [a lady whose house had been a home to her in youth, but whom she had not heard of for years,] and Mrs. W. wanted to kiss her. My mother did her utmost to prevent it, using all her force to push Mrs. W. away, and the strangest thing of all was that she saw the inside of Mrs. W.’s throat, and saw it most distinctly, and it was as black as coal. That was the entire dream. About a week or 10 days after the dream (I cannot be sure of the interval), a mutual friend sent us news of Mrs. W.’s serious illness, told us that she was confined to bed, and suffering from a very uncommon disease which had attacked her throat. After hearing this report there were many talks of Mrs. W., but no way of gaining further information about her was found.

    “After another short interval, my mother told us she had dreamed again. Mrs. W. was dead, everything about her was white, and there was an immense amount of the colour somehow, but she was not in her own room, neither did my mother recognise the room she was in as like any of the bedrooms in the house. In two days the post brought us an

    {ii-439} intimation of Mrs. W.’s death, which had happened during the night, on the precise date of my mother’s dream.

    “About three months afterwards, we had a visit from a niece of Mrs. W., a lady who had nursed her aunt during her last illness, and who called to deliver a message sent to my mother from her friend before her death. My mother told this lady of her two dreams, when the following explanations were given us:—Mrs. W.’s illness was entirely in her throat, and its most distressing symptom was an extreme difficulty of breathing, necessitating having both windows and door continually wide open, as the only means of alleviation, the weather at the time being bitterly cold. Immediately after Mrs. W.’s death, a daughter-in-law, a somewhat eccentric person, arranged all details herself. For some unexplained reason she caused the body to be moved immediately to a parlour downstairs. The table in the room was covered with a white linen tablecloth, and the body draped in white placed on it; a sofa in the room was covered with a white sheet, and every chair, and also every picture in the room was treated in a similar manner. My mother said, ‘I know the room—that was the room I saw in my dream.’”

    [This incident happened about 30 years ago, but the narrator has a very clear recollection of it. She says that her mother dreamt a good deal, and that many other singular coincidences had been noticed, but that most of them were of a more trivial nature. Of course the second dream can only be explained telepathically by supposing (in accordance with Chap. XVIII., § 7) that a common interest in the dead woman established a line of communication between persons who were strangers to one another; and it is not an example on which we should be disposed to lay any stress. The first experience is more striking, as the detail about the throat (both in the dream and in the reality) would be likely to be remembered, and not likely to be unconsciously imagined.]

    (474) From Des Hallucinations, by Dr. Brierre de Boismont (Paris, 1862), pp. 285–6. It is to be presumed that he received the account from the dreamer herself, as otherwise his prefatory remark would have no force; and in an English translation of another edition of the work, the narrative is followed by the words, “This statement was made to us by the lady herself, in whom we place the most perfect confidence.”

    “Le fait suivant est un de ceux qui nous ont le plus frappé parceque la dame de qui nous le tenons était un de ces esprits sensés et respectables dont les paroles méritent toute confiance. [Translation]The following event is one of those that struck us the most forcefully, because the lady from whom we have it is one of those sensible and respectable people whose words are worthy of complete confidence.

    “Mile. R., douée d’un excellent jugement, religieuse sans bigoterie, habitait, avant d’être mariée, la maison de son oncle, Désessants, médecin célèbre, membre de l’Institut. Elle était alors séparée de sa mère, atteinte, en province, d’une maladie assez grave. Une nuit, cette jeune personne rêva qu’elle l’apercevait devant elle, pale, défigurée, prête à rendre le dernier soupir, et témoignant surtout un vif chagrin de ne pas être entourée de ses enfants, dont l’un, curé d’une des paroisses de Paris, avait émigré en Espagne, et dont l’autre était à Paris. Bientôt elle l’entendit l’appeler plusieurs fois par son nom de baptême; elle vit, dans son rêve, les personnes qui entouraient sa mère, s’imaginant qu’elle demandait sa petite-fille, portant le même nom, aller la chercher dans la piece voisine; un signe de la malade leur apprit que ce n’était point elle, mais sa fille qui {ii-440} habitait Paris, qu’elle désirait voir. Sa figure exprimait la douleur qu’elle éprouvait de son absence; tout-à-coup ses traits se décomposèrent, se couvrirent de la paleur de la mort, elle retomba sans vie sur son lit. [Translation]Mademoiselle R., whose judgment is excellent, and who is religious without being ostentatious, lived, before she got married, with her uncle Désessants, a famous physician and a member of the Institut de France. At that time, she was separated from her mother, who was not in Paris and who was gravely ill. One night, this young person dreamed that she saw her mother before her, pale, barely recognizable, ready to breathe her last, and expressing above all her deep regret that her children were not with her. One, a former priest in a parish of the capital, had emigrated to Spain, and the other was in Paris. Soon she heard her [mother] calling her again and again by her first name. She could see, in the dream, that the persons around her mother thought she was asking for her granddaughter, whose name was the same, and they went into the next room to get her. The sick woman was able to convey that it was not the granddaughter but her daughter in Paris that she wanted to see. Her face revealed the pain caused by her daughter’s absence. Suddenly her face collapsed and took on the pallor of death, and she fell back lifeless on the bed.

    “Le lendemain Mlle. R. parut fort triste devant Désessants, qui la pria de lui faire connaître la cause de son chagrin; elle lui raconta dans tous ses détails le songe qui l’avait si fortement tourmentée. Désessants, la trouvant dans cette disposition d’esprit, la pressa contre son coeur en lui avouant que la nouvelle n’était que trop vraie, que sa mère venait de mourir; il n’entra point dans d’autres explications. [Translation]The next day, the downcast Mlle R. appeared before Désessants, and he asked her to tell him what the reason for her sadness was. She told him in full detail the dream that had tormented her so greatly. Désessants realized her state, and clasped her to his heart, telling her that the news was only too true, and that her mother had just died. He gave no further explanation.

    “Plusieurs mois après, Mlle. R. profitant de l’absence de son oncle pour mettre en ordre ses papiers auxquels il n’aimait pas qu’on touchât, trouva une lettre qui avait été jetée dans un coin. Quelle ne fut pas sa surprise en y lisant toutes les particularités de son rêve que Désessants avait passées sous silence, ne voulant pas produire une émotion trop forte sur un esprit déjà si vivement impressionné.” [Translation]Several months after that, Mlle. R. was taking advantage of her uncle’s absence to put his papers in order; he did not like for anyone to touch them. She found a letter that had been dropped in a corner. Imagine her surprise upon reading in this letter all the details of her dream. Désessants had kept them quiet, not wishing to create an excess of emotion in a mind already so deeply affected.

    (475) From Mrs. Hébert, 16, Monmouth Road, Bayswater, W.

    “December 26th, 1883.

    “I shall relate to you a dream which happened to me several years ago. I was then in Germany at Mayence, learning German in a school, where I was employed as a teacher of the French language.

    “One night I went to bed, very tired but without any particular anxiety. I fell into a heavy slumber and dreamt of my mother. She was in bed, lying ill, and thin; her hands, almost transparent, were stretched convulsively as if seeking for some object, whilst she moaned most piteously in calling me by my name. In fact, she looked as if she were dying. I recognised perfectly her bedroom, the furniture, &c.; it was dimly lighted by a candle, and close to the head of the bed, in a green arm-chair, slept an old woman. I knew her also as a charwoman, who, as it seemed, was acting as nurse. My mother in her desperate motions succeeded in touching the shoulder of the old woman, who awoke with a start, and asked her crossly what she wanted.

    “‘My scissors,’ said my mother in a feeble voice.

    “‘What for?’

    “‘To cut some of my hair. You shall give it to my daughter in remembrance of me.’

    “‘She does not want it, go to sleep,’ answered the old woman, angry at being disturbed. She pushed back my mother on the pillow and went to sleep again, without noticing her agony, her prayer, to have some of her hair cut. I could hear distinctly the voice of my mother becoming weaker and weaker, but always plaintive, and supplicating the old woman for her scissors. At last I heard nothing. I awoke in a frightful agitation; it was 2 o’clock after midnight. I told my dream to some people. They advised me not to think of it, as they said that dreams generally go by contraries.

    But a few days after, I received the news of my mother’s death; it had happened just at the time of my dream.

    “LOUISE HÉBERT.”

    Mrs. Hébert returned to France in a few weeks, and, on seeing the nurse, reproached her with her conduct, and was convinced by her manner that the charge was true; but there was no further evidence. In conversation, {ii-441} she told me that she had no idea of her mother being ill; that the dream was quite unique in her experience; and that the effect on her was so strong that the persons she was living with had great difficulty in persuading her not to start home at once. The incident happened more than 20 years ago, and she has lost connection with her native place in Lorraine.

    [The case is first-hand, from a witness who, I am sure, desires to be accurate; but again the remoteness of date and lack of corroboration are most serious defects, and the correctness of the details in the dream is mere conjecture.]

    (476) From Mrs. Drummond Smithers, Bridge House, Crookham, Farnham, Hants.

    “November 22nd, 1884.

    “My father [Mr. Thomas Pickerden] was an architect and builder, which obliged him to be about very early of mornings; and on Monday, the 19th January, 1857, at 7 a.m., whilst on his way to see some of his men, he fell, in a fit of some kind. That same morning I perfectly well remember not falling asleep until after 2 a.m., having counted the clock up till that hour, and wondering why I could not sleep, as I always slept well at that time. As we breakfasted at 10 a.m. in those days, we were not early risers, so probably it might have been 8 or 9 o’clock before I woke. I cannot make a nearer statement, as I am not positive as to the time; but my dream was between the hours mentioned. It was that my father had been taken suddenly ill in the streets of Hastings, that he was put into a fly by two men, and taken home—when I woke. The dream seemed to impress me very much. I tried not to think seriously of it; having dressed and breakfasted, still the dream haunted me. I could not shake it off. When I spoke to my sisters-in-law, with whom I was staying (my then husband was their brother), they advised me to tell him, which I did, and he at once granted my request of going on to Hastings. He left me at Etchingham Station, and going direct to our home, Hawkhurst, he found a telegram there to the effect that my father was ill, and that I was to go at once. I had by this time reached Hastings and found my dream verified.

    “The event occurring so many years back, not one witness is living.

    “ANNIE SMITHERS.”

    In the same letter Mrs. Smithers says, “The dream preceded my father’s sudden illness some few hours;” but the account shows that there is no reason to suppose this.

    In answer to inquiries, she adds:—

    “29th December, 1884.

    “In my dream I did not actually see my father fall, but was at the spot just as the fly was going off, and saw distinctly there were two persons inside the fly, but the back of one man who was holding my father prevented my recognising him; the man on the box I distinctly saw, and knew him as a flyman of Hastings, and he was the man who drove my father on that fatal morning—for so it proved, as he never rallied from that illness, never was out of his bed more than to have it made a few times. He died 5th March, 1857. I never knew him to have an illness {ii-442} previous to that, nor fit of any kind; he always appeared a healthy strong man. I am generally so free from dreaming that this one made a great impression upon me at the time.”

    The Hastings News confirms March 5, 1857, as the date of the death.

    [This case again is remote in date and uncorroborated; but the narrator is not likely to be wrong as to the fact of her taking a journey on the strength of her dream, and finding it confirmed.]

    (477) From Miss Morse, Northfield, Vermont, U.S.A., who was the percipient in case 41.

    “May, 1884.

    “Often impressions of persons and places have come to me while asleep, or when I seemed to be dreaming. For example: When our civil war was in progress I corresponded with several soldiers. One of my correspondents was Captain Fischer, a Dane, who had formerly been a sailor, and roamed the world over. While the army of the Potomac was lying idle, I dreamed of a strange place. The moon shone brightly on newly-made streets, dotted with small white houses, arranged to impart on the whole scene a picturesque daintiness. One of the little dwellings especially won my attention. I stopped before it, exclaiming, ‘How beautiful! I never saw anything like it. I wonder what it can be.’ A voice, which I did not recognise, replied, ‘It is a Grecian temple.’ ‘Am I, then, in Greece?’ ‘No, this is an imitation of such temples as one sees in Greece.’ I awoke, and in a moment the clock struck 12. I could not rid myself of the feeling that I had been to a new place, and seen something real.

    “A few days after, a letter came from Captain Fischer, in which he minutely described the place I saw in my dream, explaining that the soldiers, to pass the time, had laid out streets and avenues, and by many ingenious devices had contrived to make their tents resemble houses. His own tent, which was much admired, he had converted into quite a clever model of a Greek temple, &c. Near the close he alluded to the brilliant moonlight, and added: ‘It is near midnight, and my men are asleep all around me.’ Comparing dates, I found I dreamed of the scene while his pen was describing it.”

    In reply to inquiries, Miss Morse says:—

    “The date of the dream was firmly fixed in my mind, because it came the one night that I passed at the house of Mrs. Paine’s father. I well remember telling Mrs. Paine the dream in the morning. When I saw her again I told her of Captain Fischer’s letter, which was received after I returned to W. R. Junction. Had the dream occurred at home I could not have been so sure of the time.”

    Mrs. Paine, Northfield, Vermont, writes as follows:—

    “May 24th, 1884.

    “My testimony in regard to Miss Morse’s dream in connection with Captain Fischer, whom I know well, is a mere mite. I well recollect her telling me the dream, which occurred while she was on a visit at my father’s, but whether she related it to me the next morning or later, I cannot remember. She says she told me the dream at the time, and its {ii-443} singular verification afterwards, as she did not receive the letter from Captain Fischer until after she returned to her home at White River Junction—but so many years have elapsed that they are inseparably connected in my mind. I only remember it in connection with the letter, although I presume she is correct.

    “LUCIA A. PAINE.”

    (478) From Mr. Latimer H. Saunders, St. Helens, near Ryde, who was concerned in case 44.

    “April 26th, 1884.

    “While at school, I had a remarkably vivid dream of a fire, in which it appeared my father’s offices were destroyed, entailing upon him heavy loss. So realistic did it seem to me that I related it to one of my school fellows (George A.) before rising. [This gentleman, however, cannot recall the circumstance.] He told me in his quaint way that I was very foolish to repeat a dream before getting up unless I wished it to come true; at which superstitious fancy I laughed, and told him there was no fear of such happening in this case, as the fire I had seen in my dream was not at my father’s offices, 16, Mincing Lane, to which I had been in the holidays, but at Messrs. Bailey and Co.’s offices, a large block of buildings, No. 1, Mincing Lane Buildings, situate some distance away, and the only thing connecting them with my father was that in my dream I saw his name-plate on the entrance instead of theirs. A few days after, I heard from my mother that my father’s offices had been burnt to the ground, and that unfortunately he was not insured, having only just removed into new offices. I afterwards learnt that it was the block of buildings I had seen in my dream that was burnt down on the same night; and stranger still, that my father had taken the very offices occupied by the firm I mentioned, the only knowledge of whom that I could have had was from seeing their name on the building, in passing to my father’s offices when I visited the City.

    “LATIMER H. SAUNDERS.”

    Mr. Saunders’s father says, “The date [of the fire] was, I think, November, or early in December, 1862.” We find from the Times that the fire took place on Dec. 9, 1862, breaking out shortly after midnight, in Mincing Lane Chambers, and thence extending to other buildings.

    [Mr. Saunders tells me that one of his brothers (Mr. Harris Saunders, of Leacroft House, Staines) was, he believes, at the fire—which would be in favour of the telepathic explanation; but Mr. H. Saunders declines to tell us whether he actually was present. The case is too remote for any certainty as to the exact correspondence of date and detail.]

    (479 and 480) Mr. Rowland Rowlands, of Bryncethin, Bridgend, has given us the following dream-cases out of many impressions which he believes to have been veridical. (See also Vol. I., pp. 252, 291.) He was until recently manager of the Pen-y-graig Collieries.

    “July 2nd, 1884.

    “About 23 years ago, when I was taking a little rest, about 40 or 50 miles distance from Pen-y-graig, I saw a man named Edwin Gay falling down from a slope on the surface to an old pit, which was covered with old timber and full of water. But the timber protected him. I {ii-444} instantly wrote a letter to caution them to take care, but when the letter reached, it was too late, because the man had fallen, very likely at the very moment I saw him going. I met Mr. Gay [within] the last fortnight, and went over the facts with him.

    “On one occasion, about 1868, when at the Pen-y-graig Collieries, I had come from the works to my house, about dinner-time, 1 p.m., and having been up all night had got into bed—when, just as I was dropping off to sleep, and still between sleeping and waking, I saw the roof of the stall belonging to a man named William Thomas moving, and the timbers which supported it bending and breaking. I got up at once and ran off to the colliery, just in time to meet William Thomas coming out of the works, the roof of his stall having fallen in, just as I had seen it. My vision must have taken place at the very moment of the accident. Willliam Thomas is now dead.

    “On another occasion, when in bed, between 1 and 2 a.m., I dreamed that I saw the colliers, who should have stayed in the works until 5 a.m., putting away their tools and making ready to go. I hurried on my clothes, told my wife what I had dreamed, and ran off to the works. I found that the men were just about to leave, but had hurried back on seeing the approach of my light. They wondered much how I had discovered the trick which they had intended to play.”

    [This last case may probably have been due to some latent idea in the dreamer’s mind.]

    I append some specimens of a rather numerous class in which letters are alleged to have been perceived shortly before their arrival. The following are instances which there is no difficulty in accounting for telepathically. (See also cases 409, 433, 447, above; and cases 136, 137.)

    (481) From Mr. Conquest, Mead House, Biggleswade.

    “December, 1884.

    “It was, I think, in October, 1869, that I dreamed that I received a letter from an old friend. Rev. S. H. Ireson, then a curate of St. Thomas’ Church, Liverpool, and residing in Birkenhead, from whom I had not heard for 12 months or more. His handwriting was very distinct, and it stood out very clearly before me, as I read that his wife had presented him with another little daughter. On reaching the bottom of the page, I tried to turn over the leaf, but could not, and the effort awoke me. The vividness of the dream was such that on coming down to breakfast in the morning, I said to my sister (now Mrs. Daniel, of The Elms, Biggleswade), ‘I expect to hear from Ireson this morning, for I dreamed last night that I received one announcing the birth of a daughter.’ In a few minutes the postman came, but there was no letter from Ireson. It came, however, the following day, and the first page seemed to be identical with the one I had read in my dream. Towards the end of December, in the same year, I think, I visited Ireson at Birkenhead, and, one day, happening to mention the above circumstance to him, he said, ‘I distinctly remember writing you that letter—it was between 1 and 2 (or 2 and 3) o’clock in the morning, and after I had written the first page, I went to bed and {ii-445} finished the letter next day.’ Ireson afterwards became Vicar of Barnoldswick, and died a few years ago.

    “FRED. W. CONQUEST.”

    Mrs. Daniel corroborates as follows:—

    “The Elms, Biggleswade.

    “December 17th, 1884.

    “I perfectly recollect Mr. F. Conquest telling me of his dream, respecting the birth of Mr. Ireson’s daughter, previous to our receiving information of the event, and have pleasure in adding my testimony in confirmation of it.

    “T. F. DANIEL.”

    Mr. Conquest has antedated his experience by some months, as we find from the Register of Births that his friend’s daughter was born on July 9, 1870. In conversation he informed me that he had had no idea of the impending event; and also that he does not dream much. Mrs. Daniel described to me the place where she and her brother were standing when he told her of the dream, and the arrival of the post immediately afterwards.

    (482) From Mrs. Paramore, 43, Shaftesbury Road, W.

    “March, 1884.

    “On the night of the 21st March, 1871, I woke from some distressing dream, sobbing. My husband [since deceased] inquired what was the matter. I told him I had had such a dreadful dream, something about my Aunt Baker, but I could not remember any particulars. Towards morning, I think about 5 o’clock, I woke up again in great distress from a similar, though more vivid, dream—something still connected with my Aunt Baker; but I told my husband I had received two letters, black-bordered. When I got up, I felt unusually depressed, and kept saying to my husband I could not shake off a dreadful feeling of wretchedness; as I was nearly always in excellent spirits, he was surprised, but our astonishment was inexpressible when the post brought me two black-edged letters, both in the handwriting of my Uncle Hubert Hutchings, my Aunt Baker’s brother. The envelopes were numbered 1 and 2—the latter I have found with the letters amongst my papers. No. 1 contained the intelligence of my aunt’s illness, of which until then I was unaware. The other one, written shortly after, told me of her death. My husband and myself were greatly impressed with this extraordinary circumstance—for I never attached the slightest importance to dreams; but this was undeniably a mysterious coincidence.”

    Mrs. Paramore sent the two letters—concerning respectively the illness and death—for our inspection. Both were dated the same day, 21st March, 1871, and the black-edged cover in which one of them was enclosed bore a dated stamp-impression of that day.

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Paramore writes on March 23, 1884:—

    “I do not at this distant date actually remember as to whether the two letters were black-bordered or not, but I distinctly dreamt they had reference to my aunt, whose illness and death were announced the following morning in the two letters I sent you. Whilst dressing, I frequently remarked (before the post came in) to my husband how wretched I felt about my dream, and that it was something about my Aunt Baker. I do {ii-446} not remember any other very distressing dreams that have or have not come true.

    “LEONORA E. PARAMORE.”

    In conversation Mrs. Paramore dwelt on the quite unique feeling of distress which followed the dream. As to the particular feature of repetition see Vol. I., pp. 357–8, and below pp. 700–1.

    (483) From Mr. E. W. Phibbs, 84, Pembroke Road, Clifton, Bristol.

    “February 10th, 1885.

    “In 1856, living in Manchester, where I carried on the business of silk and cotton manufacturer, I dreamed one night I saw a sheet of paper with a written order upon it, unimportant in itself, from a house which was in the daily habit of sending me orders—A. and S. Henry and Co. As I saw it, it looked like a sheet of wet paper without any surroundings, covered with writing. When I got to my place of business, about half-past 9, my partner, who was always there before me, remarked that he had a curious (from its insignificance) order from A. and S. Henry and Co. I said, ‘Before showing it me, give me a sheet of paper,’ on which I wrote out a part of the order—the upper portion—and remarked, ‘I can’t repeat what is below, because it is smeared in the copying-press.’ He looked at me very much surprised, and produced the original, showing that it was identical with my description.

    “Thinking over the matter for some weeks, a difficulty presented itself in the thought that, at the moment when I dreamed I saw it, the order would be folded in an envelope, and not be an open sheet. Also, why should the sheet appear wet? At last I questioned the writer of the order, without giving him any reasons, and on asking him to describe the daily procedure of the business of writing such orders out, he answered that, when he had written a number of such

    orders the last thing at night, he gave them to the copying clerk, who was in the unusual practice of leaving all these orders in the copying-book in the press all night. The first thing the following morning, these would be put in envelopes and distributed through the town. This at once explains the open and damp sheet of my dream.

    “The order began in the ordinary form—‘Order for (500) pieces,’ &c. The words written down (before seeing the actual order) contained all that was extraordinary in it. The smeared portion only contained further particulars.

    “E. W. PHIBBS.”

    Mr. Phibbs’ partner is dead. But Mr. Phibbs has forwarded to us a letter, written to him on Feb. 18, 1886, by Mr. Fitzgerald, of 34, Marble Street, Manchester, who heard of the occurrence at the time, completely confirming the above account; and Mr. J. Lang writes, from the Manchester Examiner and Times office, to the same effect.

    In August, 1883, Mr. Phibbs had another curious dream, of seeing his dog, who was not with him where he was staying, dying under a wall; and Mrs. Phibbs confirms the fact that this dream was narrated to her immediately. It turned out that the event had taken place, and that the dog was buried, by persons who were in some degree responsible for the accident that led to its death, at (apparently) the hour of the dream. But the dog was fond of climbing, and the case can hardly be numbered as evidential.

    I may conclude, in this connection, with the following complicated {ii-447} case, the value of which it is difficult to estimate, but which at least has a decided suggestion of genuine telepathy for anyone who believes in the reality of that influence.

    (484) From a lady who thinks that to allow the publication of her name would involve a breach of confidence. She is a scrupulously conscientious witness.

    “1884.

    “I make the following story as short as possible, suppressing many details, and, of course, entirely changing the names of those concerned. Miss Black, with whom I have been most intimate for many years, became much interested in a Mrs. Gray. Although Miss Black and I are so in sympathy that I may call our interests mutual, I, from the first, took an unaccountable dislike to this particular friendship; so much so that, although I was always told when the friends met, no personal details were ever told me. I never heard Mrs. Gray or her husband described; I never saw her writing. I believed her name to be ——, which is that of her daughter.

    “At the end of nearly three years I received an anonymous letter, written in a hand evidently meant to be disguised, asking me to give the writer some particulars of the disposal of Miss Black’s property. The reply was to be addressed to certain initials at a Post-office. I did not reply. A short time after, I dreamt that I stood looking over the shoulder of a lady writing a letter, and that she signed herself ‘—— Gray.’ The room door opened and a tall old man came in, and the writer hastily put the letter away. Two days after, I received a second anonymous letter of the same purport, which I did not answer. I dreamt the same thing again. Soon after (I forget how many days), a third letter reached me, begging that I would never let Miss Black know what had passed. I then wrote, saying the letters were destroyed, and that from me Miss B. would never hear of the matter. A month or two after this, while staying at my home, Miss B. and I were at church. An old man sat near us who struck me as extremely like the figure I had seen in my dreams. Miss B. whispered, ‘That is so like Major Gray.’ This impressed me very much, and I afterwards found out that Mrs. Gray’s name is ——, not ——, as I had supposed; also that she has a great quantity of almost white hair, which I have omitted to say was the only thing I very distinctly saw about my dream-lady, as her face was hidden from me.

    “In the course of her visit, Miss Black said, ‘It seems to me your dislike to Mrs. Gray has taken a more definite form; you know something about her.’ I denied the knowledge, all being surmise, and I being most anxious that Miss B. should not be wounded by the feeling that anyone was speculating on what would happen in the event of her death, specially as she is in delicate health. The subject was then dropped between us; but when, on a visit to her, we had been sitting alone and silent for some time, her hand being on my shoulder, she exclaimed, suddenly, ‘It is something about my will that makes you dislike Mrs. G. so much.’ In point of fact, I had at the time been thinking over the whole matter. I then told her all, and it is now a matter of great regret I did not at once send Miss B. the letters, as things then might have been cleared up. It has been a cause of distress to Miss B. and myself, as it has made a breach {ii-448} in her friendship with Mrs Gray, who denies all knowledge of the letters, but refuses to meet me and discuss the affair. I need trouble you no further, nothing more of interest, from a psychological point, having occurred.”

    Referring to the above account, “Miss Black” writes, on October 5, 1886:—“I can corroborate the facts therein contained.”

    In answer to inquiries, the narrator says:—

    1. “After receiving the first anonymous letter I did suspect its author to be Mrs. Gray. Before this I never had the least suspicion that her interest in Miss Black was a mercenary one, and I have been at a loss to account for feeling so assured she was the writer, without there being any evidence to favour the idea.

    2. “I am quite sure I recognised the old man in church as being like the man in my dream before Miss B. spoke of the resemblance to Major Gray.

    3. “I am quite sure I never saw Major G., and I have not the slightest remembrance of having heard any description of him.

    4. “Previous to Miss Black ‘reading’ what certainly were my thoughts about Mrs. Gray, we had made some very small experiments in thought-transference, with, however, too slight results to submit to the S.P.R. In these experiments I was the percipient; my ‘willing’ had no effect whatever on Miss Black. We discontinued our experimenting as I found it exhausting. I think it is clear that a ‘sympathetic rapport’ exists between us, as once it was ‘borne in upon me’ with inexpressible power that she was in some distress. The impression seized me suddenly at a certain hour, and no effort would dispel it. The news reached me next day that Miss B.’s sister had been taken worse at the time, and was dying. She had been ill, but not seriously so, and the last account I had received was very good. When we are together we have often answered unexpressed thoughts.

    5. “I am very sorry I made no notes whatever of the incident, never having been in the habit of keeping a diary, and I cannot be at all accurate as to dates. [The narrator has however told us privately what were the months in which the various incidents occurred. The first was less than 4 years ago.]

    6. “I do not remember ever having dreamt more than once [i.e., having had repeated1 ]1 See p. 418, note. a dream in which any one besides myself has appeared.

    “Not having any idea that Mrs. Gray’s name is ——, in fact being impressed with the idea that it was ——, does it not strike you as a very curious coincidence that I should have dreamt that I saw the true signature? The real name [communicated in confidence] is a rather uncommon one. I have never known more than one person bearing the same.

    “I quite forgot to say that Miss Black writes that she does not remember her hand being on my shoulder, but that I was sitting so near as to touch her; my own impression still is that it was so.”

    In conversation the narrator told Mr. Podmore that, when she told the whole story to Miss Black, the latter brought down a bundle containing many letters from various persons, and that she (the narrator) without difficulty picked out a letter of Mrs. Gray’s, from the resemblance of the writing to that seen in the dream.

    {ii-449}

    CHAPTER IV.

    “BORDERLAND” CASES.

    § 1. THE most convenient mode of arranging the cases in the present chapter will be, not by the character of the experience narrated—visual, auditory, and so on—for it happens that a large majority are visual;1 1 The cases which were exclusively auditory are Nos. 496, 497, 506, 507 538; and an auditory impression was a prominent

    element in cases 489, 495, 498, 508, 509, 513, 519, 520, 522, 526, 527, 528, 539, 540, 547. but by the character of the evidence—first-hand or second-hand, recent or remote.

    I will begin with some cases, first-hand or on a par with first-hand (Vol. I., p. 148), to which the chief objection, from an evidential point of view, is their remoteness of date.

    (485) From the late Mr. Robert Henry Dix, 63, Lanark Villas, Maida Vale, London, W.

    “February 2nd, 1884.

    “In 1836, when a very young man, I had become engaged to a young lady; but I decided to leave England and try my fortune elsewhere, and wait until I should be able to establish myself, and could then send for my intended and be united. Of course we were to keep up a regular correspondence.

    “I left England and went to St. Petersburg, where I had some friends, and very soon after my arrival there I got an appointment on an estate in the South of Russia, belonging to a rich and influential nobleman. In the course of a year I succeeded in obtaining a very good position, and could fairly hope to be enabled to marry in the course of the next spring. In the meantime, the correspondence with my intended continued very regularly. All at once it ceased, and for some time I had received no letters from her. I wrote to one of her family, and was informed that my intended was taken seriously ill, and had gone to Jersey to some friends there, hoping that the sea air and change of climate might be beneficial to her. This naturally unsettled me very much, and I became depressed and low-spirited in consequence. One day I remember I was particularly so. I had been very much occupied during the day, and towards the evening threw myself on the sofa in my sitting-room, and dropped off to sleep. It might have been an hour or so that I had been asleep, when, suddenly awaking, I observed at the foot of the {ii-450} couch a sort of bluish vapour,1 1 Compare cases 193 and 194, and see Vol. i., p. 526, note. which seemed to fill up the end of the room, and what seemed to me a shadowy form appeared to come out of it, which gradually took the form of a female; the features bore the exact likeness of my intended. I was now fully awake. I raised myself on the sofa, and exclaimed, ‘Louisa, is that really you? What has happened?’ I received no answer, and in a few seconds the apparition was gone, and seemed to melt away into the vapour, which also disappeared. I still supposed that I had been dreaming, but I could not shake off the impression this apparition had made upon me.

    “I wrote to my friends in England, saying that I feared my intended was dying or dead. I received in answer that my fears were too well founded, and that the poor girl had died of inflammation of the brain, on the same day, and about the same time, as I mentioned having seen the apparition.

    “R. H. D.”

    In conversation, Mr. Dix explained to Mr. Podmore that he could not give the precise date of the apparition; it occurred some time in the autumn of 1837, between 6 and 7 p.m., when it was dusk, but not yet fully dark. He made no written memorandum of the occurrence, but told one or two friends in Russia on the following day. When he received the letter announcing the death, he noted that it took place on the same day as the vision, but he never learned whether the hour exactly corresponded, only that the death took place in the afternoon.

    All those who could give corroborative evidence in this case are either dead or dispersed, so that they cannot be traced. None of the letters are preserved, and no one is living of Mr. Dix’s own relations who could attest the receipt of his letters.

    Mr. Dix was certain that he had never had any other experience of hallucination. At the same time, it must be noted that he was at the time in a state of distinct anxiety respecting his fiancée.

    We have more to rely on here than the mere recollection of the experience; this receives, so to speak, a point d’appuisupport in the recollection that a letter was written in consequence. Similarly, in the next two cases, and in others that follow, we have the recollection that the phantasm was immediately described and commented on. In respect of many of these borderland visions, I may remind the reader that the percipient’s certainty of having been completely awake at the time, though not conclusive as to the fact, is in itself quite sufficient to distinguish the experience from an ordinary dream.

    (486) From the late Mrs. Lever, of Culcheth Hall, Bowdon, wife of Mr. Ellis Lever, well known in Manchester.

    “May 14th, 1884.

    “When at Ashton-under-Lyne, in my father’s house, and being about 14 years of age, I was lying awake in bed, and my sister, Anne, sleeping by my side. It was nearing the dawn at morning, when I saw my cousin, Mary Tinker, come to my bedside, and she laid one hand on the pillow {ii-451} near my sister’s head, while her eyes were uplifted, as if in prayer. (My cousin Mary was particularly attached to my sister Anne.) She was in her nightdress, which was frilled down the front, and a nightcap, also frilled; and I saw her dark-brown eyes as distinctly as possible. I was so afraid that I shrank under the clothes; but then, reflecting that I had done nothing to grieve her, and no reason to be afraid, I resolved to speak to her. But on removing the clothes, she was gone, and not knowing where she could have gone to, I concluded that it must have been her spirit.1 1 See p. 48, note. At breakfast, the same morning, I mentioned what I had seen to my father and brothers, and to my sister Anne. They said I must have been dreaming, but I was quite awake, and assured them that this was the case.

    “The next day a letter came stating that my cousin Mary had died, and it was ascertained that her death occurred at the very time at which I had seen her apparition. This coincidence convinced the members of my family that I had seen my cousin, as I assured them I had.

    “CATHERINE LEVER.”

    Mrs. Lever’s daughter writes, from Cambridge House, Monmouth:—

    “June 4th, 1884.

    “I am staying with my mother’s sister [Anne], who distinctly remembers about her cousin Mary.

    “ADA LEVER.”

    Mrs. Lever, herself, however, says, “My sister only just remembers my mentioning Cousin Mary, and she cannot give me the date.”

    (487) From a lady, Mrs. H., who prefers that her name should not be published.

    “1883.

    “When I was a child of 11 years of age, a very singular thing happened to me, which is well-known to my family, and impressed itself so vividly on my memory that I can still, though now a grandmother, recall every circumstance.

    “One night I awoke in a great state of fright, thinking someone had touched me. I saw distinctly, standing by my bedside, my brother, but I was terrified to see that he looked very terribly strange and altered, as it struck me, like a dead person, though at that time I had never seen anyone dead. I was also very astonished at seeing that he seemed dripping wet, his clothes wet and stained, his hair dripping, and he stood with his eyes fixed on me. In my terror I called out ‘Alick!’ (his name), when the figure immediately vanished.2 2 As to the sudden disappearance on speech, compare case 540, and see p. 91, note. I jumped out of bed, running through the door, which was always left open, into the next room, my governess’s, telling her of what I had seen, and in my alarm, getting into her bed, where I remained that night. She tried to laugh away my fears, saying I must have eaten something that had disagreed with me, and that what had passed was a nightmare, and forbidding me to mention it to my grandmother, under whose care I was living, she being an old Scotch lady, and superstitious, and that it might upset her. Nothing, therefore, regarding the circumstance was in any way placed on record.

    “About three months afterwards, as I was reading aloud to my governess in the same sitting-room with my grandmother, the Indian post arrived. She made the remark, ‘How singular!

    No letters, only a newspaper,’ {ii-452} which she began reading. After a little while she dropped the paper with the exclamation, ‘Oh, my God!’ My governess ran to her, and presently read my brother’s death by drowning in a quicksand in the River Sone, near Sonepore, in Bengal. He was marching with his regiment; they were encamped on one side of the river bank, another regiment on the opposite side. This regiment, in which my brother had a young friend, had asked him to early breakfast, about 5 or 6 o’clock in the morning; and the native who was showing him the way across afterwards deposed he heard a struggling all of a sudden, looked back, and saw my brother and his pony floundering in the quicksand, with which the river is full, and of which it is supposed the coolie had forgotten to warn him. Instead of throwing my brother a rope or stick to catch hold of, the man, in a great state of fright, ran back to the camp to give the news; but by the time help arrived it was too late, and my brother was quite dead when the body was recovered.1 1 This chapter and the next contain a good many cases where the death of the agent was by drowning. See p. 26. This happened March 21st, 1845. In Bengal by that month the sun is well risen by 5 o’clock, or at all events quite broad light, and being in advance of us some six hours, the time at which he was drowned would tally with my seeing him during the night at home.

    “M. C. H.”

    From the only public notice of the death that we have been able to discover—a letter quoted by Allen’s Indian Mail from the Bengal Hurkaru of March 4, 1845—it appears that Mrs. H.’s brother was drowned in the Sone when returning one morning to his regiment, having spent the night with another regiment on the other side of the river, and that he was buried on Feb. 23. It is thus likely enough that the accident occurred on Feb. 21. The March 21, in Mrs. H.’s account, cannot be correct.

    Mrs. H. adds the following incident, which is perhaps worth giving in connection with the former one; but it is possible that the daughter who was in the same room with her called out in her sleep.

    “My eldest daughter had come out to us to Calcutta, and she happened for the time to be sleeping in my bedroom. Early one morning, December, 1870, a few days after her arrival, I woke suddenly, hearing her, as I thought, calling out, ‘Mamma, mamma,’ in a very strained sort of voice, but, to my surprise, found she was sound asleep. About 24 days afterwards, we got the news that my second daughter, a girl just 14, then at Dover with a relative, had scarlet fever very badly, and in the delirium attending kept only calling out, ‘Mamma, mamma.’ She recovered; so this shows, as so many cases of the same kind do, that it is not only at the moment of the spirit’s departure these manifestations occur; but I think they only do so in cases where either very strong attachment exists, or to people whose temperament is of the rather nervously sensitive breed, and I am so in many ways; for instance, I have the most extraordinarily keen hearing.”

    The narrator states that she has never experienced any hallucination of a purely subjective kind.

    (488) From Mr. William Garlick, F.R.C.S., 33, Great James Street, Bloomsbury, W.C.

    “Between 6 and 7 in the morning of August 29, 1832, when lying in {ii-453} bed, half asleep and half awake, I was suddenly startled by perceiving the form of my brother George, then absent from home, standing beside me. The room was quite light, and my recognition of the figure was complete and clear. He looked at me, and then seemed to fade slowly away.1 1 See p. 97, first note. My brother, who had a specially warm affection for me, was at that time a sailor on board the merchant ship, ‘Eliza,’ bound for the East Indies. I had no reason to suppose anything was wrong with him, nor was he specially in my thoughts. The vision, for I felt certain that I was awake and not dreaming, made a very strong and painful impression upon me, so much so that the family where I was staying asked the cause of my troubled looks. I told them what I had seen, and at my hostess’s (afterwards my mother-in-law) request made a note of the occurrence.

    “Months afterwards we received the intelligence that my brother had died at Baroda, of dysentery. The date and hour2 2 This word, as Mr. Garlick has subsequently explained, is a slip. The hour of death was not mentioned in the letter which conveyed the news; so that no calculation could establish a precise coincidence. of his death, as nearly as could be calculated, coincided exactly with that of his appearance to me at Stroud (Gloucester). I am of a calm and unimaginative temperament, and have never had any similar experience before or since. The coincidence was well-known to various members of my family, but I do not now remember that I mentioned the matter to anyone else at the time.

    “WM. GARLICK

    Mrs. Garlick writes, on Nov. 18, 1884:—

    “I was present at the breakfast table on the 29th August, 1832, when my mother, Mrs. Humpage, questioned Mr. Garlick on the cause of his unusual gloom and quietness. He then told us that he had seen his brother—who was at that time at sea—in his bedroom an hour or two before. My mother answered, ‘You will be sure to hear something, so note the date.’

    “Some months afterwards I remember that a letter came for Mr. Garlick, forwarded from his mother, announcing the death of this brother on that day, the 29th August. I heard of this, of course, as soon as the letter was received.

    “L. GARLICK.”

    Mr. Garlick has never had any other hallucination. In conversation, he explained to Mr. Podmore that the figure remained in his sight, apparently, for about 10 minutes; but the length of time, in such circumstances, is apt to be greatly exaggerated. He has a very vivid recollection of the features, but cannot recall the dress. He infers from this that the dress was that which his brother usually wore, as he would certainly have noticed and remembered any unusual detail in the costume. He was about 18 years old at the time. The “note” referred to was a mental note only, but he is confident of the accuracy of his memory. He showed Mr. Podmore the entry of the death, with the date, in his family Bible.

    We have not been able to verify the date of death, as it has been impossible to trace the “Eliza.”

    (489) From Mrs. Nind, Midleton House, Westcombe Park, Blackheath.

    “May 14th, 1883

    “On a Good Friday morning, many years ago, I had been awake early, {ii-454} and finding it too soon to get up, was lying in bed, not asleep, when a figure stood by my bedside, in fact, my father-in-law, an old captain in the Royal Navy; he spoke to me a few words1 1 The words were, “Aggy, there will be a child in the family before this day 12 months.” This event actually happened, rather unexpectedly; but the idea of it may probably have been latent in the mind either of Mrs. Nind herself or of her father-in-law. and disappeared. I was so startled that I called my husband (since dead), who was asleep, and told him what was said. I immediately got up and told my mother and sister [since deceased], who chanced to be staying with us. Now, what makes this story seem strange was that my father-in-law had died the night before, suddenly. We did not get the news before the afternoon of Good Friday, as he was residing at Bridgnorth, in Shropshire, 16 miles from a railway. I saw him in the early morning, I count about 8 hours after his death. The case was no dream; and the fact of my having mentioned it before I heard of the death of my dear father-in-law made a strong impression on all the family.”

    Asked if this was her sole experience of a hallucination of the senses, Mrs. Nind replied in the affirmative.

    We find from the Register of Deaths that Commander Philip Nind died of heart disease on March 25, 1853—which was Good Friday, not the day before it. Probably the death took place in the early morning, and the coincidence was closer than Mrs. Nind supposed.

    (490) From Mr. Harold Lafone, Hanworth Park, Middlesex, a cousin of the percipient, Lady C——g, who endorses the account.

    “1884.

    “About the year 1849, an apparition was seen by Lady C——g, then Miss Gale, under the following circumstances:—

    “She was living at the time in her father’s house at Grately, in Hampshire. One night, on awaking suddenly from sleep, she saw the figure of a young man, apparently attired in his night shirt, standing at the foot of her bed. She was naturally much surprised, and inquired who he was, and what he wanted? He replied that he was the ghost of John Dowling, and Lady C——g states that, as he spoke, she distinctly saw the initials J. D. marked on the edge of his nightgown. At this distance of time she will not venture to give the exact words of the conversation between them, nor to describe the exact appearance of the figure or its manner of departure. It disappeared, however, immediately after revealing its name.

    “She mentioned the circumstance to her family at breakfast the next morning, but was inclined to regard it merely as a strange and very vivid dream, until, on driving the same afternoon to the neighbouring town of Andover, she heard there for the first time that Mr. John Dowling, a young solicitor of the town, had died on the previous night, as far as she could judge about the time when the apparition was seen by herself. Lady C——g knew Mr. John Dowling by name and sight, and had recognised the likeness of the apparition to him, but she had never met or exchanged a word with him, nor had she the faintest idea that he was ill.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that the death took place some years earlier than Lady C——g supposed, on Nov. 3, 1845.

    {ii-455}

    [I have seen a letter, dated Dec. 19th, 1873, from Lady C. to Mr. H. Lafone, in which she says that her husband objects to her signing the account. She says, “It is all true as far as I can remember at this remote period,” but adds that she has a certain dread and dislike of the subject.]

    (491) The following two letters were written by the late Mrs. Clarke, wife of the late Mr. Thomas Clarke, of Bishopton Close, Ripon, to her stepson, Mr. William Fowler Stephenson. He gave them to his cousin, the Rev. J. T. Fowler, of Bishop Hatfield’s Hall, Durham, who handed them on to us.

    “October 17th, 1872.

    “On the morning of my father’s death, between 4 and 5 o’clock, I saw a sort of shadowy light at the foot of my bed, and half arose to look at it. I distinctly saw my father’s face, smiling at me.1 1 Cf. case 315, where an appearance of bright vapour preceded the more definite impression. The expression “shadowy light” recalls the “bright shadow” of case 251. I drew the curtains apart, and still saw him looking fixedly at me. I awoke the girl who was sleeping with me, and asked her to draw up the window blind. I then asked her if she saw anything. She said, ‘Nothing. It is too dark.’ I fancy I saw the vision for fully five minutes, and then all was dark again.2 2 See p. 459, note. The face was bound under the chin, as usual in death, and the cloth seemed stained, but not so deep as iron-mould quite. On looking at my father’s corpse, after returning to Hull, I told an old friend, who was with me, that it was just so he looked at me, except that the cloth was discoloured. She at once said: ‘Then he did come to you, that’s certain, for the cloth was stained, and I changed it after daylight.’ It was within a few minutes of his death that I saw him, and he was asking God to bless me. He was asking for me continually.

    “M. C.”

    In reply to a request of Mr. Stephenson’s for more particular information on certain points, Mrs. Clarke wrote:—

    “October 19th, 1872.

    “I had been in Harrogate for some weeks, and was confined to my room from a feverish cold3 3 See p. 162, first note. which caused restless nights. It was thought necessary for one of the maids to sleep with me, so I asked her to draw up the blinds. This was a little after 4 o’clock in the morning of the 11th of November, 1846. On that same day, about 9 o’clock, by post, I received the enclosed letter, being the first intimation I had of my father’s illness. He was taken ill on the Sunday; they wrote to me on the Monday, and he died on Tuesday morning. I was then 23 years of age. My sister, Christiana, and a woman-servant attended to my father. A faithful old friend, Mrs. Dible, came as soon as possible to do what was necessary on such occasions, and it was to her that I mentioned what I had seen. She explained that, in the excitement of the moment, they had used what had been the bottom of an old blind, which, as soon as it was daylight, she saw was stained, and changed it herself. I can never explain what I felt on that day, if it can be called feeling. They said I was like marble to look at, and like ice to touch.”

    The letter referred to by Mrs. Clarke, announcing the illness of her father, was enclosed. Two persons had written to her on the same sheet—

    {ii-456}

    Mr. Jubb, a friend of the family, and her brother, Mr. J. Rollit, a solicitor in Hull. Mr. Jubb’s letter runs:—

    “Hull, November 10th, 1846.

    “MY DEAR MATILDA,—If you wish to see your dear father alive, you must come immediately you receive this; he is not likely to survive long.—Yours truly,

    “WM. JUBB

    We find from the Hull Advertiser that the death took place on Nov. 11, 1846, as Mrs. Clarke asserts. She made a mistake (of no importance) as to the days of the week. The 11th was a Wednesday, and the letter to her was written on Tuesday.

    (492) From Mrs. George Grant Gordon, Milton of Kikaroch, Nairn, N.B.1 1 This case was procured through the kindness of Mr. Andrew Lang, who gave a fairly correct, though fourth-hand, version of it in his article on “Apparitions,” in the Encyclopædia Brittanica.

    “April 17, 1886.

    “I am most happy to accede to your request, and send you an account of what I experienced at the time of my father’s [Colonel Sibbald’s] death. I remember it as clearly as if it happened only yesterday. It was early on the morning of the 31st May, 1857, while I was lying perfectly awake in bed, that I saw my father suddenly standing at the foot of my bed. I recognised him immediately from his likenesses. [He had been for years in India.] He was dressed in regimentals, stanching a wound in his breast with a pocket-handkerchief. Two other officers in regimentals were beside him, whom I did not recognise.2 2 As to the appearance of more than one figure, see Vol. i., pp. 545–6. I did not reveal this vision, or whatever it can be called, for some time to the friends who had charge of me [Dr. and Mrs. McBeth], for fear of being laughed at [for] what they always termed my ‘fancies’; but when they did hear of it, they noted it down.

    “For 3 months we received no news from India, owing to the disturbed state of the country; but when the letters did arrive, the news tallied exactly with what I had seen. It was on that very day my father had been shot twice, on his way to the parade-ground. On being missed, two officers went in search for him, and found him lying wounded.

    “E. T. GORDON.”

    Colonel and Brigadier Hugh Sibbald, C.B., was almost the first victim of the Indian Mutiny; and at the date of his death there had been not the slightest anxiety on his account in England. We find from Allen’s Indian Mail that the rising at Bareilly, where he was in command, took place at 11 a.m. on May 31, 1857, and that he was shot in the chest by one of his orderlies, while riding to the parade-ground, and shortly afterwards dropped dead from his horse. Allowing for longitude, it will be seen that the coincidence was probably extremely close.

    In answer to the question whether she has ever had a hallucination of the senses on any other occasion, and to other inquiries, Mrs. Gordon writes:—

    “I cannot remember having actually seen anything else, though I have always had strange presentiments. The friends who had charge of me in those days are both dead, and they are about the only persons I {ii-457} can remember who could have known of the vision before

    the sad news arrived. I was perfectly clear as to the date; as the previous day I had been to a picnic; and that date they all remembered being the 30th of May [a Saturday]. It was the following morning I saw my father. The first news of the Mutiny that reached us must have been much later. I had no reason whatever to feel the least anxious about my father.”

    We have received an account which substantially agrees with the above (but omits the detail of the two other officers), from Miss Lang, of Hughenden Cottage, High Wycombe, Bucks, to whom the occurrence was described in 1868, by an aunt of Mrs. Gordon and sister of Colonel Sibbald.

    We cannot assume here that the experience was in any degree a clairvoyant vision of the scene, or that the two strangers who appeared were anything more than a subjective addition of the percipient’s. For there is nothing in the contemporary account to suggest that Colonel Sibbald was not riding alone; and if he dropped from his horse, as described, he must have been lying dead, not merely wounded, when others approached.

    (493) From Mrs. Fitzgerald, 14, Windsor Terrace, Kingstown, Ireland.

    “January 22nd, 1884.

    “More than 25 years have elapsed since the memorable event occurred, which stands out as a landmark in my memory. My husband, David Fitzgerald, and myself were later than usual in retiring to rest on the night in question. After leaving my dressing-room, in getting into bed, I found my husband firm asleep, so crept in quietly. It was then near 12 o’clock. I did not sleep for some time. Between that and 3 o’clock my husband awoke me, saying, ‘Sarah, stop Fred, don’t let him go.’ I immediately got up, went round to the door of the dressing-room to close it, as I firmly believed there was someone in the room, but found it closed. On lighting the candles, my husband was sitting up in the bed greatly disturbed, saying, ‘Did you not see Fred?’ In order to make light of the matter I said ‘It was only a dream.’ He looked at me, not as if he were convinced with what I said. Next day I drove to town, to know what time Fred last wrote to his brother, never saying a word of what had occurred the night before. Time passed; on the arrival of the news of the death of poor Fred I was so thrown off my usual discretion that I exclaimed to his brother William, ‘Oh, I know when he died, for he was with his father that night.’

    “S. M. FITZGERALD.”

    Mrs. McKern, of 53, George Street, Limerick, writes as follows:—

    “January, 1884.

    “About 25 years ago, David Fitzgerald, Land Agent, of Limerick (my grandfather), at that time between 65 and 70 years of age, was residing at Richmond, his private dwelling, about half-a-mile outside the city. The other occupants of the house were his second wife, Sarah Fitzgerald, and his step daughter, Mary Hunt.1 1 Since married to a Mr. French, R.M.; but we learn from Mr. McKern that she was away at school at the time. He had, besides, many sons and {ii-458} daughters, the youngest of the former having gone to Australia. One night (hour not known to narrator) he was awakened from sleep by the howling in front of the house of a favourite dog—spaniel or retriever—of the absent son, Frederick. (Note, in Ireland, the howling of a dog is looked upon as a sure sign of death in the immediate locality.) He awoke his sleeping partner, and said, ‘I am sure there is something wrong with Freddy; do you not hear the way the dog is howling?’ She endeavoured to soothe the old man, and went to sleep again, when she was again awoke by him in a sudden, not to say violent, manner. He was in a highly excited state, exclaiming, ‘I saw Freddy! I saw Freddy! He stood at the bottom of the bed, with the curtains drawn aside, and looked at me.’ The next morning a note was made of the occurrence, and the following mail from Australia brought news of the lad’s death, which the narrator believes to have corresponded with the father’s vision.

    “S. E. MCKERN.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. McKern adds:—

    “I could not possibly recollect from whom I first heard of the occurrence, as I was very young at the time; but I have often heard it spoken of by different members of the family. I do not remember having had any conversation on the subject with Mrs. Fitzgerald.”

    [The incident of the dog’s howling seems not unlikely to have been imported into the story; and it will be observed that neither it, nor the dramatic repetition of the experience, occurs in the more authentic account. We do not know that the coincidence of day was anything more than a conjecture.]

    (494) From Mr. H. Atkins, Office-keeper at the Royal Marine Office, 40, Spring Gardens, S.W. (originally published, with a nom de plume, in the Daily Telegraph, for October 20, 1881).

    “In the year 1849, I was serving in H.M.S. ‘Geyser,’ on the east coast of Africa, and in company with H.M.S. ‘Brilliant,’ anchored in Tamatave Roads, Madagascar. The following facts I can vouch for. Some of our officers were dining on board the ‘Brilliant.’ A boat’s crew were ordered to be ready at six bells (11 p.m.) to fetch them on board. The lights were out on the lower deck, and everything quiet. A messmate (T. Parker) and I, belonging to the boat, were sitting in the mess, abreast of the cook’s galley, and opposite each other, he with his arms on the table, and face resting on them, and, as I thought, fast asleep—when all at once he jumped to his feet, declaring that he saw his mother cross the deck in front of the galley, and was very much excited. I pointed out to him that it was quite impossible, as his face was towards the table, at the same time laughing heartily at him for being so foolish. Our schoolmaster, Mr. T. Salsbury, was lying awake in his hammock close by, and in the morning he made a note of the circumstances, putting down time and date. On our arrival at the Isle of France, some time after, Parker received a letter from home, stating that his mother died that very night. I am no believer in ghosts, but think this a very remarkable coincidence.”

    Mr. Atkins, from whom we first heard on February 12th, 1884, has added the following additional information:—

    “It is quite possible that Parker may have raised his head from the {ii-459} table, in which case he would have a clear view of the spot over which the apparition was said to walk. It was very dark, and a real person walking in the same place would have been unrecognisable.1 1 I have mentioned (Vol. i., p. 551) that visual phantasms of both the subjective and the telepathic class are often more clearly seen than a real figure could have been in the same circumstances. Compare case 250, and the note thereon (p. 72). There was not the slightest doubt, apparently, in Parker’s mind; for he did not examine the figure, but called instantly that he saw his mother, and then commenced sobbing and crying. These sounds drew the attention of Mr. Salsbury, the schoolmaster, and caused him to note the time of the circumstance. For the three or four months that elapsed before the Isle of France was reached, Parker ‘moped about,’ and would not be cheered. In comparing the date of the death with that of the apparition, allowance was made for the difference in time, and the two events were found to exactly correspond by the schoolmaster.”

    [It would be a quite impossible task, Mr. Atkins says, to hunt up any of his old shipmates, but if he should meet with anyone who can corroborate his account, he has promised to communicate with us. The schoolmaster and Parker are dead.]

    (495) From Mr. George Waddington, of 26, Bagdale, Whitby, mentioned above (p. 366).

    “Passing the night at an inn in Nevada City, California, I dreamt, or awoke, by the door of room where I was sleeping being opened, and the figure of my great-aunt, Mrs. Beaumont, of Wetherby, Yorkshire, observed standing in what was her usual dress, as worn in 1842, and heard to say, ‘George, George.’ A note was made at the time, the date being the 28th July, 1851. She died early that morning.

    “She had the night before been the subject of my thought, on travelling late in the dense darkness of the forest.

    “G. W. WADDINGTON.”

    We find the date of death confirmed by the Leeds Mercury.

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Waddington says that he had last seen his aunt in February, 1842; and that the dress of the apparition was “out-door walking costume, the bonnet being a prominent part of it.” He adds:—“The note was made on the back of a letter, and used for reference when the news arrived; but this was not kept.”

    The letter announcing the death is missing; but at our request Mr. Waddington applied to his mother, and she informed him that she arrived at Wetherby

    , in response to a summons, at 2 p.m. on July 28th, and found that Mrs. Beaumont had died at noon, which would be 4 a.m. in California. Mr. Waddington’s experience took place, he tells us, “about dawn”; and the coincidence was thus probably very close, though he himself, through not allowing for longitude, had imagined that there was an interval of about 8 hours. He adds that the hallucination is unique in his experience.

    [This is a case in which it seems probable that the percipient projected the image in the dress which had remained associated in his mind with the original. See Vol. I., p. 546.]

    (496) From the late Mr. G. Wadsworth, Aston, Birmingham.

    “October 21st, 1882.

    “About 30 years since, I became acquainted with a young lady residing {ii-460} at Shrewsbury. This friendship continued for many years, although for a long time we saw each other but rarely, her health gradually failing. One morning early I was startled by hearing the stairfoot door open, and Maria called me distinctly twice, ‘George, George!’ So plain was this that I at once answered, ‘Yes, Maria, what is it?’ and went down to the sitting-room to her, only to find the whole a dream or an illusion. Next day I received a letter informing me of her death that morning.

    “G. WADSWORTH.”

    [Mr. Wadsworth’s death, which took place soon after this account was written, has prevented us from obtaining further information.]

    (497) From Mrs. Fagan, Bovey Tracey, Newton Abbot.

    “1882.

    “Early in the year 1857—I think in the month of April—I was awakened one morning by my sister (whom I supposed to be some hundreds of miles away) sorrowfully saying, ‘Oh, Sally, Sally!’ Thinking she must have arrived unexpectedly by dâk, and had met with some great trouble on her journey, I turned and spoke to her, but she was gone. Rousing my husband, I asked him to go and see what was the matter, but she was nowhere to be found. That morning, at that hour, my sister received the news of the sudden death of her eldest boy at school, and she wrote and told me that her first words were, ‘Oh! Sally, Sally, wishing you were here!’ I have no recollection of ever having heard the voice of any other one, not actually present—certainly never before this.

    “SARAH H. FAGAN.”

    We find from a notice in Allen’s Indian Mail that the death occurred on April 18, 1857. The sister’s letter is unfortunately lost; and she cannot trust her memory sufficiently to corroborate the account.

    The next case is an interesting example of death-imagery, occurring in what is represented as a waking experience (Vol. I., pp. 539, 547; and compare case 404).

    (498) From Mrs. Chermside, Regia House, Teignmouth.

    “August, 1884.

    “E. B. was engaged to be married to H. A. D. He was a surgeon in the army. Want of means on both sides delayed the marriage, and he suddenly came to her one day to say ‘good-bye,’ as he was ordered to take troops to Canada. He sailed, and she heard of his safe arrival. He spoke of his return in the following spring. One night, being 28th December, she saw him enter her room about midnight. A light seemed to shine about him;1 1 See Vol. i., pp. 550–1. but he was clothed completely in grave clothes. She sat up in bed and said, ‘Oh! H., why are you so strangely dressed?’ He said, ‘Do not laugh; this is my new uniform.’2[☼] 2 Compare cases 547, 568,[sic] 639,[sic] 654[sic]. The complex form of hallucination in which there is an interchange of remarks with the phantasmal figure occurs equally in purely subjective cases. See Vol. i., p. 476, and compare p. 588 below. He then departed as he came.

    “She lay trembling all night, and weeping sadly. Next morning she refrained from telling her family, as they were opposed to her marriage; she, however, unburdened herself to me. I tried to persuade her it was only a silly dream; however, the idea that her lover was dead was most firmly fixed in her mind. A month after, she received the news of his {ii-461} death on that very night, and that the last word he uttered was her name. The whole thing took such possession of her that she slowly faded away, and died about two years afterwards.”

    The following addition is from the notes taken by Professor Sidgwick during two interviews with Mrs. Chermside in September, 1884:—

    The occurrence was in the winter of 1845. It was on the next morning that E. B. told Mrs. Chermside of the appearance. She (E. B.) was quite sure that it was not a dream; and had no doubt that her fiancé was dead. She heard the details of his death within a month or so—as soon as letters then came from Canada—from one of his brother officers, and also from his sisters; and then wrote to tell Mrs. Chermside that he had died the night that she saw the apparition.

    [We have exhausted every means open to us to discover an official or newspaper record of the death in this case. We do not know how to explain this failure; as Mrs. Chermside is certain that she has given us Mr. D.’s name correctly, and she can hardly have been mistaken as to his profession. Possibly he had not an official connection with the army.]

    § 2. The next group of cases are more recent; but some of them lack corroboration; and some are weakened, as evidence for telepathy, by the fact that the percipient was in more or less anxiety as to the condition of the absent person, or by an absence of definiteness in the coincidence.

    (499) From the Rev. W. B. Lindesay, LL.D., The Abbey, Tipperary.

    “August 30th, 1884.

    “In 1877 I was living in Dublin, and very anxious about my father, who was dangerously ill with congested lungs, in Wales.

    “Awaking suddenly one night I distinctly saw him sitting on a chair near me, with his face covered by his hands. When I jumped out of bed he vanished. So startled was I that, next day, I crossed to Wales, and found that he had been delirious for two days.

    “When I entered his room he at once said he had gone the day before to tell me where he had left a top-coat that I knew he had lost some time previous to his illness. I went to the house he named in Dublin, and found the coat there.

    “W. B. LINDESAY.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Lindesay says:—

    “So far as I can remember, my father was still delirious at the time he said he had gone to see me.

    “I told no one of the experience at the time, for I was living by myself. I have never, that I can recollect, had any other experience of the kind, and am not subject to any ‘hallucination of the senses’

    “I am bound in fairness to tell you that I am an entire disbeliever in the supernaturalness of such experiences. This infidelity may be due to my never having heard of any such experiences which could not be explained on the coincidence principle.”

    [Mr. Lindesay is of course right in his disbelief of the “supernaturalness” of such phenomena; but it has not struck him that the {ii-462} alternative to supposing them supernatural is not necessarily to suppose them accidental. His concluding comment reproduces the remarks of Lord Brougham, as to which see Vol. I, pp. 396–7. I need hardly point out again that every isolated case of coincidence might be accidental, and that the argument for telepathy is essentially cumulative. This case may perhaps have been reciprocal; but we clearly have no proof that the father’s experience was anything more than a purely subjective impression or dream.]

    (500) From a lady occupying a responsible position, which obliges her, out of regard to others, to withhold her name from publication. Her vivâ voce account, given to me in the room where the experience occurred, made it almost certain that she was in a state of normal wakefulness at the time; still, as she had been in bed for some little time, I have placed the case in this chapter rather than the next.

    “May 2nd 1886.

    “On the night of the 18th December, 1872, I had retired to bed about 11 o’clock. The bed, I may mention, is so placed that any person entering the room, must pass quite round it before reaching the side on which I lay. I had perhaps been in bed 20 minutes, and had been thinking over the events of the evening,

    a pupils’ concert, when suddenly I saw my husband by the door; he moved swiftly round the bed till he came close to me, when he as suddenly disappeared. So astonished was I that involuntarily I called him by name. The gas was alight, as usual, in the room; and as I knew that I had not been asleep, and had not heard a sound to alarm me, I had not a doubt, any more than I have at this moment, that the vision was that of my absent husband. On the 30th December of the same year, I received a letter by the Australian mail, from a gentleman, telling me that my husband had met with a serious accident, and on the 4th of March in the following year, I had a letter from the same friend, informing me of his death, and stating that it took place on the 18th December, 1872.

    “I had spoken of the incident of the night of the 18th to my children as a dream, but to two ladies I related the fact as it occurred; it was then a week afterwards,1 1 This refers to the mention of the matter to the second friend; to the other the experience was described (the narrator informs me) on the day following its occurrence. and when they knew that my husband was dead, each lady, though neither knew the other, reminded me of the incident, and told me the relation of it had strangely impressed her.”

    We have confirmed the date of death in the obituary of the Daily Telegraph.

    In conversation, the narrator informed me that she has never had any other visual hallucination. She described her experience to her children, at breakfast next morning, as a dream, in order not to alarm them. She herself felt no alarm or apprehension whatever. Of the two friends whom she mentions, one has recently died, and she has lost sight of the other. Her husband had been an invalid for years, and as far as she knew was as well as usual.

    The narrator’s daughter writes, on May 13, 1886:—

    “I have searched everywhere I can think of, but without success, in finding the programme of the Pupils’ Concert; but my sister and self both agreed as to being sure the day was Dec. 18, 1872, and we believe it fell on a Wednesday. [Dec. 18 was a Wednesday.] We also remember perfectly {ii-463} our mother relating the next day what she called a strange dream she had had the night previously; and have frequently since heard her speak of the same as a vision.”

    [The Australian letter, which the narrator has preserved, states that the hour of the death was about 4.30 p.m., which would correspond with about 6.30 a.m. in England. If, therefore, the vision occurred on the night of that day, it followed the death by more than 12 hours. But the narrator (without my having suggested this point) wrote, on May 14, 1886, to say that a daughter, who slept with her on the night of the vision, reminds her that on concert nights they always sat up late, and that probably they did not go upstairs till nearly 2. Now this fact would very probably be in the percipient’s memory at the time that the news of the death arrived, and its connection with the vision was surmised; and as she is very positive that the dates coincided, it seems at any rate possible that the concert was, after all, on the 17th, and that her vision took place at 2.30 a.m. on the 18th. As against this hypothesis, however, I should meution a recollection which she has that, when talking over the matter with one of the friends mentioned, she remarked on an apparent discrepancy of hours, and the friend (she believes) pointed out that, longitude being allowed for, the hours agreed; which is just what would seem to be the case if the vision was at 2.30 a.m. on the 19th, and the 10 hours’ difference of time was reckoned (as so often happens) the wrong way. It is worth noting that even supposing our arbitrary 12 hours’ limit to have been exceeded, the vision still fell at what was probably the first season of silence and recueillementcontemplation that had presented itself since the hour when the death occurred. See Vol. I., pp. 201, 329.]

    (501) From the Rev. H. N. B. and his sister-in-law, Miss Fagg. The percipient, Mrs. B., is out of health, and must not be troubled for an account. The following is a letter from Mr. B. to his daughter:—

    “December 5th, 1883.

    “I was at Langtoft, but E. (i.e., Mrs. B.) and Miss Fagg had returned with Ernie to Deal, as he was ordered to go to the sea. There were two rooms at Deal intercommunicating, the inner being only approached through the first room. In the inner room the nurse (Alice) and the baby were sleeping; in the outer one, E.; Miss Fagg was sleeping downstairs. The bed was curtained. In the night E. was awoke by, as she thought, the nurse standing by her bed. Half asleep, without moving, she said, ‘What is it, Alice?’ but there was no answer. She said again, ‘What is it? is there anything the matter with baby?’ Still there was no answer. She then roused herself, and saying sharply, ‘Why do you not speak, Alice?’ she put back the curtain, and saw your aunt standing there. She was so terrified that she jumped out of bed and ran straight down, as she was, to Nelly [Miss Fagg]. The next day I, at Langtoft, had a letter saying your aunt had died very unexpectedly, at Broxbourne. We did not know she was seriously ill, as she had gone to Broxbourne on a visit. I could not identify the time; but, as far as I could make out, the (supposed) appearance took place some hours after your aunt’s death.”

    Miss Fagg writes, from Ripple Rectory, Deal, on Aug. 28, 1884:—

    “One night, about 2 o’clock, I believe, my sister, Mrs. B., came into my room saying she had seen Miss Grace B., and she was sure something {ii-464} had happened. She told me she saw someone in her room, and thought it was the nurse come about the baby. The figure was turned towards the window where the food was kept; and had on a grey waterproof like the nurse. My sister spoke to the figure, and said, ‘Why are you getting the food so soon?’ My sister was not then frightened, as she quite thought it was the nurse. But the figure then turned round, and it was the face of Miss Grace B., looking full at my sister, but a dead face, with a something white round the head, but curls just like Miss Grace B. used to wear. My sister after that came down to me, and I went into her room, but nothing more was seen. After that we heard that Miss Grace B. was dead.

    “ELLEN E. FAGG.”

    In answer to inquiries, Miss Fagg adds:—

    “The date of Miss Grace B.’s death was August 3rd, 1868; the time, I think, between 5 to 6 o’clock in the afternoon. I fancy she must have, as it seemed, appeared to my sister the same night after she was dead. We knew Miss Grace B. was ailing; she was, in fact, on a visit at the time of her death; but there was no thought of her dying. My sister had had no communication with her previously. I am nearly sure that Miss B. must have appeared to my sister the same night that she died.

    “My sister always has seemed to know things different to other people. She seems to know when any one has died in any room. She seems either to feel, hear, or see the people. On one occasion we lived in an old house in Eastry, near here, and she saw, as it seemed, an old woman looking at her. The next morning when she described it to our cook who had been taking care of the house before we went into it, she said, ‘Yes, that old woman once lived here.’” [This, of course, may have been a purely subjective hallucination.]

    P.S. by the Rev. H. N. B.—“There is no doubt that the appearance (so-called) took place on the night of the day on the afternoon of which Miss G. B. died.”

    We have confirmed the date of the death by the Register of Deaths.

    [This is apparently a case of delayed recognition, similar to those given in Chap. XII., § 3.]

    The next account belongs to the interesting class which suggests a peculiar susceptibility in certain persons to spontaneous telepathic impressions. (See p. 77, and cases 513, 514, 515, below.) One of the three experiences recorded was a dream, but I give it here in order not to break up the series.

    (502) From Mrs. W., who prefers that her name should not be published.

    “Oxford, 1884.

    (A) “In 1874 I was in England, ill in bed; and I distinctly saw my dear mother, who was at that time at Nice, come up to the foot of my bed, and look earnestly and sorrowfully at me; it was broad daylight, and I noticed the shawl she wore, one I had not seen her wear for many years.1 1 See Vol. i., p. 540. I started up, and she was gone.2 2 See p.

    91, second note. I then knew that her last illness must have come, though I was kept in ignorance of it, as I was so dangerously {ii-465} ill myself. I wrote to her, and her answer told me what I dreaded was true. I was allowed to recover sufficiently to go out to Nice, and be with her to the end. Also, I ought to say, that the morning her dear image appeared to me, a doctor arrived from London whom she had sent to me by telegraphing to him from Nice, and this doctor was the means of saving my life, as I was at that time so ill that he said I could not have lived more than four hours longer.

    (B) “When I was in the South of France, in 1878, I had a dream that a sister, who is especially dear to me, was in a carriage accident, and in my dream I saw her killed, but on reaching her I found her unhurt and as she smiled at me I dreamed I was dying of the agony of mind I had gone through. I never can forget the dream, the suffering was so intense. I awoke with pain in my heart and faintness, and woke my husband and told him. (I think my cries in my sleep awoke him.) I wrote to my sister, and when her answer arrived she gave me in it the account of the danger she had passed through.

    (C) “One night I was awakened out of my sound sleep by a voice close to my ear, saying, ‘Rise, you have no time to lose,’ and words to the effect that the child1 1 This slightly differs from the version given at the top of the next page, where there is no mention of the special person who was in need. of this very dear sister was dying, and that she needed my prayers. I cannot remember the exact words, but I felt it was conveyed to me that I had to help her with all the earnestness I could, and there was an awe about it I cannot describe. Afterwards I found that at this very time on that night her most beloved child had passed through the crisis in diphtheria.

    “Nothing of importance ever happened to any one very dear to me without my feeling it, though I may be far from them.

    “C. M. W.”

    Replying to our inquiries, Mrs. W.’s daughter, Miss E. M. W., writes (on Jan. 23, 1885), in reference to (A), that her mother “does not know anything about the shawl forming part of my grandmother’s dress at the time she saw the apparition.” She has had no other hallucinations; and she had no reason to suspect her mother’s illness. Miss W.’s own testimony is as follows:—

    “I clearly remember, in 1874, my mother in her dangerous illness seeing my dear grandmother come up to the foot of the bed. My mother has often told me since that her mother was wearing a certain crimson shawl she was very fond of, that her spectacles had dropped, and she looked over them at my mother, with sad inquiring eyes. My mother gazed at her for a minute, and then cried out when the apparition vanished; and when the nurse came in, having heard her cry, my mother insisted on being told the truth about her mother; for she said she knew that she had come to tell her she was dying, which was indeed the fact, though she lived long enough to enable my mother to see her before she died.”

    In reference to (B) and (C), Mrs. W.’s sister writes:—

    “On one occasion I received an anxious letter from my sister inquiring if anything had happened to me, as she had dreamed of a serious carriage-accident in which I was in danger. This letter was received by me before I had informed her of the danger in which I had been placed, {ii-466} and the serious consequences which mercifully were averted by the presence of mind of my coachman.

    “On another occasion my sister was awakened by a voice which said distinctly, ‘Rise at once. You have no time to lose. One you love is in sore need.’ She did rise from her bed to pray for me, and afterwards knew that my child had passed through the crisis of diphtheria at that very time, and that her life was in imminent danger.

    “BESSIE S.”

    Miss E. M. W. writes:—

    “I perfectly remember both these dreams of my mother’s, as she related them to me before receiving the answers to her letters to my aunt.”

    In answer to inquiries, she adds:—

    “January 23rd, 1885.

    “Mother is not in the habit of dreaming of accidents, and as far as she can remember it was the only time she has ever dreamt of an accident. The carriage did not upset. The facts are as follows:—My aunt has a very light cab built by my uncle especially for her, and on one occasion my aunt was driving along a narrow road, when her coachman whipped up the horses, and began driving at a furious pace. My aunt, alarmed, looked through the little window at the back of the carriage, and saw a great dray with a runaway horse tearing after the carriage. Just as it must have run into it and smashed it, the coachman turned the cab into an opening in the road. It was the only place in the road where the cab could have stopped, and it was the coachman’s only hope to reach it, and the dray rushed by, leaving the cab unharmed. It did a great deal of damage, and the driver was killed. You see mother did not dream exactly the facts of the case, but only that my aunt was nearly killed by a carriage accident.

    “As to the ‘other intimations of danger,’ &c., they are this, that whenever anything happens to those dear to her she always knows there is something happening. For instance, I was laid up with a very bad cough and cold when away from her last year, and she wrote me an anxious letter, saying, she knew I was ill, for she had an idea I had inflammation of the lungs. Last month I was suffering dreadfully from toothache, and determined I would go and have two teeth out without saying anything to mother, for fear of worrying her; she thought I was going for a walk, but all the time I was gone she was so unhappy about me, and S. told me when I had come back that mother had cried and been wretched all the time. You see the things are not big enough to attract much attention, but we in the house know them to be true.”

    [It is not quite clear how far the vision (A) coincided with a sudden and marked change in the state of the agent. Also it is possible that the doctor’s visit, or the expectation of it, may have called up her mother’s image to Mrs. W.’s mind, and that her illness may have rendered her specially liable to hallucination. It would remain noteworthy (unless there was special reason to fear the attack of fatal illness) that the apparition produced a true conviction in Mrs. W.’s mind as to what was occurring to her mother.

    As to (B), we have no evidence that the dream took place on the night of the day on which the accident occurred; but to anyone who accepts the general fact of telepathic communication, it will at {ii-467} least seem reasonable to surmise that the coincidence was not a merely accidental one. The impression of the child’s illness (C) is, however, more important, both because it was more than a dream, and because the time-coincidence seems in this case to have been ascertained to be exact.

    With regard to the less definite impressions it would be difficult to assign them an evidential value without constant and careful notes, because of the double indefiniteness—the difficulty (1) of deciding what events are of sufficient importance to afford a primâ facie presumption that the coincident experiences are telepathically connected with them, and (2) of distinguishing clearly a peculiar feeling that something is happening from vague anxiety about absent friends.1 1 See Vol. i., 270, 505; and above, pp. 26–7. If persons who show signs of this susceptibility would continuously, for some little time make a note in writing, with as much detail as possible, whenever a feeling of this kind occurred, and afterwards record the confirmation or absence of confirmation, interesting light might be thrown on the subject.]

    (503) Obtained through the kindness of Miss C. D. Garnett, of Furze Hill Lodge, Brighton, from a cousin, Mrs. D., who prefers that her own name should not be printed. Miss Garnett says:—

    “I may safely say she never before or since had such a vision. She is thoroughly practical and unimaginative, not in the least excitable, and I remember well how puzzled she was for a long time after. When she came to me some time after, she was full of it, and described it to me most graphically. She is almost like a sister to us, and I think discussed this affair more with us than with her own people. Her sister thought she was dreaming, but her father was rather astonished when she told him of the vision the next morning.”

    “September 15th, 1885.

    “Some few years ago the occurrence took place which I am about to relate. I was lying awake one night, my thoughts fixed on no particular subject, when before me seemed to rise the vision of the interior of a cathedral; the details which

    marked it from an ordinary church being clearly defined. In the open space before the chancel lay a coffin enveloped in its heavy black pall. After a few moments (as it seemed to me) it faded gradually away.2 2 See p. 97, first note. I sat up and roused myself, as the whole scene was so real and strange, and I was convinced I had not been asleep. I had not lain down long before the same scene again repeated itself upon my brain, in every detail exactly as I had seen it before.3 3 See p. 237, note. The repetition of the vision (for such I firmly believed it was) filled me with presentiments of trouble, and rousing my sister, who was sleeping in the same room, I told her what I had seen; but as was natural, she concluded I had been dreaming. Next morning at breakfast I related what had occurred, and it was remarked that we knew no one in England whose funeral service would be likely to take place in a cathedral. Shortly after, we received news by telegram of the sudden death of my brother in the West Indies, and the day coincided with that on which I had seen the vision as related. When the letters {ii-468} containing all details arrived, we learnt that he was buried the same day that he died, in the evening, the funeral service taking place in the Colonial Cathedral. Allowing for the difference in time, it appears to have been as near as possible the same time as I in England saw the whole scene represented, the remembrance of which has remained indelibly printed on my memory.

    “J. D.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. D. says:—

    “The date of my brother’s death was February 21st, and as far as I can remember I had the dream that evening, but it is so long since that as regards dates I do not like to be too certain. As regards the length of time between the death and funeral, it was, I believe, only a few hours, certainly less than 12. The news of his death reached us by telegram on February 28th, about a week later. I have never had anything in the way of a vision either before or since. I enclose the few lines from my sister on the subject, after having told her that I had written you an account.” The sister’s words are:—

    “I corroborate the statement of my sister’s dream of February, 1879, which she narrated to me the morning after it occurred.

    “S. G.”

    We find from the Times obituary that the death took place at George Town, Demerara, on February 21st, 1879.

    [Without more details as to the supposed resemblance between the place seen in the vision and the real place of the funeral, no stress ought, I think, to be laid on this point; which is one, it will be seen, that telepathy could not satisfactorily account for.]

    (504) Received on Oct. 28, 1884, from a gentleman occupying a high public position, who does not wish to give his name or to procure other attestations. He writes, it will be seen, in the third person. French is not his native language.

    The account begins with an experience which M. —— had during his father’s last illness, while taking a brief sleep, after long nursing.

    “Pendant le plus fort de son sommeil, M. —— se sentit comme très fortement secoué et appelé par son nom. Il se réveilla en sursaut, tout effrayé, sauta de son lit, se dirigeant vers la porte, ayant devant lui comme une ombre, qui disparu dès qu’il fut dans l’entrée. Il traversa le grand salon, et tout l’appartement attenant. Arrivé à la chambre de son père, il trouva la garde-malade debout sur le seuil de la porte, lui barrant le passage. Son père venait d’expirer au moment même. [Translation]While sleeping deeply, M. felt he was being roughly shaken and heard his name being called. He woke abruptly in a fright, leapt out of bed, and started for the door, seeing before him a sort of shadow, which disappeared as he reached the threshold. He crossed the main salon and the neighboring apartment. At his father’s room, he found the attendant standing on the threshold and blocking his way. His father had died at that very moment.

    “L’impression de ce réveil est resté tellement vive dans l’esprit de M. —— qu’il n’en a jamais parlé sans ajouter, ‘Ce n’était certainement pas la réalité, mais pour sûr c’était plus qu’un rêve.’” [Translation]The memory of this awakening has remained so strong in the mind of M. that he has never spoken of it without adding, "It certainly was not reality, but for sure it was more than a dream."

    This case alone could not have found a place in our evidence, as M. —— was aware of his father’s critical condition, and was in a highly anxious and overstrained state. But he continues:—

    “Quatre ans plus tard, en l’année 1849, M. —— habitait Constantinople; il était proscrit et l’entrée de son pays lui était interdite. Sa mère, qui était à Bucarest, s’était décidée d’aller s’établir auprès de lui; elle n’attendait plus que l’ouverture de la navigation du Danube, qui a lieu généralement vers le mois de Mars. Elle avait déjà annoncé à son fils le {ii-469} nom du bateau de la Compagnie du Loyd Autrichien ser lequel elle devait s’embarquer à Galatz, et le 8 Avril elle devait arriver à Constantinople. Ces bateaux arrivaient toujours dans la Corne-d’or les mardis, vers les six heures du matin. [Translation]Four years later, in 1849, M. was living in Constantinople. He had been banished, and he could not return to his own country. His mother, who was in Bucharest, had decided to go and settle near him. She was awaiting the opening of traffic on the Danube, which usually takes place around March. She had already informed her son of the name of the boat, belonging to Austrian Lloyd’s, on which she was to sail from Galatz and which was scheduled to arrive at Constantinople on April 8. These boats always reached the Golden Horn on Tuesdays, about six in the morning.

    “Le 7 Avril M. —— passa la soirée avec deux de ses amis et parents, et l’on décida que le lendemain les deux amis viendraient le chercher pour aller tous les trois recevoir la dame à bord. Les deux amis arrivèrent le matin à l’heure convenue chez M. ——. Grand fut leur étonnement lorsque celui-ci leur dit qu’il était inutile d’aller au bateau, parceque sa mère venait de mourir. Ses amis crurent d’abord qu’il avait reçu des nouvelles, mais ayant réfléchi qu’il n’y avait pas pu avoir eu des lettres depuis une semaine, car il n’y avait eu depuis aucun arrivage—à cette époque le télégraphe était chose complètement inconnue dans ces parages—ils furent inquiets sur l’état de l’esprit de leur ami, qui persistait à leur dire avec la plus grande assurance que sa mère était morte dans la nuit même. M. —— venait d’avoir, après s’être endormi, le meme réveil, précisement avec les mêmes circonstances, que dans la nuit du 26 au 27 Novembre, 1844, lors de la mort de son père. [Translation]On April 7, M. was spending the evening with two friends related to him, and they decided that on the following day, the two friends would come for him so that they could all go to meet the lady on board the boat. The two friends arrived at the appointed time. They were greatly astonished when the latter told them there was no point in going, because his mother had just died. At first, his friends thought he had received some message, but then remembered that no letter could have come in the last week, since there had been no boats, and the telegraph was then entirely unknown in those parts. They were disturbed at their friend’s state of mind, for he insisted with the greatest possible certainty that his mother had died just the night before. M. had had in his sleep the same awakening, in the exact same circumstances, as in the night of the 26th of November, when his father had died.

    “Le bateau suivant, arrivé le 15 Avril, apportait des lettres annonçant que la mère de M. —— avait succombé dans la nuit du 7 au 8 Avril à la suite d’un accès de fièvre

    bilieuse, après une courte maladie de deux jours.” [Translation]The next boat came in on April 15th with letters announcing that M.’s mother had died on the night of April 7th or 8th only two days after an attack of bilious fever.

    The narrator stated in conversation that he had never had any subjective experience of the sort.

    [The particular form of the second experience may perhaps have been due to the effect of the former one on M. ——’s mind.]

    (505) From Miss Henrietta Wilkinson, Enniscorthy, Ireland.

    “January, 1884.

    “I live in Ireland, my nephew in London. At the end of October or beginning of November, 1881, when he was 8 years old, he went one day with his mother and sister to Kensington Gardens. While playing there he had a severe fall on his back; his mother had to call a cab and take him home, then send for the doctor. He was very ill for three or four days, lying in a dark room and kept perfectly quiet. The accident happened on a Saturday, I think. On the Sunday his mother wrote to tell me of it, which letter I received on Tuesday. On the Monday night I was in bed, dropping off to sleep, when I opened my eyes with a start, and saw, quite distinctly, a London street, leading from Kensington Gardens to my nephew’s home. All the people, cabs, and horses were running very fast in one direction, towards my sister’s house. Amongst them were my sister and her two children, also running. They stopped a cab, got in, and arrived at their own house. I saw no more but exclaimed ‘Maurice is hurt!’ why, I do not know, as my nephew looked all right in the street. It all seemed to come from outside myself. I thought it very strange, and told it to my family next morning, before my sister’s letter arrived. I am not perfectly sure of the day of the week, but know it was the day after the accident my sister wrote, and that it was the night of the day after she wrote that I saw what I tell you.

    “I think it was my nephew’s thoughts of me that gave me the vision, I being the person he would think of, next to his father and mother.

    “HENRIETTA WILKINSON.”

    {ii-470}

    Asked whether she had ever, on any other occasion, had a dream of death or accident which had impressed her, she says:—“No, I remember none. It was quite unique. But why call it a dream when I was wide awake? Had it been a dream I don’t think it would have made the same impression on me.”

    Miss Wilkinson’s sister writes on Jan. 8, 1884, from Castle Hill, Enniscorthy:—

    “I distinctly remember my sister relating to us (myself and another sister) her vision or dream before she got any letter. It made a great impression on her, and she told us with surprise and a little alarm. She told us on Tuesday morning, and the letter telling of the accident arrived soon after.

    “MARTHA WILKINSON.”

    The interval between the accident and Miss Wilkinson’s experience is too long for the case to be treated as one of deferred development (see Vol. I., p. 511); but the vision, which seems clearly to have been of a very unusual kind, may conceivably have been due to a half delirious recrudescence of the agitated scene in the mind of the little invalid. The confused and inaccurate character of the vision might be sufficiently accounted for in this way; but might also be construed as the transforming and dream-like investiture which telepathic percipients have so often seemed to supply.

    The next case is a singular one, as, supposing it to have been telepathic, there was no personal bond between the agent and percipient. In this respect it recalls cases 459 and 490; but in the present case there was local proximity between the parties.

    (506) From a lady whose family object to the publication of her name.

    “May 24th, 1884.

    “Somewhere about three years ago, to the best of my remembrance, I was suddenly awoke in the night by hearing what seemed to me a voice saying, ‘You had better get up, someone is dying.’ I went to my father’s door, but finding all right, returnred to bed, but could not sleep again all the rest of the night. The next day one of my servants told me the gentleman next door had died in the night. I was not aware he was likely to die, indeed I knew nothing of him, and he never entered my thoughts. He had been delicate or an invalid ever since we had lived here. I did not mention this dream at the time, not supposing it would interest my father. I have always been a great dreamer.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that the death took place on March 19th, 1881, at the house next Miss L.’s.

    In answer to inquiries, Miss L. writes on June 28, 1884:—

    “I have heard, or seem to have heard, voices at other times, both by day and night, and I think they have invariably had some meaning, except in cases where I have accounted for them in consequence of my suffering from overstrained nerves or illness. I do not remember ever being awoke by a voice in this way at any other time, though I have sometimes {ii-471} awoke suddenly thinking someone called me by name. This is the only case I have experienced of being awakened by a remark.”

    [In an interview with Miss L., Mr. Podmore learnt that she had fixed the time of her impression by hearing the clock strike 3 soon afterwards. The servant, from whom Miss L. heard of the death next morning, thinks she was told by a servant next door that it took place at 4 a.m., and is certain it was “in the morning.” After hearing of the death, Miss L. wrote and told her sister of her experience; the sister confirmed this. The wall between the two houses is too thick to permit the sound of conversation to pass.]

    (507) From Mr. Francis A. Suttaby, 2, Amen Corner, E.C., and 48, Redcliffe Square, S.W.

    “March 3rd, 1884.

    En route home, in July last, when about in mid-Atlantic, on a certain evening I retired in due course to rest, and in my sleep was suddenly disturbed by a voice (impetuous) calling aloud, ‘Frank! Frank!’ (I was alone, as I had a berth entirely to myself.) So suddenly did I spring up out of my heavy sleep, that I nearly knocked my head against the berth that was over mine. I replied, ‘Yes, yes, what?’ No answer coming, I spoke again, hastily, ‘I am here—what’s the matter?—who called?’ No answer being vouchsafed, and supposing there was some mistake on my part, as poor little disturbed Samuel might have done, I addressed myself aloud, ‘Francis Arthur, go to sleep—some mistake.’ Of course, the next morning, at the breakfast table—the captain had invited me to his table—I made much amusement for him and the ladies and a certain Major Jones, of Kingston, Ontario. I must admit Major Jones seemed more concerned than I allowed myself to be. In fact, I tried to put away the thought, and made light of it. Within an hour of my reaching my dear old uncle’s house at Putney (my wife and family being then in France), my aunt informed me of the sudden death of my cousin Nora [Mrs. R.], which was most touching to me; and when I ascertained the day the poor soul died, ‘Why,’ I said, ‘that’s the very morning I was disturbed in my sleep,’ telling her what I have already described to you. Subsequently, I gathered the hour my cousin died, and that the strange cry of ‘Frank, Frank,’ as for help, which startled me out of my sleep, was at the very hour when Nora was really, but apparently unconsciously, passing from this lower world; for the difference in time between here and where I was would bring the hour of her flight and evident call to one and the same.

    “Perhaps the most extraordinary feature connected with the voice is, that not till I saw her brother Ernest, in Torquay, did anyone think to ask me, as he did, ‘But whose voice do you suppose it was?’ Immediately it dawned on me, ‘Why, your sister’s—Nora’s, without a doubt.’ Then he asked, Why I thought it was her voice? ‘Because I can now distinguish it as her voice. It was hastily spoken, impetuous, as you know she could be.’

    “FRAS. A. SUTTABY

    Mr. Suttaby fixed the date of the voice by its occurring in the night (or very early morning), after the only storm which they had on the voyage, this storm being noted in his diary. He kindly sent us an extract from the diary, which showed that the weather from July 4, when the “Bothnia” left New York, to July 8 was fine. The extracts for the next 3 days are as follow:—

    {ii-472}

    “9th.—Fine, but rough. Ended with a storm, and retired early, whilst I could stand.

    “10th.—Fine and bright all day, but very stormy. Remained in bed all day.

    “11th.—In my seat at breakfast. Pleasant day, and played ‘shuffles.’”

    Mr. Suttaby continues:—

    “The memorial-card of my cousin states that she died suddenly July 10th. I cannot now be certain as to when I heard my name called—whether on morning of 10th or 11th. All I know is that when informed of the death of my cousin, each day then being fresh in my memory, I fixed it as an unquestionable fact, not supposing I should ever be questioned again as to details, and having no reasons, no motives whatsoever, for fixing the cry of ‘Frank, Frank’ to the day of my cousin’s death.

    “What I stated did occur, and no one’s voice but that of Nora resembled the twice-repeated impetuous cry.”

    We find from the obituary of the Scotsman that Mrs. R. died suddenly on July 10, 1883. She had no relatives with her when she died. In conversation with the present writer, Mr. Suttaby mentioned that he was the person who, from circumstances, had had most to do with her and her affairs of late years, and he thus regards it as natural that her thoughts should have turned specially to him. Her death was very sudden.

    Mr. Suttaby tells us that he has on one other occasion experienced a hallucination, which again consisted in hearing his name called; but as this took place at a large railway station, it was possibly a real call. With regard to the present case he says:—

    “I do not admit what I heard was hallucination. I was fast asleep in my bed, and I was suddenly awaked; I sat up quickly, and said, ‘Yes, yes! I am here. What?—Who called?’—or words to that effect. I never lost the firm conviction that I was really called—that a real voice, as if needing my protection and assistance, called to me.”

    We have ascertained from Capt. McKay that he does not (in April, 1886) recall Mr. Suttaby’s mention of the incident. Major Jones writes, on April 6, 1886, from the Army and Navy Club, S.W.:—

    “I cannot tell you more than the fact that one day Mr. Suttaby stated he had awoke in the night hearing a child call, and that he thought it must be a niece (I think) who had died.” This last detail cannot weigh against Mr. Suttaby’s distinct recollection that the voice at the time was not distinctly associated with his cousin.

    [Whether the experience was on the 10th or 11th, it is possible, though not certain, that it fell within 12 hours of the death.]

    (508) From Mrs. Hancock, Penarth Lodge, Stoke Bishop, Bristol, a member of the Society of Friends.

    “April 14th, 1884.

    “In my Northern-Irish home, I received a letter on the 7th November, 1865, from my brother in Warwickshire, saying that my mother was ill, and he wished I would go and see her. I started the same evening by Belfast and Fleetwood. I had been several hours in my berth, on the Irish Channel, and was half asleep, when I was startled by feeling a hand grasp my shoulder and a voice say, in a loud whisper, ‘Come quickly.’ I {ii-473} rose up and sat looking round the cabin, but could see no one. I called to the stewardess, but she was fast asleep, and so were all the other ladies. I again lay down, but not to sleep, and in a very short time, not 20 minutes afterwards, the same pressure was put on my shoulder and the same words were distinctly uttered close to my ear, ‘Come quickly.’1 1 As to repetition after a short interval, see p. 105, first note. I again called loudly to the stewardess and told her to light the lamp, for I was sure some one must have been standing by me. She declared that no one had been in the cabin, and all around was so still and quiet. I reached the station at half-past 12 at noon, when my brother met me. He said, ‘All is over, my mother passed away at 4 this morning.’

    “I ought to have stated that when I called to the stewardess and made her light the lamp, immediately after I heard the voice and felt the hand on my shoulder the second time, I then asked her to tell me what o’clock it was, and she said, ‘Four o’clock.’ I looked at my own watch and it was the same. I being an only daughter and my mother having been a widow the last five years of her life, she was much wrapped up in me and in my children, and the tie between us was of no ordinary kind. I have always looked upon this as a direct voice from herself, just as she was dying and passing into the spiritual world.

    “LUCY HANCOCK.”

    We find from the Coventry Herald that the death took place on Nov. 9, 1865. Mrs. Hancock can hardly be mistaken as to having heard the news from her brother on her arrival, i.e., on the day following that on which she started. We may conclude therefore that the 7th in the first line of her account is a mistake for 8th.

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Hancock adds:—

    “In reply to your question, whether I have at any other time, besides the one described, ‘had an experience of the kind, i.e., fancied I heard or felt a human presence when no one was present,’ I have to say that I never did.

    “My brother has just been here, and says he recollects saying to me ‘all was over at 4 o’clock this morning,’ on the day he met me at the station, November 9th, 1865; but he does not recollect the particulars of what happened to me on board the steamer. He has at any rate a very bad memory, whereas I have the reputation of having an unusually good one; and to my mind that pressure on my arm, twice, and the words ‘Come quickly’ are as vivid now as if all had happened last week, instead of 19 years ago.”

    [The weak point in this case is of course the state of anxiety which preceded the experience; the strong point, if correctly remembered, is the exactitude of the coincidence. Mrs. Hancock had no previous belief in anything like telepathy, and takes no special interest in the subject.]

    (509) From Mrs. Sprague, Sunnyside, 275, Coldharbour Lane, Brixton, S.W., who says that “the particulars are plain unvarnished truth.”

    “Aug. 25th, 1886.

    [The narrator’s mother, Mrs. Green, to whom she was deeply attached, had promised that, if she died when they were apart, she would let her daughter “know that she was quitting this world.”2 2 See p. 66, note. Soon after Mrs. {ii-474} Sprague’s marriage, her mother went to keep house for a son, at Major’s Creek, Braidwood, N.S. Wales, and the two had not met for 12 years. In the summer of 1868, Mrs. Sprague, who had been in New Zealand, was on her way to pay her mother a visit.] “She was expecting me; and the last letter was cheerful and happy, intensely expectant of my visit; also she was, she said, quite well.

    “On Sunday night, the 14th of June, 1868, I retired to bed about 11.30, and slept soundly until 3 o’clock, when I suddenly woke hearing my mother’s voice. She stood at the foot of my bed. She said, ‘Oh, come! I want you!’ The moon was at the full; and the room as light as day. I threw myself out of bed instantly. She was gone. I then realised how far away she was: and a strange supernatural feeling, a feeling impossible to describe, took possession of me: like lightning the compact made in England many years before returned to my mind, and I knew with certainty that she was dying. I looked at my watch; it was 3 o’clock. I lay awake till the morning dawned, and at 12 o’clock that day I had a telegram from my brother, asking me to come on quickly as she had had a fit [late on the Saturday night] and could not live. This was Monday. I could not leave Melbourne till the following Thursday, there being only steamers twice a week, so on the Wednesday [corrected in conversation to Thursday] I received another telegram saying she was dead. Her body was kept for 10 days that I might attend the funeral, which I did, travelling post all the time.

    “On questioning the nurse who attended her, she said, ‘Your mother ceased to breathe on Wednesday, June 17th, but the last sign of life she gave was on the Sunday night, or morning, when at about 3 o’clock, appearing still insensible, she rose up and attempted to stand, but fell heavily forward. With assistance I replaced her in the bed, and she remained motionless till she ceased to breathe.’ This was the exact moment that her spirit appeared and called me.”1 1 See p. 48, note.

    In conversation, Mrs. Sprague stated that not only her child, but also her landlady, Mrs. Bellman, was sleeping with her on the night of the vision. We are endeavouring to trace Mrs. Bellman. The brother and the nurse are dead. Miss Alice Sprague stated independently that she distinctly remembers being woke by her mother’s exclamation; and she also remembers Mrs. Bellman’s remonstrating with Mrs. Sprague for disturbing her; but Miss Sprague has no recollection

    of being told at the time what her mother had seen.

    Mrs. Sprague has had only one other hallucination in her life, which followed the above by nearly 7 years: it was again of the “borderland” type, and represented her deceased mother.

    [The fact that the percipient’s mind had no doubt been considerably occupied with the thought of her approaching meeting with her mother, somewhat weakens the case; but I know of no other instance where the idea of a happy meeting has originated so abnormal an experience.]

    § 3. The next little group are first-hand cases which have already been published.

    (510) From the Memoir of the Hon. and Rev. Power-le-Poer Trench, last Archbishop of Tuam (1845), by the Rev. J. D’Arcy Sirr, D.D., {ii-475} pp. 762–3. The account is part of a letter written by the Rev. Samuel Medlicott, from Pau. Our attention was called to it by the Rev. Canon Eyre, of Bray, a very intimate friend of Mr. Medlicott, who adds that Mr Medlicott had been enabled to go to Pau for his health through the kindness of the Archbishop of Tuam.

    “An interesting circumstance connected with the death of the dear servant of God, our late venerated and truly beloved Archbishop, I will simply relate as follows. I was at my brother’s house in Wiltshire, whither I made my first move in search of health early in March last year. There at a very early hour on Monday, (I think 4 o’clock,) the dear Archbishop (I shall never forget his sweet face), though pale as death, stood at the foot of my bed and said, ‘I am tired of, and I will leave (or I have left) Tuam, and will never return there.’ This greatly distressed me, and of course roused me. I thought I had, as it were, seen a vision, and mentioned what I did hear to Mrs. Medlicott as soon as she awoke. But how was I disturbed! how painfully cut down, when, in due course of time, the heartrending tidings reached me that on that very day, and at that very hour, his Grace had departed this life.”

    We find from the Memoir that the Archbishop died at Tuam, of typhoid fever, on March 26, 1839, at 3.10 a.m.; the coincidence was therefore probably close to within an hour.

    (511) Translated from Schriftenfür und an seine Lieben Deutschen, by E. M. Arndt (Leipzig, 1845), Vol. III., pp. 524–5. (See case 467.)

    Arndt describes how, in the winter of 1811, when staying in a friend’s house, he was sitting up working one night, after a fatiguing day, and was half asleep in his chair—“when lo! my dear old Aunt Sophia, my second mother, stood before me with a kind smile, holding on each arm a little boy. They were children whom I dearly loved. She held them out to me with a gesture which seemed to say ‘Take the children to your care.’” The next day at noon, while Arndt was sitting talking with his friends, “the carriage of my brother William drove up with a letter, saying, ‘Brother, come back at once in the carriage; we must cross the water to Buchholz to-morrow, and bury our dear old Aunt Sophia, who died last night.’”

    (512) From Works of the Rev. John Wesley. A.M. (Edition of 1856), Vol. II., pp. 350–1. The account, on the face of it, is in the words of the percipient; but we cannot be absolutely sure of this.

    The passage is from Wesley’s Journal for Thursday, June 3rd, 1756.

    “I received a remarkable letter from a clergyman with whom I had been a day or two before; part of it ran thus: ‘I had the following account from the gentlewoman herself, a person of piety and veracity. She is now the wife of Mr. J. B., silversmith in Cork.’

    “‘“About 30 years ago, I was addressed, by way of marriage, by Mr. Richard Mercier, then a volunteer in the army. The young gentleman was quartered at that time in Charleville, where my father lived, who approved of his addresses, and directed me to look upon hirn as my future husband. When the regiment left the town, he promised to return in two months and marry me. From Charleville he went to Dublin, thence to his father’s, and from thence to England; where, his father having bought him a cornetcy of horse, he purchased many ornaments for the wedding, {ii-476} and returning to Ireland, let us know that he would be at our house in Charleville in a few days. On this the family was busied to prepare for his reception, and the ensuing marriage, when, one night, my sister Mary and I being asleep in our bed, I was awaked by the sudden opening of the side curtains, and starting up, saw Mr. Mercier standing by the bedside. He was wrapped up in a loose sheet, and had a napkin, folded like a nightcap, on his head. He looked at me very earnestly, and lifting up the napkin, which much shaded his face, showed me the left side of his head, all bloody, and covered with his brains;1 1 These details of the vision are, no doubt, difficult to account for telepathically. It is possible that they were “read back” after the reality was known (see the remarks on case 25, Vol. i., p. 206); but compare cases 130 and 134. the room, meantime, was quite light.2 2 See the two following pages, and Vol. i., pp. 437, 550–1. My terror was excessive, which was increased by his stooping over the bed, and embracing me in his arms. My cries alarmed the whole family, who came crowding into the room. Upon their entrance, he gently withdrew his arms and ascended, as it were, through the ceiling.3 3 Compare cases 203, 204, 205. I continued for some time in strong fits. When I could speak I told them what I had seen.

    “‘“One of them a day or two after, going to the postman for letters, found him reading the newspapers, in which was an account that Cornet Mercier, going into Christ Church belfry, in Dublin, just after the bells had been ringing, and standing under the bells, one of them, which was turned bottom upwards, suddenly turned again, struck one side of his head, and killed him on the spot. On further inquiry, he found he was struck on the left side of his head.”’”

    [The death of Mr. Mercier does not appear in the Dublin Gazette, which is the only Dublin paper of that date that we can obtain; and we know of no other publication where it would be likely to be mentioned.]

    The remarkable narrative of Elizabeth Hobson, of Sunderland, given by Wesley in his diary, under date May 25, 1768, is too long to quote in full. It is complicated by matter which does not belong to the subject of this book, and by much that looks like subjective hallucination. But it is almost certain that the cases were given in good faith by a witness of good character. The apparently telepathic incidents (which I include under a single evidential number), taken down by Wesley from E. Hobson’s lips, are as follows:—

    (513) (1) “John Simpson, one of our neighbours, a man that truly feared God, and one with whom I was particularly acquainted, went to sea, as usual. He sailed out on a Tuesday, The Friday night following, between 11 and 12 o’clock, I heard someone walking in my room, and every step sounded as if it were stepping in water. He then came to the bedside in his sea-jacket, all wet, and stretched his hand over me. Three drops of water fell on my head, and felt as cold as ice. I strove to wake his wife—who lay with me; but I could not any more than if she were dead. Afterwards I heard that he was cast away that night.

    (2) “A little before Michaelmas, 1763, my brother George, who was a good young man, went to sea. The day after Michaelmas Day, about {ii-477} midnight, I saw him standing by my bedside, surrounded with a glorious light,1 1 Compare the last case and case 205. and looking earnestly at me. He was wet all over. That night the ship in which he sailed split upon a rock, and all the crew were drowned.

    (3) “On April 9th, 1767, about midnight I was lying awake, and I saw my brother John standing by my bedside. Just at that time he died in Jamaica.

    (4) “On Friday, July 3rd, (?1767), I was sitting at dinner, when I thought I heard someone coming along the passage. I looked about, and saw my aunt, Margaret Scot, of Newcastle, standing at my back. On Saturday, I had a letter informing me that she died on that day.

    (5) “When I was about 16, my uncle fell ill, and grew worse and worse for three months. One day, having been sent

    out on an errand, I was coming home through a lane when I saw him in the field coming swiftly towards me. I ran to meet him, but he was gone. When I came home, I found him calling for me. As soon as I came to his bedside, he clasped his arms round my neck, and bursting into tears, … kept his hold till he sunk down and died; and even then they could hardly unclasp his fingers. I would fain have died with him, and wished to be buried with him, dead or alive.”

    § 4. The remaining cases are second-hand. I will first give a considerable group where the narrators are very near relatives of the first-hand witnesses, and have no sort of doubt that what is recorded is the genuine experience of their respective informants.

    (514 and 515) From Lieut.-Colonel Fane Sewell, care of Messrs. H. S. King and Co., 45, Pall Mall, S.W.

    “Wolfelee, Hawick, N.B.

    “August 4th, 1885.

    “My mother and Anne Hervey were schoolfellows together at a Madame Audibert’s, in Kensington, and they were bosom friends; and, as was not unusual in those days with young girls, they exchanged rings, with the promise that whichever of the two died first she was to send back to the other her ring.2 2 As to compacts of this sort, see p. 66.

    “During the following holidays, for which my mother went to her home, North Berwick, Anne Hervey remaining at Madame Audibert’s in Kensington, the following incident occurred:—

    “My mother suddenly awoke in the night, to find Anne Hervey standing by her bedside, holding out the ring she had given her. The apparition lasted a few seconds, and then faded away. My mother was much frightened, and in the morning told her mother what had happened to her in the night, adding that she was quite convinced Anne Hervey was dead, although she had left her perfectly well a fortnight before at Madame Audibert’s.

    “The event proved my mother to be right, for in course of post (not so rapid as in these days) a letter reached her from Madame Audibert telling her of Anne Hervey’s death from scarlet fever, and enclosing the ring which she said Anne Hervey had begged, on her deathbed, might be sent to my mother.

    {ii-478}

    “The above is exactly as I have received it from my mother’s lips. The ring referred to was in my own possession for many years.

    “My mother, when at Bangalore, as nearly as I can remember about the year 1845, was one night awakened by the feeling of something unusual happening, and saw as she thought a very favourite sister of my father’s, my Aunt Fanny (Mrs. John Hamilton Gray), standing in her night-dress at the foot of the bed, with her hair falling loosely round her. There was a peculiar light upon her, though no light of any kind in the room.1 1 See Vol. i., pp. 550–1. Another peculiarity about my aunt that my mother noticed was, that a large lock of my aunt’s hair had been cut straight off close to the temple.2 2 Compare cases 194, 449, and see Vol. i., p. 555. The apparition appeared to gaze steadily at my mother for some little time, and then gradually disappeared.

    “My mother, to whom such appearances were not altogether unknown, felt so convinced something serious had happened to my Aunt Fanny, that, fearing a shock to my father, she took measures to intercept the letters to my father which she was satisfied must bring him sad news of some sort relating to my aunt. The event proved her right, for in due course of post from home came the letter bearing intelligence of my aunt’s unexpected death at sea (Mrs. Gray was journeying from the Cape of Good Hope to England when she died), on the night above mentioned, and in the letter was enclosed a large lock of my Aunt Fanny’s hair which had been cut off to send to my father.

    “I was a child of 5 or 6 years of age when the above took place, and I remember the circumstance distinctly, though not the particulars, which are, however, exactly as I have often heard my mother relate them to different people. I have often heard my mother relate both these experiences, as nearly as my memory will serve me, in the exact words I have used.

    “FANE SEWELL.”

    In a later letter Colonel Sewell says that he has failed to get the exact dates, and adds:—

    “In writing out the two accounts I sent you, I purposely excluded from the second anything of my own personal recollections of the occurrence, which took place at Bangalore, that you might have the story exactly as related to me by my mother.

    “Let me reply to your questions as given.

    “(1) ‘Did my mother always speak of the incidents as waking experiences, not mere dreams?’

    “My mother never spoke of either but as ‘waking experiences.’ She was very distinct upon that point. She was quite sure of having been, in both cases, wide awake when she saw what she described.

    “(2) ‘Was I old enough to recollect whether I heard of the second experience before the news of death arrived?’

    “I have a distinct recollection (for the scenes made a great impression upon me) of the news of my Aunt Fanny’s death being taken and broken to my father by my mother; his great grief; and of my mother’s anxiety before and about the coming of the letters, and of her depression (she was naturally of a bright, cheerful disposition) before the letters came, which I could not at the time understand, but which I have since felt was due to {ii-479} her anticipation of coming sorrow. I was seldom away from either my father’s or mother’s side in those days, and must have been about 5 years old, and could well recollect things of a striking character which took place then. My earliest recollection is of the death of my eldest, and, then, only sister, which took place when I was a child of between 2 and 3 years of age. Of this I can of course only dimly remember the circumstances, and merely mention it here to show that I was very impressionable as a child, and began to remember much earlier than the date of my Aunt Fanny’s death. I have no doubt in my own mind, therefore, of the phenomenon having occurred to my mother as described by her.

    “(3) ‘(a) Am I aware as to whether my mother was in the habit of having similar visitations or visions which did not correspond with anything? or (b), of her being subject to hallucinations?’

    “(a) I am not aware of any such. I do know, however, of one occurrence which took place in February or March, 1857, whilst I was staying, en route to India, with my father and mother at Pisa.

    “I remember my mother came down to breakfast one morning greatly agitated, and told us (my father and me) that she had been awakened during the night by something unusual occurring, and saw distinctly a curious flame-like light1 1 Compare cases 253 and 553, and see pp. 193–4. at the end of her bed, which took no definite shape but faded away and left the room again dark. She said she was quite sure that something had happened to a near relative who was then in London. My father tried to reassure my mother, but she was not to be dissuaded from her presentiment of evil. A few days afterwards we received letters from England informing us that the relative in question had had a sudden and dangerous illness—in fact, a dangerous miscarriage—on the night in question.

    “(b) I never heard of any other case of vision, or otherwise, occurring to my mother, nor am I aware of my mother having been subject in any way to hallucinations of the senses.

    “The occurrences I have mentioned were wide apart as regards time. The first when my mother was a girl about 16 or 17; next, as a woman of about 33; and last when she was 47 years of age.”2 2 With respect to the occurrence of several telepathic experiences to the same percipient—exemplified in E. Hobson’s and Colonel Fane Sewell’s cases—see p. 22, note, and p. 77.

    Before this account was received, the second of the two incidents had been described to us by a clergyman, distantly connected with Lady Sewell, who had heard her narrate it, and had himself seen the lock of hair. Though correct as to the main fact, his version, when compared with the above, illustrates the difference which intimate connection with the original

    witness makes in the value of second-hand testimony (see pp. 322 and 539, note). The figure is represented as having appeared “in her shroud, dripping wet, and with her black hair cut quite short” and “on allowing for difference of longitude, it was found that the hour of the vision corresponded with the hour of the death.” Colonel Fane Sewell’s account, it will be observed, merely states that the night corresponded.

    (516) From the Rev. H. C. D. Chandler, Waterbeach Vicarage, Cambridge. His sister, whose experience is recorded, is out of health, and he would prefer not to have her troubled for a first-hand account.

    {ii-480}

    “1883.

    “The following occurred about 5 o’clock a.m., on October 28th, 1853. My sister, then Eliza Chandler, was visiting friends in the neighbourhood of Killarney, County Kerry, Ireland. Her mind was quite composed, and her health perfectly good. She was surrounded by kind friends and was of a gay and bright disposition, not in the least inclined to morbidness. She had known that her mother was in declining health generally.

    “She retired to rest on the Thursday evening as usual. About 5 o’clock on Friday morning she awoke suddenly, and as it seemed without cause, when she immediately became conscious of her mother’s form at the foot of her bed. She sat up and gazed intently. She describes her mother’s form as though she had risen from her couch, and the face was fixed with an earnest and loving gaze upon her child. The length of time the form remained I do not remember, or whether that time was mentioned I do not remember. My sister could not rest, but rose and dressed, greatly agitated. She at once wrote to inquire if all was well, and begging to hear from us.

    “At the hour above named, I was watching by my mother’s bedside [at Bristol], she having been seized with hernia during a severe fit of coughing. My mother had sunk rapidly, and a letter of mine, stating the nature of the illness and its probable issue, had crossed my sister’s letter to me. At the hour of 5 o’clock, I was struck with the change of my mother’s appearance, and ran to call a sister, who was sleeping near. On applying a glass to the mouth, we found that the breathing had ceased, and our mother was gone to her rest. The same morning I wrote to Ireland telling the sad news, receiving the next day my sister’s letter telling of the strange apparition she had seen.

    “My sister is married and settled in Australia; but she could add but little more to the above account, for each particular was written indelibly on my memory.

    “H. C. D. CHANDLER.”

    In answer to inquiries as to whether he was certain that the apparition had preceded the arrival of his letter announcing his mother’s critical condition, he replied:—

    “Our letters crossed—mine containing the details of my mother’s last days, and my sister’s telling the story of the apparition. Her letter must have been written—as far as we could calculate, I remember—the morning after my mother’s death, and solely in consequence of the apparition.”

    The Bristol Times confirms the fact that Mrs. Chandler died on Friday Oct. 28, 1853.

    (517) From Lady Miles, Leigh Court, Bristol.

    “August 1st, 1885.

    “My mother, Lady Roche (wife of the late Sir David Roche, of Carap Croom, County of Limerick, Ireland) was very much beloved by her cousin, the [Right] Hon. John Vandeleur, and at the moment of his death he came to say good-bye to her. She woke from sleep at 4 a.m., and saw him, wrapped up in something black, standing near the lower curtain of her bed. She woke her husband, and said, ‘Why, there is the Hon. John at the bottom of the bed!’ Sir David told her she was dreaming, and to rub her eyes; but, as she still affirmed it, he got up and pulled the curtain away, lit the candles, and stood where she said the appearance was. She {ii-481} said, ‘I see him now, standing next you, waving his hand in farewell to me.’ He faded away, and disappeared. It was afterwards known that this gentlemen died 50 miles off, of a paralytic seizure.

    “A brother of this lady, Mr. George Vandeleur, of Ballynamona, Co. Clare, also saw his servant at the moment of his death. The man was sent to Limerick on an errand, got drunk, and fell off a cart, the wheel of which passed over his throat.

    “These two cases are quite authentic, and known to many people.

    “F. E. MILES.”

    We find the date of Mr. J. Vandeleur’s death given in Saunders’ Newsletter as November 9, 1828.

    In answer to inquiries, Lady Miles says:—

    “With regard to my mother seeing the Hon. John Vandeleur. She saw him a few minutes after his death. She was living at a house in Limerick, and he died at Kilrush. I heard the account from my father and mother dozens of times when a girl. My mother was not an imaginative woman, or inventive. She died in 1841. I have been living over 30 years in England, and have a good deal lost sight of anyone who could authenticate all this, though everyone knew about it at the time.

    “My uncle who saw his servant is dead. It happened at Carap, Co. Limerick, about the year 1836.”

    In conversation, Lady Miles told me that her uncle was dressing in the morning, when, looking round, he saw the figure of his servant, with blood about it, and addressed it, thinking it was the man himself. She was in the house at the time, and later she heard the account from her uncle’s own lips.

    (518) From Mme. Vavin, née Girard, a relative of our friend, M. Ch. Richet, who copied the account from a letter addressed to himself.

    “1885.

    “Ma mère, étant veuve, avait été très aimée et demandée en mariage par un jeune professeur de Caen. Ayant quitté la ville et épousé M. Caillaux, elle avait cessé toute relation avec M. Roger, et n’en entendit plus parler depuis trois ou quatre ans. Une nuit, étant absolument éveillée, elle vit une forme blanchâtre, comme une vapeur,1 1 See case 193, and the first note thereto. se pencher trois2 2 See p. 229, note. fois sur son lit, comme pour lui dire adieu. Elle eut alors, sans pouvoir s’en rendre bien compte, le sentiment que c’était M. Roger qui lui disait adieu. Très émue, elle ne parla de la chose à personne; mais, une huitaine de jours après, elle apprit la mort de M. Roger, mort survenue la nuit même où elle avait eu cette apparition. Elle ne le savait pas malade.” [Translation]My mother, a widow, had once been greatly loved by a young professor from Caen, who had asked for her hand in marriage. Having left the city and married M. Caillaux, she had broken off all contact with M. Roger, and had heard nothing of him for three or four years. One night, while fully awake, she saw a whitish shape, like a vapor cloud, bend over her bed three times, as if to say goodbye. Without being able to say quite why, she had the feeling that it was M. Roger telling her farewell. She was very shaken and spoke of this to no one. But a week later, she learned that M. Roger had died the very night she saw the apparition. She did not know he was ill.

    Mme. Vavin adds the following experience of her own:—

    “Pour moi, mes souvenirs sont plus vagues, étant plus lointains. Mon père est mort à peu près subitement. Je l’avais quitté la veille, au soir, gai et bien portant. Dans la nuit une voix, comme un souffle, et pour ainsi dire sans parole,3 3 This was probably an instance of the inward and soundless form of hallucination described in Vol. i., p. 480. me fit comprendre que mon père était mort  Le lendemain, lorsque on entra dans ma chambre, je me jetai en pleurant dans les bras de ma bonne en lui disant, ‘Je sais que papa est mort.’ Je n’avais vu ni forme, ni apparition d’aucune sorte. J’avais neuf ans. [Translation]My own memories are more vague, because they are older. My father died rather suddenly. I had left him the previous evening, in good health and happy. During the night, a voice,

    like a whisper, and as though without words, communicated to me that my father had died. The next day, when my room was opened up, I threw myself into the arms of the maid, crying, and saying "I know papa is dead." I had seen no shape and no apparition of any kind. I was then nine years old.

    “MARGUERITE VAVIN.”

    {ii-482}

    (519) From Miss Osborne, 10a, Cunningham Place, N.W.

    “1883.

    “This story I have heard my mother relate, but as she and my aunt (to whom this incident occurred) are both dead, I can only tell it as I remember it. I was a child when it happened. My aunt, Mrs. Fairman, was living in Portugal, and had not been in London for some years. Her half-sister (with whom she had no especial sympathy) married a Mr. Moore, whom Mrs. Fairman had never seen. About a year after that marriage, Mrs. Fairman was making arrangements to give a party. One night she awoke, and saw her sister sitting by her bedside, and a gentleman standing by her.1 1 As to the appearance of the second figure, compare case 511 above, and see Vol. i., pp. 545–6. She heard her sister say, ‘I shall die, I shall die!’ She woke her husband, and told him what she had seen. He, angry at being disturbed, said it was all nonsense. At last she slept, but woke again, seeing the same thing.2 2 Compare case 503, and see p. 237, note. She again woke her husband, who used stronger language than before. So impressed was Mrs. Fairman with the feeling she should hear of the death of her sister, that she ordered all arrangements for the proposed party to be stopped; and in the time a letter could reach her, one came to say Mrs. Moore had died at the time she had seen her.

    “I think it was about two years after this, Mrs. Fairman returned to England. She had never seen any portrait of Mr. Moore, who was a very ordinary person, with no marked characteristics. She was walking with my mother in Oxford Street, when she suddenly said, ‘Mary, that is the man I saw with Julia at my bedside.’ It was really Mr. Moore.”

    [The final incident here recalls the conclusion of the Wynyard case (No. 357), where there is some doubt what the exact facts were; but the point is not one likely to have crept into either narrative without some foundation. The fact that Miss Osborne’s mother was a witness of the recognition makes the account a second-hand (not a third-hand) one, as far as that item is concerned.]

    (520) From a lady, known to the present writer, who prefers that her own name should not be printed. The evidence is on a par with second-hand (Vol. I., p. 158, note).

    “Aug. 25th, 1886.

    “My father was a marine officer on board his Majesty’s ship ——. Crossing the Atlantic, in the course of the voyage, the medical gentleman told him that his mother had appeared to him and distinctly said, ‘Andrew, Andrew, mend your ways, or you will never be where I am.’ Sir James Malcolm [the narrator’s father] advised him to write down the date and hour, which Dr. Douglas3 3 The name seems to have been Campbell. The mistake is due to the fact that Sir J. Malcolm had another medical friend, named Douglas, to whom this incident was known. did, and afterwards wrote that his mother had died the day and hour precisely as she appeared to him. I have often heard my father mention the circumstance.”

    Another daughter of Sir J. Malcolm’s writes (Sept. 23, 1886), “I have often heard the story of Dr. Campbell’s vision—it was not a dream—told to Sir J. in the morning, who advised him to note it down.” She thinks that the incident took place in the West Indies, in 1806 or not long after, and gives the name of the ship as the “Canopus.” We have ascertained from the Record Office that the “Canopus” was in the West {ii-483} Indies at that time, but that no doctor of the name of Campbell was officially attached to her during the years 1806–12.

    [We may charitably hope that the words heard were a contribution of the percipient’s own mind, and merely betokened a wholesome sense of parental superiority. I have drawn attention to the suspicious exactitude of the coincidence in many of the second-hand cases.]

    From Mr. Edward Butler, 7, Park Square, Leeds. I do not number the case, as the evidence is possibly third-hand.

    “June 21st 1884.

    “The enclosed account of my brother’s apparition has been read by my cousin Fanny, a lady of singular accuracy of mind and entire trust-worthiness, who was one of the first (if not the first) to hear the tale, from my mother herself, I think. It exactly agrees with her recollection, and may, I fully believe, be relied on as accurate.

    “In the year 1857, my brother was in the Civil Service of India, and was stationed in Bengal as a judge or magistrate and collector. For anything we knew he was perfectly well, and had very good prospects in his profession. One morning early—it was the height of summer—my mother was lying awake, and it was clear dawn. She saw my brother stand at the foot of her bed. There was nothing noticeable in his dress. His face wore an exceedingly tranquil and pleasant expression, and my mother felt no fear. I do not know how long the vision lasted. When it disappeared my mother woke my father, and said, ‘I have seen Wells.’ They made a note of the day and hour. There was no Indian telegraph in those days, and some weeks elapsed before they received from an official source in India news of my brother’s sudden death, which must have taken place just about the time of the apparition. My brother’s appearance was always regarded by my mother as a merciful and kindly thing. It prepared her for the news, and broke the shock.

    “I think my mother was by organisation open to delicate impulses or impacts from subtle exterior agencies, if such there be; for I remember her telling me, amongst other things now forgotten, that once she had an unaccountable conviction that she ought to go and see an old schoolfellow, who had been long separated from her, and whose very name, indeed, she had almost ceased to recall. She subsequently heard that this old school-fellow had died about that time, and on her deathbed had said, ‘Oh, I wish I could see Anne ——,’ naming my mother’s maiden name.

    “EDWARD BUTLER.”

    We find from the East India Service Register and from Allen’s Indian Mail, that Mr. Wells Butler died on June 20, 1859 (not 1857)—which accords with the above statement that the time was “the height of summer.”

    Miss Frances Butler, of 11, Gloucester Road, Teignmouth, on being asked whether she heard the account from the percipient’s, Mrs. H. Butler’s, own lips, replied (on April 19, 1886) that she could not recollect whether she heard it from Mrs. H. Butler or from her own mother, Mrs. H. Butler’s sister. A sister of Mr. Butler’s tells Professor Barrett that she remembers being told of this incident shortly after it took place. Mr. Butler regrets not having questioned his mother on the subject, but he feared to make her uncomfortable.

    (521) From Mr. David Crombie, 2, Breakspear Road, St. John’s, S.E.

    {ii-484}

    “1884.

    “My eldest brother, John, left home when I was very young, to become an apprentice to Captain Wallace, trading to the East Indies. [He had been away for about three years, but was returning, and was daily expected, when] my mother had a vision in which she saw him, wearing a most careworn and anxious look, enter the bedroom, and so distinct was the vision that she awoke my father, who was sleeping at her side, exclaiming, ‘John,’ (my father’s name), ‘there’s Johnnie.’ He immediately sat up, and subsequently got out of bed, and went out on to the landing to see if his boy had really arrived; finding all quiet, and having gone downstairs to see if the front door were fastened, he returned to bed, not over well pleased at having been sent on this wild-goose-chase.

    “Next night, about the same time, my mother declared she again saw Johnnie, looking so flushed and ill, and again called my father’s attention to the apparition, which, however, he did not see,1 1 See

    p. 105, second note. and on this occasion he did not leave his bed. On the third night she again saw the apparition, this time as white as a sheet; it smiled and passed away. My father saw what a deep impression these visions had made on her mind; and, without her knowing it, he made an entry in cypher on the flyleaf of the old folio family Bible, to see if it were possible that his death could have been foretold in this extraordinary way.

    “The visions had indeed made an indelible and sorrowful impression on my mother’s mind, and, as the saying goes, she was full of it; and to her immediate and most intimate friends she had related all the circumstances, and her own fears in connection with them. Of those to whom she had communicated the facts were Mrs. and Miss Wallace, mother and sister respectively of the captain with whom my brother sailed; Misses Jarvis, two maiden aunts; Miss Bartlett and Mrs. Lowe, widow of a sea-captain.

    “As time wore on the vessel at length arrived, and shortly thereafter a letter was delivered with a black seal, announcing my brother’s illness and death, which, on reference to the memorandum, occurred at the very time the dreams were dreamed. The captain, in writing, gave an extract from the entry in the log. Then my father, who had no faith in dreams, for the first time in his life was compelled to admit that in this case there seemed to be good grounds for believing in them.

    “On the morning following the announcement of my brother’s death, I was requested to deliver a number of notes with intimation of his death to many of our personal friends; amongst them were those whose names I have given above. On my return home, I was naturally asked what they had said after reading the notes. Mrs. Wallace said, ‘Dear me, then Effie’s’ (my mother’s name) ‘dream has come true.’ A similar remark was made by her aunts, the Misses Jarvis. Mrs. Lowe sent condolences, and said my mother’s fears had been too well founded.

    “As I did not understand what they referred to I asked what they meant, and for the first time I learned all the particulars; and although I could only have been between 6 and 7 years old, [55 years ago] the facts left an impression on my mind that time has not effaced. Of course, the story was often repeated in my presence afterwards, thereby keeping it fresh in my memory, and I can vouch for the truth of the details so far as came under my personal knowledge.

    “D. C.”

    {ii-485}

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Crombie says:—

    “The parties named are dead from 25 to 40 years ago. My brother died of scarlet fever, which ran its course with remarkable swiftness. The death occurred on the day my mother had the third dream.”

    [In conversation on July 28th, 1884, Mr. Crombie told me that he remembers seeing the entry in the Bible, after the news arrived, and that it was pointed to as proof of the correspondence of dates. He describes his mother as the very opposite of a visionary. The visions were naturally enough regarded as dreams by the persons to whom they were told; but Mr. Crombie is convinced that his mother was awake, and points to his father’s conduct, on being woke, as evidence of this. I must point out that a repetition of the sort here described, on three successive nights, has not been alleged in any of our first-hand telepathic cases;1 1 Since this was written, however, I have received an account from Mrs. Perryn, of 27, Adrian Square, Westgate-on-Sea, in which she states that, when crossing the Atlantic in November, 1863, she dreamt with unusual vividness, on three successive nights, that a fire broke out in the cellar of her brother’s house, and that he was wrapped in flames—the fact being that on the first of the three nights he was fearfully injured by an explosion of some chemicals with which he was experimenting in his cellar. Mrs. Perryn did not know that he experimented with chemicals; can recall no other instance of dreams repeated on successive nights; is not in the habit of having distressing dreams; and described the accident in writing to her sisters “exactly as it happened,” before hearing the news. But a dream-experience is, as we have seen, indefinitely weaker evidence than an analogous case of the “borderland” or the waking class. and it is the kind of detail that may very naturally have got imported into the narrative (see p. 229, note; but see also p. 237, note). But it is not, of course, vital to the evidence.]

    (522)[☼] From Miss J. Connolly, of 21, Wickham Road, New Cross, S.E., head-mistress of a high school for girls.

    “April 4th 1885.

    “One Christmas my father was invited to spend his college vacation with a very dear and valued friend, a Mrs. Brown. However, as he was also invited by my grandfather, he preferred to accept that invitation, glad of the opportunity of meeting my mother. The house was a large one, and full of Christmas guests. One night there was a dinner-party of friends from the neighbourhood. After dinner such a storm arose that my grandmother found herself obliged to provide everyone with beds for the night. … My grandmother, to arrange for her unexpected company, gave up the young men’s bedrooms to the ladies, and turned the library into a sort of barrack room for the night.

    “At 3 o’clock, my Uncle William spoke to my father, who was sleeping near him, and said, ‘James, who are you talking to; what are you saying?’ My father raised himself up, looked at his watch, and replied, ‘I have seen a vision. Mrs. Brown has been standing at my feet, and she said, “Good-bye, James! I wished greatly to see you, to say good-bye to you before I left this world, and I have now come to you. Serve God and be a good man, and He will prosper and bless you. I have loved you so dearly from the time you were a boy, that I had to say good-bye. But let us meet again.” She waved her hand and disappeared.’

    “Both the young men were much impressed, and in the morning my father told my grandmother of the dream or vision. She advised him to write an ordinary letter, just inquiring about Mrs. Brown and her daughters. Letters then cost tenpence, and were not written on slight {ii-486} occasions. My father did write, but a letter crossed his, saying that at 3 o’clock on the very night of his dream, Mrs. Brown had died, and her last conscious words were regrets that she had not been able to see him to say good-bye.

    “My father never much liked telling this story. He firmly believed he had seen a vision. I have heard it from his lips, and I have seen the two letters which crossed each other in the post. My father was the Rev. James Campbell Connolly, Chaplain of Woolwich Dockyard.”

    In reply to inquiries, Miss Connolly writes, on April 9, 1885:—

    (1) “The two letters that crossed in the post were among my mother’s papers, and I have failed to find them. She died when I was quite a child, and I heard her tell the story and show the letters, not thinking that I was listening. My dear father died just two years ago, in the full possession of his faculties, and I heard it twice from his own lips.

    (2) “The date is difficult. My father married in 1840, and I should say, judging from his ordination, &c., that it must have been between 1830 and 1835. Mrs. Brown’s daughters are both dead—Mrs. Daly, who married the last Warden of Galway, and Mrs. Foley. Both these ladies told me the story. They were present at their mother’s deathbed.

    (3) “I am certain my father described the apparition as speaking directly to him.”

    [In no first-hand case has the sensory impression included so long a remark as that here recorded. If accurately remembered, it probably indicates that the percipient was more asleep than awake; but his experience must apparently have been very unlike an ordinary dream.]

    (523) From Mrs. B., an Associate of the S.P.R., whose full name we are at liberty to mention, but not to print.

    “October 30th 1884.

    “When I was about 16 years old, my father came down to breakfast one morning, and, after saying he had been awake a long time, he said, ‘and about 5 or 6’ (I forget the exact time) ‘I saw old Mr. ——; he came and stood by the bed a minute or two, and then went.’ In the course of the day we heard of the death of this old gentleman, of whose illness we had previously known, but whose death we had not anticipated, as it was not thought his complaint was one likely to cause death. On inquiry, we learnt that he had died at the hour that my father had said he had had a visit from him.

    “My father was a merry, strong-minded man, with a scientific turn of mind and a great scorn of superstition. He is, alas! now dead some years, and I don’t think we any of us thought more of the circumstance than that it was odd, but I remembered it.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that Mr. —— died on January 10th, 1866, aged 58, the cause of death being a contused wound on the skin, which brought on erysipelas.

    (524) From Mrs. Field, 16, Clifton Road, Brighton. Her mother being old, we did not press for a first-hand account.

    “June 1884.

    “In the year 1840, my grandfather, Sir L. S., was appointed Governor of the Island of Mauritius; and my mother went to see him and take leave of him. My grandfather was getting old, and my mother was in a {ii-487} very delicate and precarious state of health, so the probabilities were strong that she would never see her father again, and so it turned out.

    “My mother [who was living at Cheltenham] had been sitting up late one night, writing her Indian letters, intently finishing one to her husband, which for some reason she had rather delayed finishing, and which, as next day was mail-day, must be finished that night. It was winter time, and the fire was burning quite brightly in the grate for some little time after my mother went to bed, which, on account of her Indian letter, she had not been able to do till past 12 o’clock. She was lying broad awake, and the room was lighted quite well by the firelight. She had not been thinking of anything but her Indian letter, and she could not have had the least notion or fear her father was dead, as he had died suddenly, after a kind of seizure, from which he only recovered to speak a few articulate words—but the fact that he had been ill never reached England until the public official news arrived giving the news of his death, together with the usual private letters giving all the details. My mother was wide awake. The bed—an old-fashioned fourpost—faced the fireplace, and on the side next the window the curtains were closely drawn. Suddenly my mother saw a very tall figure of a man (my grandfather was unusually tall) pass the foot of her bed slowly. She called out, ‘Who’s there?’ in great fright, and as she called a hand opened the curtains on the side where they closed, and the same figure was there. My mother sprang out of bed and ran into the next room, where the dear old ‘C.’ [a head-nurse] slept with my two little sisters, almost babies. One of these little sisters had given the old faithful servant the name of ‘Tootoo.’ My mother rushed into the babies’ room calling out, ‘Tootoo, there’s a man in my room, please get up and call the servants. There are robbers in the house.’

    “After going back with her mistress, and putting her to bed, the nurse got a scrap of paper, and wrote down the hour and minute my mother had rushed into the night-nursery—she, ‘Tootoo,’ feeling some bad news was coming, and that my mother had seen no living man. The very next Mauritius mails brought the public papers, stating that at such a time, giving the minutes even, the guns from the fort gave notice to the Island that the Governor’s late illness had ended fatally. It appeared that his last words had been of his daughter. The time noted down by ‘Tootoo’ and the official announcement of his death exactly agreed.

    “CHARLOTTE E. FIELD

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Field says:—

    “1. I have often heard my mother’s experience from her own lips; but I was only a child at the time, and she went back to India about three years after, to rejoin my father, who was a Bombay Civilian, and I did not hear her speak of this experience of hers till she came home again. This would be in all quite 10 years after my grandfather’s death, but ‘Tootoo’ used often to talk to me about it, when she was with us, as I have mentioned in the account I sent you. I never saw the entry of date. ‘Tootoo’ used often to say to me it was a pity perhaps she had not kept it. She did keep it for some little while, but in moving house she lost it. It was just hastily pencilled down on a morsel of paper.

    “2. The difference of longitude was carefully accounted for. My mother’s ‘apparition,’ or whatever it was, came to her between 12 and 1 at night—nearer 1 than 12.

    {ii-488}

    “3. No, I have never heard that my mother ever saw any other vision. She is, I should say, not an imaginative person, and, besides, as she had no idea her father was even ill, she could not have imagined she saw him, and no one ever mentioned to her the fact of ‘Tootoo’s’ entry of date till the official date came home in the public papers; and then my mother remarked to ‘Tootoo,’ who often told me what she had said, ‘Oh, then, ‘Tootoo,’ that must have been my father I saw that night I was so frightened—not a robber as I thought.’ My mother has often told us she had made this remark to ‘Tootoo.’”

    The Army List confirms the date of Sir L. S.’s appointment, and gives January 2nd, 1842, as the date of his death. The Mauritius Register and the Times add that he died suddenly.

    (525) Mr. Thomas Young, of Elsinore House, Robert Road, Handsworth, Birmingham, sent us an account of the following incident, as “often related” to him by his mother (resident at 71, Highbury Hill, N.). We asked him to apply to her for a first-hand account, which she gave in the following letter to him, and afterwards vivâ voce to the present writer. Her version, which was given independently, corresponds exactly with his; which is some proof that the facts have not been distorted, in recent years at any rate, through lapse of memory.

    “January 10th, 1885.

    “MY DEAR SON,—You ask me to relate Aunt Lucy’s dream? it was not a dream, but a reality. You must know that Uncle Bennet was a small farmer, with a large family of 12 children, consequently some had to go away from home. They lived in a small village, Trelyon, near St. Ives, Cornwall. Now, what I am going to relate is about their daughter Betsy, who had taken a situation—I think at St. Ives, One morning aunt woke up and saw, standing by her bedside, this daughter, with her hair streaming all over her face, dripping wet, and she, poor thing, looking half drowned. Aunt said, ‘Betsy, where have you come from?’ The weather being frightfully bad, she thought she had walked home through the wet. She told her to go and dry herself, but she vanished away. Poor aunt was dreadfully alarmed. They sent to her place, and it appears she would go to Plymouth, and went in a little sailing-vessel, and that very morning the vessel was lost and all hands perished. Now, my dear son, I can vouch for every word being true, for aunt was a true Christian woman. I was a girl when she told me the unhappy incident, but it always made a most vivid impression on me.—Believe me, dear son, your loving mother,

    “C. YOUNG.”

    In conversation Mrs. Young mentioned that she heard of this incident within a day or two of its occurrence, and that from her aunt’s manner it made a very strong impression on her. She was about 14 at the time, which would make the date about 1825. Her aunt was a busy, practical woman, with no turn and no time for fancies. The cause of the girl’s sudden departure, Mrs. Young thinks, was not known. We have endeavoured to find a record of the accident, but have failed, not knowing the name of the vessel.

    (526) From Miss Caulfield, 1, Hyde Park Mansions, N.W. Her father was Commander Edwin T. Caulfield, of Raheenduffe, Queen’s Co., and of Beckford House, Bath.

    {ii-489}

    “December 8th, 1883.

    “When my father was at sea in H.M.S. ‘Lavinia,’ he was very intimate with two midshipmen, John Frederick J., and T. [The full names were given in confidence.] They had as yet formed but few opinions as to the truth of Divine Revelation; although all more or less religiously disposed, and anxious to learn. The fact of there being a future state, and that one of probation or retribution, was more especially under discussion between them. To solve this mystery for the survivors, they pledged themselves to one another, that were it permitted to give an intimation of the reality of an existence after death, the man that died first should show himself to the others.1 1 As to compacts of this sort, see p. 66. On the telepathic theory, the apparent fulfilment of the compact is of course due to a telepathic impulse transmitted before, not after, death.

    “My father was taken prisoner, and was by great interest placed on his parole, during two years in France; and one night,—whether waking or sleeping, he said he could not tell—he saw T. appear. At once he realised the fact that he was dead, and that he had come to redeem his promise. He asked him whether he was happy; to which the apparition replied by slowly swaying his head to and fro, with a sad expression, and a sound as of the clanking of chains accompanied the gesture. He then vanished. How soon afterwards my father received news of his friend, I am unable to say; but he was informed of his having been killed on board ship by the fall of a ‘block’ from the rigging (I think during action), which caused instantaneous death.

    “John Frederick J. had passed his examination, and was a lieutenant at the time of his death. My father was again in bed—whether awake, in a trance, or sleeping, he could not say; he believed he was dreaming, but it seemed like being awake. His friend and shipmate J. appeared to him. At once recognising the fulfilment of the agreement made between them, he knew that he was dead; and asked him the same question as he did his friend T.; to which an exactly similar reply was made, i.e., by the slow swaying of the head, accompanied by the sound as of the clanking of chains. In due time my father was apprised of the death of this friend also; who had had his arm and shoulder blade torn away by a cannon ball, at the storming of Algiers. My sister and I both perfectly recollect hearing this story from our father on several occasions.

    “S. F. A. C.”

    Miss Caulfield’s sister also signs her initials, “L. L. A.”

    From an examination of the ship’s books of H.M.S. “Lavinia,” at the Record Office, we find that “T.” joined that vessel in the same year as Miss Caulfield’s father, 1806, and that he was killed by the fall of a toprail on July 14, 1808. “J.” has also been traced on the books of the “Lavinia,” and seems to have left that ship in 1810. We have received from the Record Office a certificate to the effect that he was dangerously wounded in the attack on Algiers on Aug. 27, 1816, and that his “left arm was removed at the shoulder-joint.” We find from the Gentleman’s Magazine that his death followed on Oct. 3.

    If the clanking of chains2 2 I must point out that this sound, being a common feature in ghostly legends, is one not unlikely to get imported into a second-hand version even of a genuine telepathic case[.] See the remark on the prevalence of the number three, p. 229, note. really formed a feature in both these {ii-490} experiences, it seems an excellent instance of the percipient’s investiture of the telepathic impression with his own dream-imagery (Vol. I, p. 539).

    The next case ought perhaps to be classed as a dream. But the sense of someone’s entrance into the room, and presence by the bed which the perceiver is conscious of actually occupying, is very characteristic of a semi-waking state, and is not, I think, a common feature in dreams which are afterwards distinctly recognised as such.

    (527) From the Rev. S. W. Hanks (District Secretary of the American Seamen’s Friend Society, and well known to Professor William James, of Harvard, a Corresponding Member of the S.P.R.).

    “Congregational House, Boston.

    “April 25th, 1884.

    “Two of my three brothers were sailors. The eldest (Dwight) went to sea when he was 11 years old, and was at sea most of the time until his death, at the age of 25 years. On one of his voyages he was wrecked, and remained on the wreck nine days without food or drink. After this my mother never saw him, though by a letter from him to my other brother she had heard the particulars about the wreck, from which he was taken off by a passing vessel. On the night of December 5th, 1829, my mother dreamed that he was dead. When she arose in the morning she was much affected, and during the day she was weeping nearly all the time. When asked what made her think that Dwight was dead, she said that in the night he came into her room, trembling, and looking very pale, and said, ‘Mother.’ She said, ‘Dwight, what is the matter? I will get up, and do you come and lie down upon my bed.’ He replied, ‘No, mother,’ and walked out of the room. From that time she always spoke of his death with the utmost confidence.

    “In July, 1830, my other sailor brother was in New York, where he was met by a stranger who asked him if he knew a sailor of the name of Dwight Hanks? He replied, ‘I have a brother of that name from whom I have not heard for a long time.’ The stranger then said to him that a man by the name of Dwight Hanks, about 25 years old, a little shorter than himself, and a little lame from having broken one of his legs when he was a boy, as he said, was killed on board the barque, ‘Four Sons,’ of a fall from aloft during a storm, on the night of December 5th, 1829. ‘The vessel is now in port, and if you will go with me on board I will tell you just where he fell. We buried him at sea, and his chest is on board the vessel.’ My brother went on board and found the statement of the stranger corroborated. When my mother heard of it she said, ‘This is no news to me. I have never had a moment’s doubt about Dwight’s death since the time of my dream.’

    “These facts are well remembered by myself and my sister, now 80 years old.

    “S. W. HANKS.”

    Mr. Hanks writes to us on March 27th, 1885:—

    “I inquired of my sister if any memorandum of the date of my mothers’s dream was made at the time. She informs me that none has {ii-491} been preserved. She informs me that a cousin of ours was visiting the family at the time, who said of the dream: ‘This is so remarkable that I will make a memorandum of it.’ He did so. He is now dead, and the memorandum is lost. My sister is very confident about the date, as she has letters which she thinks fix it. She is now in such a state of health that she cannot attend to the matter. I did not keep the date, but distinctly remember the fact.”

    (528) From Mrs. Monteith Brown, Oak Cottage, Hythe.

    “1884.

    “The following is an account told me by my aunt, then Mary Noble, of the appearance of her brother, Edward Meadows Noble, at the time of his death. It took place in the night, and she was awoke by the sound of water dripping,1 1 Compare the next case, and cases 513, 535, 537; and see p. 26. and saw, at the foot of her bed, her fourth brother, a lieutenant in the navy, and then serving in China. She sprang up exclaiming, ‘Ned, what are you doing here?’ when the figure vanished. In due course of time, the news came of his having been drowned off Amoy, in China, about the time of the appearance.

    “E. ADELA BROWN.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Brown adds:—

    “I heard the story direct from my aunt, who is since dead. On referring to a naval biography, I find the date of my uncle’s death was January 22nd, 1843.” This date is confirmed by the United Service Magazine.

    [This is perhaps a case of hereditary susceptibility (see p. 137, note); for Mrs. Brown tells us that her grandfather, Admiral Noble, when flag-lieutenant to Lord Nelson, had a vision, coinciding with death, of his cousin, Jeffery Wheelock, who was serving with the Duke of York in 1794. But this is only family tradition.]

    (529) From Mrs. Martin, housekeeper to Miss Anna Swanwick, 23, Cumberland Terrace, Regent’s Park, N. W., who considers that her memory is accurate and trustworthy, in spite of advanced age.

    “January, 1884.

    “When I was about seven years old [about 1807], my cousin, Joseph Newton, a youth of about 17 years of age, whose mother and stepfather occupied a farm near Hawarden, and were tenants of Sir Stephen Glynn, came to visit my mother in Liverpool. He was so delighted with the shipping that he left the farm and entered the establishment of a shipwright. About two years later, his mother, who rarely left home, presented herself at my mother’s house and said, ‘I shall never again see Joseph. As I lay awake last night, he appeared to me naked and dripping with water. I know that he is drowned.’ This proved to be the case. He had gone with a companion to bathe in the Mersey, and had been carried away by the current. Seven or eight days afterwards his body was seen floating in the water, and was picked up by a packet.

    “I remember my aunt’s visit, and I remember attending my cousin’s funeral. I cannot say that I actually heard my aunt relate her dream, but I have often heard my mother tell the story. My mother and aunt are both dead. I never heard that my aunt had any similar dream at any other time.

    “SUSAN MARTIN.”

    {ii-492}

    Mrs. Martin further states that this was the only occasion on which her aunt visited Liverpool.

    It has been impossible to trace the date of this death, as it occurred before the days of registration.

    [If the narrator has really a recollection of her aunt’s visit, which both preceded the news of the death and was a consequence of the vision, her evidence is not very far from being on a par with first-hand (Vol. I., p. 148).]

    (530) From Miss Jameson, 6, Leamington Villas, Acton. She is the youngest daughter referred to in the narrative, being at the time (1839) 10 years of age. Her father was residing in Norfolk.

    “April 30th, 1884.

    “On a bright moonlight night in January, 1839, an elderly gentleman was lying dangerously ill. He was being carefully watched that night by a daughter. During the hours of from 12 midnight to 2 o’clock, so peculiar were his symptoms, the daughter thought her father dying or dead, and yet there seemed anguish. In the morning, about 10 o’clock, the gentleman came downstairs. His youngest daughter was frightened to see her father so altered, and well remembers his resting his elbow upon the mantelpiece, with his forehead on his hand, and also saying, ‘May my Lord and Almighty Father in His Infinite mercy grant that I never may pass through another such night.’

    “On the same evening in Boulogne, the eldest son of the above thought he would go home early that night; bright and moonlight; retired to rest (but not to sleep) shortly after 12; the room quite light. Not feeling sleepy, he half reclined, resting his head upon one hand. Presently he saw his bedroom door gently open. He roused himself to look and see who could be coming so quietly into his bedroom, when he saw his father in his night-dress, with a silk handkerchief, which he distinctly recognised, bound round his head. His father came to the foot of the bed, and stood and gazed at his son, who steadily looked at him, pained to see his father looking so ill. The father quietly withdrew, the door closed, the son jumped out of bed, and dressed himself quickly, walked about the streets of Boulogne with the watchman, to whom he related occurrence, at 6 a.m. returned home, and wrote immediately to his sisters to inquire how his father and all at home were. The letter caused great surprise, as it was an unusual one. Some months after, he came home upon a visit, when he alluded to letter, related above incident, and said ‘Wait one minute. Just recollect which silk handkerchief father had round his head. I will tell you which I saw, and then you will see if I am right.’ And he was right. My father was never told of it. My brother died over 10 years since.”

    In answer to inquiries, Miss Jameson wrote:—

    “The handkerchief which was round my father’s head was, as well as I can describe it, of an undecided pattern—colours blended—scarcely a scroll, and yet a scroll pattern is the best name I can give; an Indian style; a border round, with the colours less mixed; red and yellow, but not glaring; it had been given him at High Wycombe. No two handkerchiefs the same pattern. I remember two others very well; both larger in size; one used to be called brindled; no decided pattern, but the colours woven in; a lady would understand by my saying something of a Paisley {ii-493} shawl pattern; perhaps you will understand me better if I say the colours were so mixed as to somewhat resemble the tapestry curtains of the present day—where there is not a decided pattern.

    “E. M. JAMESON.”

    In conversation Miss Jameson told me that she distinctly remembers the arrival of this letter, and the sensation it caused. It was the fact of its arrival that impressed on the minds of the family the coincidence of the father’s distress and the brother’s anxiety. Miss Jameson gave a vivid description of her father’s aspect and words.

    Miss Jameson has forwarded to us the following letter from her sister, Mrs. Large.

    “Grange Cottage, Taplow.

    “November 15th, 1884.

    “In answer to your request about dear father and William, it was this, as near as I can remember. One night William woke up, whether from any noise or influence I do not know, and saw a figure at the foot of his bed, like father, with a countenance of extreme misery. He was frightened, and covered himself up with bedclothes till daylight; whether he slept or not I know not. Upon comparing notes when he wrote to know how we all were, it seems that night was the one father suffered so intensely with the abscess, and thought he should not live. I remember when he came down in the morning how haggard he looked; he quite upset us. But he roused no one in the night—why I do not know. From a remark he made, he was thinking of William during the night. That is all I know.

    “M. LARGE.”

    Miss Jameson adds:—

    “I think my own version is correct, for I am singularly correct in all things bearing upon events of my childhood. I was 10, my sister 18. I think the impression made upon my mind was more unmixed, as my brother was anything but timid; the covering himself up, I think, is mixed with another matter.

    “E. M. J.”

    (531) From Mrs. Harvey, 1, Rochester Road, Camden Road, N.W.

    “February 26th, 1884.

    “On February 8th, 1882, my eldest brother died at Croydon, at a quarter past 6 in the morning. About 6 o’clock in the evening I received notice of his death. I wrote that same evening to my aunt and uncle, at Billericay, in Essex. My letter was received by them the next day. In the following July, I visited my aunt, and on speaking of my brother’s death she said:—

    “‘On the morning before I received your letter I was lying awake, when I distinctly saw the form of a tall man appear at my bedside, and slightly bend over it.’ I said, ‘Did you really?’ She said, ‘That I certainly did, and I awoke your uncle, and told him; I could not discern features, but I saw the form of a man as plain as could be. I did not know what to think it meant.’ My aunt had not heard of his illness, for it was not made known to even his wife that it was so serious; his death was therefore unexpected.

    “M. HARVEY.”

    We have confirmed the date and place of death by the Register of Deaths.

    {ii-494}

    We are requested not to publish the aunt’s name. Mrs. Harvey, at my request, wrote to ask her some questions, and I have seen the reply, in which Mrs. Harvey’s uncle, speaking of his wife, says, “All she can say is that it was so”; but he expresses the strongest dread and dislike of the whole subject.

    (532) From the late Mr. G. Wadsworth, the narrator of case 496 above.1 1 These two cases perhaps afford an example of family susceptibility (p. 132, note).

    “October 21st, 1882.

    “In 1837 my uncle was living in Birmingham. My father, then living in Jersey, one morning got up in great perturbation, having seen his brother dying, and said to my mother that he must go at once to Birmingham. Communication was at that time not very convenient, and, moreover, expensive, so that my mother naturally dissuaded a journey upon such an extraordinary assumption; but so convinced was my father of the force of his vision, that he packed up his portmanteau ready for the summons which he felt certain to receive; and when a few days after he got a letter from me, and a parcel from the executor notifying the death, he at once started by return steamer.

    “My uncle at the time, and for some short time previously, was known to be ailing—not what could be called really dangerously. The cause of his death occurred after I left him in the evening, and before my calling in the morning, so that he may be said to have died suddenly, so far as was known in Jersey.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that the death took place, very suddenly, on July 29, 1837.

    [Here again it is possible that the experience was a dream; but the impression made by it seems to have been of a very unusual kind.]

    (533) From Mrs. Harnett, a near relative of our friend, Miss Porter, who thinks that her memory may be fully trusted; but the case is very remote.

    “Hollybank, Kenley, Surrey.

    “December, 1884.

    “Having been requested to write down the particulars of an event which occurred in the lives of my parents, I do so.

    “In 1820, my father and mother, both being under 50 years of age, and in perfect health, were staying in Liverpool (their residence being at Whitehaven, in Cumberland), names, Joseph and Ann Mondel.

    “One night, the latter, sleeping peacefully, was awoke by the former calling out:—

    “‘Ann, I feel sure Anthony Mathers is dead.’

    “‘What makes you think so?’

    “‘He has just been at the bedside, and laid an icy-cold hand on my cheek.’

    “‘You must have been dreaming.’

    “‘Oh, but my cheek is still cold.’

    “The old and much-esteemed friend was, at the time, sojourning in one of the West Indian islands. The season was known to be more than usually sickly, so the thought of his danger might have engendered morbid {ii-495} feelings. My father, as well as my mother, was content to rest in that hope,

    during the weeks that must elapse ere the news of that night’s occurrences in Jamaica could reach England. News did arrive, and stated that on the night referred to Mr. Mathers succumbed to a sudden and most severe attack of yellow or other West Indian fever.

    “As a child I first heard the tale, but often in my presence was it repeated or referred to, later in life, without any change or amplification of detail.

    “JANET HARNETT.”

    [We have failed to trace the exact date of the death.]

    (534) From Miss Crommelin, 1, Edinburgh Mansions, Victoria Street, S.W.

    “April, 1883.

    “My brother, when at school, having gone to bed one summer’s night in a dormitory with several other boys, heard young C——, who slept next to him, call out, ‘Crommelin! Look, there is my sister standing at the foot of my bed—see!’ My brother saw nothing, though he sat up.1 1 See p. 105, second note. It was after nine, but still light, if I remember rightly. Young C—— still persisted he had seen her, in white. Next day came a telegram: the child in question had died of heart disease, whilst saying her prayers at that very hour—she had presumably also been wearing her white night-gown. As my brother is now dead, and as we have no knowledge of the schoolfellow in question, this cannot be more fully authenticated.

    “MAY CROMMELIN.”

    In conversation, Mr. Podmore learnt that the boy’s name was Close, but Miss Crommelin does not know to what family of Closes he belonged. The incident took place in 1858, or about that date, when her brother was 12 years old, and she a little younger. She heard of it from her brother soon after the event.

    (535) From Mr. Arthur Bedford, Ant’s Hill, Laugharne, St. Clears, S. Wales. This account might have been included with the first-hand evidence, but is placed here on account of its resemblance to the last.

    “March 10th, 1884.

    “At a large public school, one winter’s morning, about dawn, all in our dormitory were roused up by a fearful cry from one of my schoolfellows, who declared that his father, dressed in a pea coat, with high boots on, had appeared at his bedside, dripping wet. Some days afterwards an account of the foundering of the vessel he commanded in Yarmouth Roads reached him, and, as well as could be ascertained, the time of the loss of the vessel corresponded with the appearance of this double of my schoolfellow’s father at his bedside. The body was recovered and found to be dressed as described. I would like to give name and other circumstances, but the widow of my schoolfellow is alive, and I do not know her present residence, to ask permission for disclosing it.

    “ARTHUR BEDFORD.”

    (536) From Mrs. Gardiner, 30, Skene Street, Macduff, KB., who heard of the incident from her sister soon after its occurrence. The account was written in 1883. After narrating that about 40 years before, when her father was tenant of Mill of Boyndie, a large farm about two miles west of Banff, three men who had left his service one morning got {ii-496} drunk, pushed out to sea in a boat, and were drowned, Mrs. Gardiner continues:—

    “In the meantime nothing whatever of the movements of these men was known at the Mill of Boyndie; but all the household retired to rest at the usual hour. My sister, as was her custom, locked all the doors, and placed the keys on a table beside her bed. She was awakened in the middle of the night by one of the domestics coming to her, and asking for the key of the kitchen door, as two of the three lads who had left in the morning had just looked in at her bedroom window, as if they were in want of something. She said she had asked them what they required, but they had returned no answer, and having slowly moved down, left the back of the house, where they were joined by the third one. [The premises were searched without result.] A messenger arrived early next morning, saying that the three young men had been drowned. My sister is now dead, but I am certain, if she had been alive, she would have corroborated the whole of the foregoing statement.”

    [The evidence here of course depends, not on the mere tale of a frightened servant, but on the assurance of Mrs. Gardiner’s sister that the fright related to the apparition of certain persons whose death was not known of till next day. A mistake of identity seems improbable; as though a servant, startled from sleep in the middle of the night, would be likely enough to mistake friends seeking admittance for tramps or burglars, she would not be likely to mistake tramps or burglars for friends. It must be observed, however, that a joint apparition of three persons who were all dying at the same time is not a type of which we have any first-hand specimens; and though such an event would quite admit of a telepathic explanation, it suggests a certain infusion of the mythical element. Clearly, a genuine telepathic incident may be unconsciously exaggerated and improved, just as much as a spurious one.]

    § 5. The remaining second-hand cases are from narrators who were not relatives of the original witnesses, but for the most part were thoroughly intimate with them. None of the cases are the mere recitals of stories casually picked up without any warranty as to their bona fides.1 1 At the same time, these are specially the cases in respect of which the drawbacks to transmitted evidence, which were described in Vol. i., pp. 149–57, must be carefully borne in mind. For example, the narrator of the last case described to us how a friend of hers, the late Dr. Smith, of Banff, when a medical student, woke and “distinctly saw a brother,” who, it proved, died at the time. But we afterwards obtained an account from Mrs. Findlater, of Dufftown, N.B., a daughter of the percipient, in which it was stated that he always expressly denied having seen any apparition, or recognisable form. He was only conscious of his bed-curtains shaking, and of a shadow passing before him. The point remains that a strong impression of his brother’s death was conveyed to him (though the death was quite unexpected), and that he rose and marked the time in writing, and next day mentioned his experience to a friend, Mr. Falconer. Still the case, already second-hand and remote, is so much weakened by the correction that we do not include it in our evidence.

    (537) Mr. Colchester, of Bushey Heath, Herts, sends us the following case from a MS. work entitled Reminiscences of the Bermudas, written by his late father, who at the time of the occurrence narrated was assistant-surgeon in the Royal Artillery. The names of the two officers, Lieutenants {ii-497} Creagh and Liston, were given in initial in the MS. The author heard of the occurrence from Lieutenant Creagh (whom he describes as “a highly honourable man”), and made a written note of it, some months, or perhaps a year, after it happened. The account is somewhat abridged.

    “The passage from Bermuda to Halifax is in certain seasons hazardous, and in 1830 a transport, containing over 200 men, foundered at sea between these two ports. Two officers of the regiment to which the detachment had belonged had, in a half-jesting way, made a sort of promise that whoever died first should come back if he could, and let the other know whether there was another world.1 1 See p. 66, and p. 489, first note. This conversation was heard by the narrator, as it took place in his presence, perhaps a year before the events happened, though not remembered till afterwards. Liston embarked in charge of the detachment, and had been gone about a fortnight, when Creagh, who had one night left the mess early and had retired to bed, and was beginning to close his eyes, saw his door open and Liston enter. Forgetting his absence, and thinking he had come to pull him out of bed (for practical joking was then more common in the army than it is now), he cried, ‘No, no; d——n it, Liston, don’t, old fellow! I’m tired! Be off!’ But the vision came nearer the bed foot, and Creagh then saw that Liston looked as if very ill (for it was bright moonlight), and that his hair seemed wet, and hung down over his face like a drowned man’s. The apparition moved its head mournfully; and when Creagh in surprise sat up, rubbed his eyes, and looked again, it was gone. Still Creagh avers that all this time he had no idea of its being a spectre, and believing that he had seen Liston himself, he went to sleep. In the morning he related the occurrence, when he recollected, but not till then, Liston’s absence on duty from the island. He asserts he had not lately been thinking of Liston; neither

    don’t know, but before very long I woke with a sudden sense of chilliness,1 1 See p. 37, first note. and was startled to hear a sort of choking sound at my back. Turning round quickly, I was surprised to see, by the light of the reading lamp, my friend Bohun, half sitting up in my arm-chair beside the bed, and apparently gasping for breath. For a few seconds I looked at him in bewilderment, and then called him by name. In an instant the chair was vacant, and jumping off the bed I found the door locked, and the oak sported, as I left them.

    “‘Thinking it only a dream, though even then I must confess I was considerably startled by the vividness of it all, I undressed and got into bed, dozing off again in a few minutes. My sleep cannot, however, have been of long duration, and a second time I woke with the same curious sensation, and again saw Bohun gasping in the chair beside my bed.2 2 Compare cases 503 and 519, and see p. 237, note. Moving cautiously to that side of the bed, I made a sudden dash—at nothing: for a second time he was gone.

    “‘Now thoroughly awake, and, I must confess, not liking it all, I left my room, and calling the porter, we went through the empty place, only to find everything right and secure. The man seemed to think I had been taking rather more than perhaps was wise, and, much to my disgust, hinted it rather plainly; so in him I found only a Job’s comforter. Being unable to sleep any more that night, I made up my mind to read for the remaining hours before daylight.

    “‘The next day nothing transpired, and I began to feel I had rather made a fool of myself, and did not at all relish the porter’s inquiries after my health. Wednesday passed, and a lot of reading was accomplished, and on Thursday I walked out a short distance to meet the London coach, which brought my weekly papers. After a short chat the driver suddenly said “Have you heard, sir, of poor Mr. Bohun’s sad death? As he was going on board the packet at Dover he slipped on the gangway, falling into the water, and was never seen again.”

    “‘The shock to me was so great that for several weeks I was laid up in my room, and in my delirium I was afterwards told I was always raving about my poor friend and his mysterious visit to my rooms.’

    “F. J. J.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Jones says:—

    “My friend about whom you ask has been dead now about nine years. He first told us the story in the year 1867, and has since often alluded {ii-501} to it.” In conversation I learnt that this friend was Mr. Jones’s tutor, living in the same house, for several years, and was most deeply respected by him. We have ascertained that he was at Peterhouse in 1843; but the name Bohun does not appear in the Cambridge Calendar of that date, and is probably a mistake. We have not been able to discover any public notice of the accident, and the death was probably not registered.

    [It ought to be observed that the percipient was probably falling ill at the time of his vision; and that in his subsequent delirium the order of events may have become confused. Still, it seems unlikely that his recollection of the anxiety that succeeded the vision and preceded the arrival of the news is a piece of pure imagination.]

    (541) From Mr. George M. Barker, Brynderw, Dolgelly.

    “July, 1884.

    “Travelling by train from London to Brighton in company with my tutor, we sat opposite an elderly lady, who seemed to doze. About halfway, she awoke with a cry, and was much agitated. My tutor soothed her, and asked her what was the matter. She stated that she had seen her son (who was in the navy) drowning before her eyes, and that it was so horribly real, even to the minutest detail of dress, &c., that she could not believe that she was travelling in a railway carriage. She vowed that she had not been to sleep. My tutor, with her permission, called upon her next day, and an acquaintance struck up, which lasted for some time. About a fortnight after the scene in the carriage, news duly arrived of the death of the son at sea, while rowing from the ship to the shore. This event occurred in the year 1870 or 1871.

    “GEORGE M. BARKER.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Barker says:—

    “I am unable to furnish you with the address of my old tutor. His name was Alfred Downes, 64, Upper Brunswick Place, Brighton, but I have heard recently that he has left Brighton. The name of the old lady I heard mentioned by my tutor years ago, but I have no recollection of what it was, or where, exactly, she lived. The bald facts are, therefore, all that I can give you. To me, at the time, this event was of considerable interest. I may mention that I am a thorough disbeliever in everything unnatural and ghostly.

    “I have no doubt that the time was exactly the same, and for this reason: my tutor and I were travelling by a very fast train between London and Brighton, the total journey only occupying 1hr. 10min.; we were just passing, or had just passed (I really forget which) Redhill Station, which is about half way, so that we could easily fix the time. My tutor, seeing the condition of the poor lady, asked, and was allowed, to call upon her to inquire after her state, and it was during one of these calls that the news was confirmed. The time of the upset of the boat was, allowing for the change between the two distances, as nearly corresponding as possible.”

    We cannot trace Mr. Downes; the postmaster at Brighton has no later address than that given.

    (542) From Mr. S. Alfred Steinthal, The Limes, Nelson Street, Manchester.

    {ii-502}

    “March 21st, 1884.

    “A lady of my acquaintance, Mrs. Ashton, now deceased, the wife of Mr. Alderman Ashton, of this city, had a son who was the Unitarian minister at Glossop, in Derbyshire. One night she distinctly saw her son in his night-dress in her room (she lived then at Cheetham Hill, Manchester), and woke her husband, telling him what had occurred. Neither she nor her husband knew of anything being wrong with their son, but next morning they were informed that he had been taken suddenly ill, and had died at the time when Mrs. Ashton saw the appearance she described. Neither Mr. Ashton nor Mrs. Ashton were Spiritualists.

    “S. ALFRED STEINTHAL.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Steinthal adds:—

    “April 1st 1884.

    “Both Mr. and Mrs. Ashton are now deceased. I heard the story, a short time after the death, from Mrs. Ashton. It was told me in the presence of her husband, who confirmed the part of the story that she had awakened him, and had told him of the appearance she had seen. Mr. Ashton died about seven years ago, but I cannot give you the exact date. I am sorry I cannot be more definite.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that the Rev. Frederick Ashton died at Glossop on April 15, 1878.

    (543) From the late Mr. Myddleton, Leasingham Hall, Sleaford.

    “September 1st, 1884.

    “Mrs. Onslow was suddenly awakened one night by her son, who was in the Royal Marines, and afloat on board a man-of-war. She awoke suddenly and saw her son standing at the foot of the bed. She exclaimed to her husband, ‘Oh! Onslow, here is ——’ (the son’s name) ‘come back.’ Onslow awoke, but the son (or vision) had disappeared. They noted the exact hour, &c., and when time allowed them to hear from him (his ship was off Madeira or St. Helena) a letter arrived saying he was dead, and had died at the very time he had appeared to his mother.

    “This is to certify that the above is a perfectly correct account, as I have heard Mrs. Onslow often relate; but alas! both she and her husband have long been dead, and I cannot ask for a written confirmation.

    “RD. WHARTON MYDDLETON

    (544) From Mrs. Bryant, Ladymeade, Tyndall’s Park, Bristol. The evidence is of the sort which may be regarded as on a par with first-hand (Vol. I., p. 148); but it cannot be regarded as certain that the figure seen represented the supposed agent.

    “1881.

    “One morning one of the upper servants came to my father, Captain Beadon, R.N., and in my presence said that she felt sure he would soon hear of a death in the family, for in the night she awoke to find an old lady standing by her bedside, and gazing steadfastly at her. She was dressed in her shroud, and Stapleton (the maid) especially noticed the fine old lace on her cap. My father laughed at her, and jokingly asked a description of her features, which Stapleton gave. I

    said, ‘That is so like Aunt F.’ (Stapleton had never seen Mrs. F.) The maid said at first she was frightened, and covered her head with the bedclothes; but she was a religious woman, and prayed for courage to ask the spirit what it wanted. {ii-503} On looking again, she found the old lady still there. Stapleton spoke to her, and gradually and slowly the figure faded away. The next day’s post brought news of the death of my father’s aunt, Mrs. F.

    “GEORGINA BRYANT.”

    In May, 1884, Mrs. Bryant writes:—

    “I have sent my father your letter, and asked him to write out the story, and see if I have remembered it correctly. I have not compared notes with him in any way. I don’t think it is worth much in point of evidence—however, what there is is to be relied on.

    “In answer to your questions:—

    “(1) The date would be nearly 40 years ago.

    “(2) I do not at all know if the servant is living.

    “(3) I do not know if she had ever seen anything of the kind before.

    “(4) She said: ‘A noble-looking old lady with her night-dress on and beautiful lace on her cap.’”

    “We find from the Register of Deaths that Mrs. Franklin died on March 8, 1846.

    On May 26th, 1884, Captain Beadon wrote to Mrs. Bryant as follows:—

    “Creechbarrow, Taunton.

    “DEAR GEORGINA,—When we lived at No. 8, Pavilion Place, Battersea Fields, Sarah Stapleton, who lived with us as housemaid, informed your mother and me that an old lady was sitting on her box in her bedroom when she was getting out of bed in the morning, about 7 a.m.

    “The apparition remained some time, and did not disappear until she addressed it in the name of the ‘Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.’ She said she did not know any person like the apparition, but, from her exact description I said it was my aunt, Mrs. F., whom I then supposed to be living at No. 5, Hammett Street, Taunton.

    “The next post brought me a letter from my cousin, Robert Beadon, stating that Mrs. F. had died about the time of Stapleton’s vision. I do not remember the exact date of Mrs. F.’s death. Stapleton was a very respectable, steady young woman—a Wesleyan. Your mother often said after, she was the best servant she ever had; she married a young artificer, then employed at Woolwich Dockyard, in 1845 or 1846. I have never heard of, or from, her since.

    “I lived some two years with my aunt.—I am, your affectionate father,

    “GEORGE BEADON.”

    [If the death was on the night preceding the apparition, as Captain Beadon stated in conversation that he believed it was, the news probably arrived not by the “next post,” but (as Mrs. Bryant says) by “next day’s post”; but Captain Beadon cannot be absolutely certain that it did not occur before night on the preceding day.]

    As to the next case, see the remark which prefaces case 527 above. The standing “at the foot of the bed”—it will have been observed—is a point which occurs in a large number of these borderland cases.

    (545) From Mrs. Harper, Cotham, Bristol.

    “December, 1883.

    “I was at school at Miss Smith’s, Portland Street, Kingstown, with the {ii-504} daughters of the Hon. James P., of Jamaica. He was expected home, and a house in Cotham Park, just opposite my present residence, was being prepared for him. One night, Hannah P. woke screaming, saying her father was dead. Miss Smith asked her why she said so, and she stated that her father had come and stood at the foot of her bed, and then went and looked at her sister Isabel in another bed. The father died at that time, and it seems he had a presentiment that he should not live to return, and had ordered a quantity of rum to be put on board to preserve his body in if he should die on the way.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Harper adds:—

    “I was at school with Hannah P., but not at the time the occurrence took place to which you allude, so of course was not in the room. I heard of it afterwards from a young lady that was in the room, and saw her distress; she was a proud reserved girl, about 17, and very unlikely to make a display of feeling unless greatly moved. The younger girl sleeping in the same room did not see her father, although Hannah said that he went from her to look at Isabella. I cannot say how long it was after she went that I heard of it; it might have been a year. We were not allowed to speak of it to Hannah.

    “S. J. HARPER.”

    We find from the Gentleman’s Magazine that the death occurred on Sept. 4, 1825, after a 4 days’ illness.

    (546) From Mr. E. Keep, who first wrote from abroad, and later from 25, Phillimore Gardens, W. We owe the case in the first instance to the Oxford Phasmatological Society.

    “1880.

    “Some years ago, Mr. Charles P. Smith, a gentleman living in Melbourne, became very unwell, and was recommended to go on a sea voyage. A captain of a merchant vessel going to Java offered him a berth upon the ship on very moderate terms; but Mr. Smith’s finances being at a very low ebb, a few of his friends clubbed together and presented him with £100, and Mr. Smith started on his voyage.

    “One of the friends subscribing to the fund was a Mr. Bowman, a very old friend of Mr. Smith, and some time after Mr. Smith’s departure, Mr. Bowman met me in the street, and said, ‘Oh, Mr. Keep, I saw Charley Smith either last night or the night before; he appeared at the foot of my bed dressed in a long black robe; and bursting into tears vanished.’ I said, ‘Are you joking? One reads of these things in the Night Side of Nature, and such rubbish, but one doesn’t expect to hear of them in actual life.’ ‘Oh,’ said Mr. Bowman, ‘these things are often occurring to me—you will find Mr. Smith died last night.’ I stepped into my office, and made a note of the conversation and date, and said that Mr. Bowman was not certain if his dream were last night or the night before.

    “In about a month the steamship ‘Hero’ arrived at Sydney from Java, and reported that a passenger, Mr. Charles F. Smith, of Melbourne, had died at sea on one of the dates specified by Mr. Bowman.

    “EDWARD KEEP.”

    At our request Mr. Keep wrote to Melbourne, to get confirmation of this narrative; but he found that the diary in which he noted the incident had been burnt, and his friends knew nothing of Mr. Bowman. He adds that he thinks the occurrence was in 1869.

    {ii-505}

    We have received the following letter from Messrs. Gibbs, Bright and Co., of Melbourne:—

    “April 28th, 1886.

    “In reply to your letter of 20th Feb., we have interviewed Capt. Logan, who was commander of the s.s. ‘Hero’ at the time of the death of Mr. C. F. Smith; and he advises us that, as well as he can remember, Mr. Smith died on the day after leaving Batavia, in Dec, 1886,”—apparently a slip for 1868, in which year, as we have ascertained by a search in Sydney papers, the “Hero” was trading from that place.

    (547) From Mademoiselle Glinka, 1, Rue Lincoln, Champs Elysées, Paris.

    “1884.

    “My brother had the habit, when he went to Wiesbaden, to visit an old servant maid, who had been for 15 years in our family, when we were children, and who now lives on a pension. She is very much attached to our family. Lately she had met with an accident, having fallen from a staircase, and was laid up in her bed for several weeks, with compresses on her face. She knew of my brother’s last illness, but was not aware of its gravity.

    “One day, when lying in her bed in a half doze, she saw my brother enter her room, clad in his grey coat as usually. Quite confused that he should see her in that state, she exclaimed, ‘Why, Excellency, I am ashamed that you have come into my room to find me here in my bed.’ He answered, ‘Do not mind it, Bienchen’ (the name we called her by), ‘have you not been sitting at my bedside hundreds of times when I was a boy?’ She begged him to be seated.1 1 See p. 460, second note. Then he looked at her with a long, fixed gaze, and disappeared at the door. Frightened and amazed, she rang for her landlady, and asked her why she had let Mr. G. enter without announcing him. The woman protested that nobody could have entered without her knowledge, as she had been on the ground floor, and that she had not seen his Excellency or anybody else. A few days later she heard of his death. But the day and hour she had seen him, and talked with him, my brother had had his arm amputated, being chloroformed.

    “J. G.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mademoiselle Glinka adds on March 7th, 1886:—

    “Jacobina Riekes told me of this experience within a week after its occurrence. It had greatly astonished her, as she had never had any hallucination in her life. She was certainly awake, as she was in the act of altering the arrangement of some compresses on her face. She told the landlady of her experience immediately after it occurred; but I did not myself speak to the landlady on the subject. My brother died two days after the operation. The event occurred at Easter, 1884. My brother was in Frankfort.”

    This case is the only one in our collection where the supposed agent was under the influence of an anæsthetic; but it may be compared to cases where the condition has been fainting or coma (see Vol. I., p. 563, note).

    {ii-506}

    The next case resembles No. 505, above, in representing a complete scene which seems to have been conveyed to the percipient’s mind some little time after its occurrence, but at a time when the agent’s thoughts (certainly in this case, and presumably in the other) were directed to the percipient, and also occupied with a mental renewal of the scene itself. In the present case, however, the interval between the enactment of the scene and the percipient’s experience was probably little, if at all, more than 12 hours; and it would be quite possible to regard the case as one of deferred development (Vol. I., pp. 139, 511).

    (548) Slightly abridged from the account of Miss Millicent A. Page, sent to us by her brother, the Rev. A. Shaw Page, Vicar of Selsley, Stone-house, Gloucestershire

    “I was staying with my mother’s cousin, Mrs. Elizabeth Broughton, wife of Mr. Edward Broughton, Edinburgh, and daughter of the late Colonel Blanckley, in the year 1844, and she told me the following strange story:—

    “She awoke one night and aroused her husband, telling him that something dreadful had happened in France. He begged her to go to sleep again and not to trouble him. She assured him that she was not asleep when she saw what she insisted on then telling him—what she saw in fact. First a carriage-accident, which she did not actually see, but what she saw was the result, a broken carriage, a crowd collected, a figure gently raised and carried into the nearest house, and then a figure lying on a bed, which she then recognised as the Duke of Orleans. Gradually friends collecting round the bed, among them several members of the French Royal family—the Queen, then the King—all silently, tearfully watching the evidently dying Duke. One man (she could see his back, but did not know who he was) was a doctor. He stood bending over the Duke, feeling his pulse, his watch in his other hand. And then all passed away: she saw no more. As soon as it was daylight, she wrote down in her journal all she had seen. From that journal she read this to me. It was before the days of electric telegraph, and two or more days passed before the Times announced ‘The Death of the Duke of Orleans.’ [Visiting Paris a short time afterwards, she saw and recognised the place of the accident, and received the explanation of her impression. The doctor who attended the dying Duke was an old friend of hers; and as he watched by the bed, his mind had been constantly occupied with her and her family. The reason of this was an extraordinary likeness—a likeness which had often led to amusing incidents—between several members of the Broughton family and members of the French Royal family who were present in the room.] ‘I spoke of you and yours when I got home,’ said the doctor, ‘and thought of you many times that evening. The likeness between yourselves and the Royal family was, perhaps, never so strong as that day when they stood there in their sorrow, all so natural; father, mother, brothers, sisters, watching the dying son and brother. Here was the link between us, you see.’”

    {ii-507}

    The detailed account of the death of the Duke of Orleans was in the Times of July 15, 1842. The carriage accident took place at 12.30 p.m., on July 13. The Duke was carried into the nearest house, and attended by Dr. Bawnes and Dr. Pasquier. The King, Queen, and Due d’Aumale arrived at the spot almost immediately; and the account in Galignani’s Messenger for July 14 shows that other members of the Royal family and officials of distinction were present. The death occurred shortly after 3 p.m.

    [This case is so exceptional in character as to excite some mistrust. It seems very possible that the scene has assumed a more dramatic completeness in the narrator’s memory than the original description would warrant; but if, as alleged, the record was immediately made in the percipient’s diary, it is difficult to resist the conclusion that the correspondence was of a very striking kind.]

    (549) In Recollections, Political, &c., of the last Half Century by the Rev. J. Richardson, LL.B. (1856), Vol. I., pp. 65–8, there is a circumstantial account of the appearance of Mr. John Palmer (an actor, who died suddenly on the stage at Liverpool, on the 2nd August, 1798), on the night of his death to a person in London, named Tucker. Tucker was a hall-porter, and habitually slept on a couch in the hall which Mr. Palmer passed at night, when he let himself in with a latch-key. The account was given by Tucker himself to Mr. Richardson, who, though a gossiping writer, does not seem to be an inaccurate one.

    “The fact of his absence from London was known to Tucker, but he was not aware about his arrangement for his return. On the night just mentioned, Tucker had retired at an earlier hour than usual; but the company in the drawing-room were numerous, and the sound of their merriment prevented him from falling asleep; he was in a state of morbid drowsiness, produced by weariness, but continually interrupted by noise. As he described the scene, he was sitting half upright in his bed, when he saw the figure of a man coming from a passage which led from the door of the house to the hall. The figure paused in its transit for a moment at the foot of the couch, and looked him full in the face; there was nothing spectral or like the inhabitant of the world of spirits in the countenance or the outline of the figure, which passed on, and apparently went up the staircase. Tucker felt no alarm whatever; he recognised in the figure the features, gait, dress, and general appearance of John Palmer, who he supposed had returned from Liverpool, and having the entree of the house, had, as usual, availed himself of his latch-key. … Next morning, in the course of some casual conversation, he informed Mrs. Vernon that he had seen Mr. Palmer pass through the hall, and expressed a hope that his trip to Liverpool had agreed with his health. The lady stared at him incredulously, said he must have been dreaming, or drinking, or out of his senses, as no Mr. Palmer had joined the festivities in the drawing-room. His delusion, if delusion it were, was made a source of mirth to the people who called in the course of the day. He however persisted in his assertion of having seen Mr. Palmer, and on the arrival of the post from Liverpool on the day after he had first made it, laughter was turned into mourning, and most of the guests were inclined to think there was more in it than they were willing to confess.”

    {ii-508}

    The following case is perhaps worth quoting, as parallel, in the form of the impression, to Nos. 175, 176, and 190; but it cannot receive an evidential number, being third-hand, and handed down by persons not likely to feel any special sense of responsibility with respect to it.

    From Letters and Journals of Lord Byron, with Notices of his Wife, by Thomas Moore (1830), Vol. I., p. 193.

    “Lord Byron used sometimes to mention a strange story, which the commander of the packet, Captain Kidd, related to him on the passage [to Lisbon, in 1809]. This officer stated that, being asleep one night in his berth, he was awakened by the pressure of something heavy on his limbs, and there being a faint light in the room, could see, as he thought, distinctly, the figure of his brother, who was at the time in the Naval Service in the East Indies, dressed in his uniform and stretched across the bed. Concluding it to be an illusion of the senses, he shut his eyes and made an effort to sleep. But still the pressure continued, and still as often as he ventured to take another look he saw the figure lying across him in the same position. To add to the wonder, on putting his hand forth to touch this form, he found the uniform in which it appeared to be dressed dripping wet. On the entrance of one of his brother officers, to whom he called in alarm, the apparition vanished; but in a few months afterwards he received the startling intelligence that on that night his brother had been drowned in the Indian Seas.”

    [The alleged touching of the clothes and feeling them to be wet is just one of those details which are met with in traditional narratives of the kind, and for which we have no first-hand evidence.]

    I append a translation of a narrative which occurs in a Russian work, “Prostaia Riétch o Moudrionnykh Viéstchakh,” or Simple Discourse on Difficult Subjects, (Moscow, 1875), by the late Professor

    had the vessel been away long enough, nor had bad weather occurred to cause fears for her loss to be entertained. That he was wide awake, or at least not dreaming, is shown by his sitting up and addressing the apparition.”

    We find from the Army List that Lieut. Liston was “lost on passage home from Bermuda, on board the brig ‘Bulow,’ April, 1831,” not 1830.

    [It is impossible to say whether the vision occurred at the hour, or even on the day, that the transport foundered.]

    (538) From Miss Ann Hunt (a member of the Society of Friends), 9, Brunswick Square, Bristol.

    “May 15th, 1884.

    “At the time of Joan Pince’s death, her son was in the employ of Philip D. Tuckett, of Frenchay. I well remember hearing this son, John Pince, relate how he had been aroused by the sound of his mother’s voice, calling him by name. It was early in the morning, but so strong was his impression that his mother’s decease was thus notified to him, that he got up and went into his employer’s room, saying that his mother was dead, and that he must go at once to her home. At first endeavours were used to dissuade him from his purpose, but finding how strong an impression had been made on his mind, P. D. Tuckett kindly acceded, and John Pince set off for his mother’s residence, which was, I believe, in Devonshire. On arriving, he found the event had taken place as he apprehended. I {ii-498} hoped to procure a written account of this circumstance, as a grand-daughter of his, now living in Bristol, thought she had it in the handwriting of her mother, who is lately deceased. She has been unable to find it, but fully confirmed the particulars I have given.

    “John Pince died in 1854, aged 87 years; and it may have been 7, or possibly 10, years before that I heard him relate the occurrence”—at which time, as Miss Hunt has stated in conversation, he was in complete vigour, with senses unimpaired, and an excellent memory.

    The following account of the same incident is from Miss Bowden, a cousin of Miss Hunt’s.

    “One night in March, 1793, my grandfather, John Pince, was awoke by a voice, which he believed to be his mother’s, calling him by name, ‘John, John!’ He was so impressed by the feeling that his mother, Joan Pince, whom he dearly loved, was ill or dying, that he immediately arose and went to the Friend with whom he lived, and told him he must at once set out for home, stating his reason for doing so. On reaching Newton Bushel, he found that his mother had departed this life after a few hours’ illness, at the time which he had heard her call.

    “These few particulars are all I know about the occurrence, but I believe them to be correct, having heard them from my mother and aunt, daughters of John Pince.

    “E. BOWDEN.”

    Miss Bowden has in her possession a letter written to Mr. Tuckett by a friend of Joan Pince’s, describing her short illness, and requesting that her son’s mind may be prepared for the intelligence of her death. It is thus evident that he was not aware of her danger.

    (539) From the Rev. Chas. C. Starbuck, M.A., Andover, Mass., U.S.A., who wrote in January, 1884. The account was communicated to him by the late Hon. Richard Hill, of Jamaica, a Privy Councillor of the island, the most eminent naturalist of the West Indies. Mr. Starbuck mentions Mr. Hill’s having quoted to him, with just gratification, a sentence from a letter which he had received from Charles Darwin—“you are an observer after my own heart.”

    “When Mr. Hill was yet young, he began to work against African slavery, the curse of his native West Indies. Among others he visited the Duke of Kent, in the hope of securing his influence; and I may remark that he lived to receive from the Duke’s daughter, as his sovereign, the Companionship of the Bath, as a token of appreciation of his many and signal services both to science and humanity.

    “Being a Jamaican born, and of mixed blood besides, he soon found that it would be as much as his life was worth to return to his native island. For a number of years he was an exile. White Englishmen, however, though zealous abolitionists, though liable to much persecution, and sometimes in considerable danger, could manage somewhat better to keep their hold in the island. There was one friend and colleague of Hill, an Englishman, I believe, named Lundy,1 1 I may remark that, as it is easier to be sure of facts than names, I give the latter only as they lie in my memory.—C. C. S. who was working in Jamaica, when his friend started from England in a sailing vessel for St. Thomas, {ii-499} intending to proceed to Hayti. Hill and the captain occupied the main cabin together, having their state-rooms on each side of it. One evening when the vessel was about in the latitude of the Azores, the captain and he were both in their state-rooms, while a large globe-lamp, swinging over the table, partially lighted each. Hill was lying still awake, when he heard a step in the cabin, which, he told us, he recognised the instant he heard it. It passed through the cabin, and his friend Lundy appearing in the door of his state-room, came up to the berth, and leaning on it, said: ‘Well, Hill, I have served the cause as long as I could be useful; and now it has pleased God to take me.’ He remarked that the words sank ineffaceably into his mind, and the more so as they afforded so pleasing an evidence of Lundy’s readiness to go. The next morning the captain said to him: ‘Why, Hill, you look as if you had had a day’s hard raking.’ But his passenger kept his counsel.

    “Just as they landed at St. Thomas, a vessel came in from Kingston, and a young friend of Hill’s sprang ashore. Saluting him, Hill said: I need not ask how Lundy is, for I know he is dead.’ ‘Why,’ exclaimed his friend, in astonishment, ‘how could you know that? I had but time to see the funeral company into the church, and as the wind was fair, I was obliged to hasten off to the vessel without going in.’ ‘No matter how I know it,’ replied Hill, ‘you see I know it.’ They soon parted, and Hill, having completed his visit to Hayti, returned to England.

    “Some two years later, Mr. Hill met in England a gentleman who first had been a missionary in Jamaica, and subsequently in Africa. They fell into talk about Lundy, and this gentleman remarked, ‘I was with Lundy when he died; and I remember that his last words were: “The only wish I have left is, that I might be permitted to see Hill once more, and say to him—‘Well, Hill, I have served the cause as long as I could be useful; and now it has pleased God to take me.’”’1 1 It will be observed that the evidence for this remark of the dying man is third-hand; and the exact correspondence of part of it with what Mr. Hill heard is the sort of point which is very likely to creep into a story of this class as it passes from mouth to mouth. It seems that his wish was granted, and that he was permitted to go to Heaven by way of the Azores.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Starbuck writes to us:—

    “Feb. 22, 1884.

    “The narratives [this and another] are throughout communications made to me directly by Mr. Hill. And I saw him so frequently and so familiarly during my 10 years’ stay in Jamaica that they may be relied on as thoroughly accurate reports.

    “CHARLES C. STARBUCK,

    “Ten years missionary in Jamaica in connection with the American Missionary Association.”

    (540) From Mr. F. J. Jones, Civil Engineer, Heath Bank, Mossley Road, Ashton-under-Lyne.

    “March 1884.

    “The following story was told me by an old friend [name given], to whom it happened when an undergraduate of Peterhouse College, Cambridge. I will try and put it in his own words as nearly as possible.

    “‘I had arranged to stay up part of the long vacation to grind in quiet, and to make the best of lost time.

    “‘The event occurred on a Tuesday, in 1843, and I well remember {ii-500} feeling very lonely and wretched, for the weather was miserably wet, and all friends had gone down the day before. My greatest chum, a man named Bohun, I had seen off by the London coach, on his way to Dover, from whence he was to cross the Channel, to visit the friends of the girl to whom he was engaged. When saying good-bye, I little thought we should never meet again, at all events in the flesh. The first 24 hours of my solitude passed well enough, for I had a lot of lost time to make up. The evenings, however, hung very heavily on my hands.

    “‘On the second (Tuesday) evening, I turned in about 10 o’clock, meaning to get up early to work the next morning. Instead of undressing, I threw myself down on my bed in my clothes, and soon fell asleep. How long it lasted I

    Pogodine, of Moscow, a well-known historian. It is given as from certain “memoirs” of Kelsiéff, a Russian man of letters; but as the exact title of the original work is not mentioned, and the account is professedly abridged, I do not number it as evidence.

    “Many years ago I was a pupil of the School of Commerce (St. Petersburg), and lived near it. My father with my mother and other children lived at Vasilievney Ostrov. He was a man of business, and very much occupied, and his visits to me were very rare. One evening I was lying on my bed, reading a book. Suddenly my door opened, and I saw my father, pale and triste, enter my chamber, and approach my bed saying to me, ‘God bless you, my son! Don’t forget this!’ And by the same way he went out. I was not in the least surprised, for I was sure that it was really my father who came to me. In a short time I locked the door and went to bed. Soon I heard a knock at my door. I opened it and saw my father’s coachman; he told me that my father had expired about an hour before. It was at the time when I saw him visit me.”

    {ii-509}

    CHAPTER V.

    VISUAL CASES.

    § 1. I will again begin with evidence which is first-hand or on a par with first-hand. The following is a group of death-cases.

    (550) From Mr. Joseph A. Chamberlain, High Garrett, Braintree, Essex.

    “December, 1884.

    “About 12 or 14 years ago, a little scholar in my school, named James Harrington, was very ill with diphtheria. I had been to a village about three miles off, to give a lesson on the pianoforte, and was returning on a dark night, about 7 o’clock. I was walking in a narrow footpath between two hedges, and on coming to a stile, I saw a luminous figure float over the stile,1 1 As regards the movement, compare cases 203, 204, 512; as regards the luminosity, see Vol. i., pp. 550–1. meeting me, and gradually disappear at my left hand. I started, and said to myself, ‘That’s Jimmie,’ then stamped my foot on the ground and said, ‘How foolish I am to-night.’ I reached home about 7.30 to attend to my evening school, and judge of my surprise, on entering the school, the caretaker met me at the door, saying, ‘Jimmie is dead.’ ‘When?’ I said. He answered, ‘About half-an-hour ago.’”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that the death occurred rather longer ago than Mr. Chamberlain imagined—on Oct. 28, 1867.

    In answer to questions, Mr. Chamberlain says:—

    “(1) The vision in a general way resembled James, especially as to size. The features were not clearly defined, but more like a magic-lantern view not properly focussed.

    “(2) I knew that he was ill, but not that he was likely to die.

    “(3) I was attached to him, but I cannot say I was particularly anxious about him. As far as I remember, I went to the house every evening, as his father and mother kept the coffee-room of which I had the superintendence; so my mind was occupied with his condition; but he was not in my thoughts before I saw the luminous figure.

    “(4) I did mention it to our minister, the Rev. A. Macdougall, but I cannot say whether it [i.e., the mention] was at the time or near the time—certainly not on the same evening. The fact is, I was rather afraid of being laughed at.

    “I only wish I had been more careful in recording the facts. I shall {ii-510} never forget the shock I received on entering my evening school half-an-hour afterwards, and learning from the caretaker that James had died about half-an-hour before.”

    Mr. Chamberlain mentions that he has had one other visual hallucination in his life; but this was much less distinct, and occurred at a time when he was “unstrung by constant nursing and watching.”

    [Here the coincidence seems to have been very exact; but we cannot with certainty exclude the supposition that the hallucination was due to the observer’s anxiety as to his pupil’s condition.]

    (551) From the Rev. C. C. Wambey, now of Paragon, Wilton Road, Salisbury, the narrator of case 129.

    “April, 1884.

    “My father, who was an Indian officer, retired from the service at an early age, owing to partial loss of sight, which eventuated in total blindness. He was somewhat eccentric. Among other things, he was in the habit of frequently sitting up all night, retiring to bed when the servants came down in the morning.

    “We, that is my father, mother, and their six children, were living at Crossway Green, in the parish of H., 12 miles from the city of W. One morning,—how well I remember it! I was but a young child then,—a neighbouring farmer called at our house, and requested to see Mrs. W. immediately. He was shown into the drawing-room and, when my mother joined him, he mysteriously closed the door, and in an excited manner asked if it were all well with the ‘Captain.’ My mother replied that he was quite well when her eldest son, who had been reading the newspaper to him in his room, left him about half-an-hour ago. The farmer shook his head incredulously, and took his departure. Shortly after this, one of the servants having been guilty of misconduct, my mother, taking me with her, went to my father’s room to acquaint him with the matter. As soon as she had opened the door, she started back in horror, saying to me, ‘My ——, here is your father.’ Stretched on the floor, his head against the bedstead, there he lay, DEAD!

    “He was evidently in the act of preparing to dress (for a stocking was firmly grasped in his hand), when he was seized with a fit of apoplexy, death apparently having been instantaneous.

    “After the funeral, the farmer disclosed to my mother this startling event, which from motives of delicacy, he forbore to mention to her sooner:—

    “On the morning of his visit, he and his carter were with a waggon and team of horses crossing the common. Suddenly my father, his hand pointing to our house, appeared in front of the horses (which commenced snorting and plunging furiously), and as suddenly disappeared. When the horses had been calmed, the farmer, leaving them in charge of the carter, hastened to our house, and, as already related, requested to see my mother instantly.

    “CORNELIUS C. WAMBEY

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Wambey says:—

    “My father’s death occurred when I was in my seventh year. It was the subject of conversation between my mother and myself from time to {ii-511} time till her death in 1866, so that the apparition was no mere dream of childhood.

    “I saw the farmer come into the house, and am under the impression that I was present at the interview between my mother and him, but am uncertain on this point. However, my mother forthwith mentioned to the elder children the purport of the farmer’s visit; but at the time she did not attach importance to it, as my father was in his usual health when my eldest brother left him, about half-an-hour previously.

    “All my brothers and sisters are dead, except one sister whom I have not seen, and from whom I have not heard, for a long time.”

    [Though the percipient here did not actually describe his experience before he heard of the death, Mr. Wambey’s remembrance of his strange visit assimilates the case to those reckoned as on a par with first-hand. (Vol. I., p. 148). In conversation he mentioned his very strong impression that he was himself in the room during this visit.]

    (552) From Mrs. Rooke, Rawdon College, near Leeds.

    On September 28, 1884, Mrs. Rooke wrote that, “About October, 1882, at 9 p.m.,” she had had “a visual impression of an intimate friend who was dead, though at the time the fact was unknown to me.”

    In answer to inquiries, she adds:—

    “Our dear friend had only died within a very short time of my seeing him. He was in Australia, and we heard of his death a few days over six weeks after I saw him. He went there for his health, but the last news we had of him was so good that we were not at all anxious. I was sorry afterwards that I had not kept a note of the exact day, but I had always so scoffed at ghost tales and such like things, that I was most unwilling to believe I had seen him. The gas was full on at the time; there was no light about the figure; he was as natural as in life, but as I came near to him vanished. I was going down a corridor, and the vision was certainly ‘external and palpable.’ I should think I saw him for half a minute quite, and expected him to come forward and speak. He was very much attached to us, as we were to him.

    “AMELIA M. ROOKE

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Rooke adds:—

    “I am sorry to say that I did not mention the subject of the apparition to any one at the time I saw it; indeed, not till many months2[☼] 2 This seems to be a mistake: see the “Additions and Corrections” at the beginning of the volume. after our friend’s death. There is nothing at all inconsistent with the supposition that the time of the ‘vision’ corresponded with the time of death. I always thought it probably did so. The dress was a suit and cap I knew well,1 1 See Vol. i., p. 540. but he died in bed. I have never had a hallucination.”

    [Here the coincidence is of course doubtful. It would remain a remarkable one, even if the interval exceeded the 12 hours’ limit laid down for the cases in this book.]

    (553 and 554) From Mrs. Forsyth Hunter, 2, Victoria Crescent, St. Helier’s, Jersey, who sent us the accounts in 1882.

    {ii-512}

    Mrs. Hunter had had a friend from whom she had parted in coldness, and whom she had not since seen or corresponded with. “Poor Z.” (the real name was privately given) “was very far from my thoughts, when one night, in the winter of 1862 or spring of 1863, I had just got into bed. The fire burned brightly, and there was my usual night light. I was placing my head on the pillows, when I beheld, close to the side of the bed, and on a level with it, Z.’s head, and the same wistful look on his face which it had worn when we had parted years before. Starting up, I cried out, “What do you want?” I did not fear; anger was my feeling. Slowly it retreated, and just as it disappeared in the shadow of the wall, a bright spark of light shone for a few seconds, and slowly expired.1 1As regards the truncated appearance—a head only—see p. 33, note, and compare case 572 below. As regards the light, see Vol. i., pp. 550–1, and p. 479 above; and as regards the gradual disappearance, see p. 97, second note.

    “A few days after, my sister wrote, ‘You will have heard of poor Z.’s death on his way to the South of France.’ I had heard nothing about him for years. Special reasons prevented my inquiring particularly into the precise moment of his death. Strange to say my bedfellow was his great pet among my children; she, however, slept through this strange interview.”

    We find from the Medical Register and the Scotsman that “Z.” died at Hyères, on Nov. 17, 1862.

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Hunter adds:—

    “At Melrose, where I was a stranger, I could not have mentioned such a thing; but my sister paid me a visit about Easter, and I told her. No doubt she will confirm; but I would rather not recall the event.”

    “A daughter of mine in India was expecting her confinement to happen at the end of November, 1872. I was not anxious about her; indeed other important family events were occupying all my thoughts. On the 23rd of October, at noon, I was alone. All at once, a cold shivering feeling came over me, and I turned suddenly, and beheld a slight bending figure, standing near the closed door, covered over with a loose glistening robe or sheet of an ash grey colour. It looked such a sad little drooping figure, and the attitude and outline were strangely familiar to me; yet I never thought of her in connection with it. On the 19th November we had the startling news that she had died (eight days after giving birth to a son) on the 23rd of October, at 5 o’clock in the afternoon. It was not for some days after that I thought of what I had seen in London at that hour on that day; I have never since for a moment doubted that it was she. I was in London, and she in India; our noon was the afternoon there, and her appearance must have been at the moment of dissolution.”

    We have confirmed the date of death in Allen’s Indian Mail.

    [In both cases the degree of exactitude in the coincidence must be regarded as uncertain, in the absence of proof that the date of the vision was accurately noted at the time. Mrs. Hunter has had at least one, and possibly a second, purely subjective hallucination of vision (Vol. I., p. 535, and p. 211, above).]

    {ii-513}

    (555) From Mrs. Perryn, 27, Adrian Square, Westgate-on-Sea.

    “April 1st, 1885.

    “In 1870 my mother was dangerously ill, but just before her death seemed to be rallying. I was aware of the improvement. One evening, on retiring to bed, about 10 o’clock, I was astonished to see the figure of my mother just beside my bedroom door. I immediately told my husband about it, and he made a note of the date (September 22nd). My mother died in Canada early on the morning of the 22nd of September. The figure looked as though enveloped in a faint smoke.1 1 Cf. case 210, where the figure was “surrounded by a light sort of phosphorescen[t] mist;” and see Vol. i., p. 526, first note. It was not recognisable in feature; but I immediately identified it as the appearance of my mother. The attire was the same in which I had last seen her several years before.2 2 See Vol. i., p. 546.

    “F. A. PERRYN.”

    In answer to the question whether she had ever had any other hallucination of the senses, Mrs. Perryn replies, “This experience is quite unique in my life.” She adds, “I have looked for the note but cannot find it.”

    Mr. Perryn writes:—

    “At this length of time I cannot feel justified in corroborating the above circumstance. I cannot find any note of the event, though I think one was made.

    “R. H. PERRYN.”

    (556) From Mrs. Richards, Spring Wood, Godalming.

    “July 3rd, 1883.

    “About the year 1834 or 1835, I was in a boarding school at Cadogan Place, Chelsea, kept by ladies named Horn, where, amongst other pupils, there were two sisters with whom I was very intimate. These girls came from a distance, their home being in the North of England, I believe; and travelling then being very different to what it is in these days of railways, they did not always go home for their holidays, and consequently were not impressed by the critical state of their mother’s health.

    “We slept in a large dormitory in which were several beds, the two sisters occupying a double bed. On a certain night, most of the girls were asleep, and myself in the next bed to one of the sisters, who was already in bed, and, like myself, anxious to be quiet and allowed to go to sleep; but we were hindered by the frolicksomeness of the younger sister, who sat outside the bed and facing the door at the end of the room, which, I remember, was not quite dark, either owing to moonlight or the time of year. As the elder sister was urging her to be quiet and to get into bed, the younger one suddenly exclaimed, and putting her hands over her face, seemed greatly agitated. As there seemed no cause for this sudden excitement, we, thinking it was only another form of her nonsense, and fearing the noise would bring up the governess, who also slept in the room, scolded her well, upon which she got into bed. Turning again to look towards the door, she uttered another cry, directing her sister’s attention to the door; but she saw nothing,3 3 See p. 105, second note. and still thought the younger one was joking. But the latter buried her head under the clothes, and I, being very tired, went to sleep and thought no more about this disturbance.

    {ii-514}

    “Next morning no notice was taken of it, and no impression seems to have been made on my mind or that of the other girls; probably, as I now think, owing to our being accustomed to the volatile disposition of the younger sister. However, about two days afterwards, the sisters were summoned into the room of the ladies of the school to receive letters. Shortly after, I was sent for, and found them in floods of tears, having just heard the news of their mother’s death. Being their chief friend, I was excused from lessons that I might be with them, and try to console them. As we were approaching our

    room, the younger sister stopped us suddenly, and grasping my arm with violence, she said, ‘Oh, do you remember the other night when I was frightened? I believe it was dear mamma that I saw. Let us go back and ask more about it,’ or words to that effect. We went back to Miss Horn’s apartment, and on referring to the letter, we found that their mother had died, as nearly as we could calculate, at the same hour that the incident in the dormitory occurred.

    “This is what the girl said she saw: A tall, slight figure in white, resembling her mother, as she now thought, though she did not recognise features, who, with outstretched arms, seemed to beckon to her.

    “Talking it over on the same day, she remarked, ‘Ah, I think I see now why dear mamma appeared to me. She had often reproved me for my giddiness, and as she was dying, she wished to give me one more look and reproof. I will try and be very different. I shall never forget her warning,’ &c. She appeared deeply impressed, but as the sisters and I were soon parted, and did not correspond, I lost sight of them.

    “This is a true account, and I believe clearly remembered by me, though so many years ago. Neither I nor the sister saw the appearance, but witnessed the effect on the girl who did see it, both being quite awake.”

    We find from Boyle’s Court Guide that Mrs. and the Misses Horn lived at 41, Cadogan Place, Chelsea, from 1836–8. Mrs. Richards has therefore antedated the incident by a year or two.

    [The case is remote; but when the central fact, narrated by an eyewitness of the scene, is so precisely like that of numbers of more recent and corroborated cases, the hypothesis that it has been unconsciously invented does not seem specially probable.]

    (557) The narrator of the next case objects to publicity, and takes no interest in the subject.

    “November 6th, 1884.

    “When I was about 10 or 12 years old, I was sitting one evening, towards dusk, at the piano practising, when I saw an old lady, the grandmother of one of my schoolfellows, enter the room. I was in the habit of seeing her frequently, and recognised her perfectly. She was very old, and to the best of my belief had never entered our house at all, so that I was greatly surprised to see her. I heard the next day she had died on the evening I saw her. I never had any other hallucination.

    “MARY C.”

    In conversation, Miss C. explained to Mr. Podmore that she did not actually see the figure enter the room. She looked up suddenly, and found it standing by her side. The figure was in ordinary indoor dress, with, as she particularly noticed, a large white cap, of muslin and lace, such as the old lady usually wore. The figure vanished suddenly as she {ii-515} looked at it. The room, though dusk, was not dark, and she was able distinctly to recognise the features.

    She cannot be certain whether she told anyone of what she had seen. She probably told the friend (the granddaughter of the lady who died) from whom she heard the news of the death next day. The time of the death she does not remember.

    She knew the old lady well, and was in the habit of running in to see her nearly every day. But at this distance of time she cannot recollect whether the death was regarded as imminent.

    She has lost sight of her friend, and can get no further particulars. The incident occurred about 1852; but the name of the lady who died being a very common one, our efforts to obtain the exact date have failed.

    The next case seems to illustrate the heightening of the percipient’s susceptibility at the approach of death. It is, of course, very rarely that there is a chance for this to be observed; as it can only comparatively rarely happen that death (or some event of critical interest) happens to A’s friend or relative at a distance, at the paricular time that A is dying. But I may refer to cases 372 and 416.

    (558) From the Rev. J. A. Macdonald, formerly of Manchester, and now of Rhyl. The evidence may fairly be regarded as first-hand from the percipient’s daughter.

    “September, 1878.

    “During the last illness of Mr. William Jackson, of Otley, who for 50 years had been a consistent member of the Wesleyan Methodist Church, the little son of his daughter sickened and died. Wishing not unnecessarily to disquiet the good man, this sad event was withheld from him. He was full of holy joy, and recognised the presence in his chamber of a number of his relatives who had departed this life in the triumph of faith. He pointed them out in succession—this is so-and-so, and there such another. In the course of this proceeding he suddenly started with surprise, for he discovered his grandson also among the heavenly company. Then turning to his daughter, he said, ‘Well, never mind, he is all right.’

    “His daughter, Miss Jane Jackson, certifies this. She says, ‘It is perfectly true; I was in the room with my lamented father at the time.’”

    In answer to an inquiry, Mr. Macdonald writes:—

    “As to the case of William Jackson, his daughter did endorse it to me as noted in the quotation marks, but I destroyed her letter, never dreaming of a Society for Psychical Research, and I do not know now where to find her. The family evidently knew that the grandson had died, but kept that knowledge from the dying man. The information I received from the wife of Mr. Town Councillor Myers, of Hull.” Miss Jackson is since deceased. We learn that Mr. Jackson died on Jan. 12, 1876.

    [The central incident in a case of this type seems reasonably explicable by thought-transference from one of the bystanders (cf. case 379)—though many would of course be unwilling to regard the vision of the other relatives as purely subjective. I have referred more than once to the difficulty of making quite sure that a piece of important news, which is abroad in a household, has not reached ears for which it was not intended.]

    {ii-516}

    (559 and 560) From Mr. Hickman Heather, Postmaster of Retford. The evidence in the first case is second-hand, but in the second is on a par with first-hand (Vol. I., p. 148).

    “February 18th, 1885.

    “In my early boyhood I have frequently heard the following story from both my parents. I may preface the story by saying that, in 1835, my father, Thomas Heather, was a miller, occupying a windmill in Westthorpe Fields, in the parish of Southwell, his house being at Westthorpe, about one mile distant from the mill. My grandfather, John Heather, occupied a farm under the late Sir Richard Sutton, at Goverton, in the parish of Bleasby, about 3 miles distant. My father, who had been working his mill until past midnight, locked up his mill and went home. On his way the apparition of his mother crossed his path, and was so clearly seen that he marked the dress, one which had been commonly worn, and on his arrival at home he at once reported the circumstance to [his wife] my mother, saying that ‘he had never seen his mother more plainly in his life.’ Early next morning, a man rode in with the sad news that my grandmother had been found dead in her bed.

    “A second case occurred under my own notice, although the apparition was not seen by me. In the year 1854, my father, who then lived at Goverton, Bleasby, was building a house and a yard for pigs. The building and the yard were on a slope. My father was standing at the lower end with his arms resting upon the wall; the entrance to the house from the yard was directly opposite, and was open, the door not having been hung. I was in the farmyard at some little distance, but having a clear full view of my father and the building, when I was startled by my father exclaiming, ‘Jack, just see what your Uncle Ned is doing in the pigsty.’ I at once went, although I knew it to be impossible that my Uncle Ned could be there, he being seriously ill at the time. Having searched the place, my father told me that he had distinctly seen my uncle cross the doorway, and would scarcely believe that he was not to be found inside. In about a couple of hours, a messenger brought the tidings that my uncle had died.

    “I beg to add that in the case of my grandmother there was no previous illness, she having gone to bed in apparently perfect health.

    “JOHN HICKMAN HEATHER.”

    We have procured a copy of an inscription of a tombstone at Bleasby, which confirms the fact that Mrs. John Heather died in 1835 (May 2).

    We find from the Register of Deaths that Mr. Edward Heather died on Nov. 28, 1853, not 1854.

    Mr. Heather’s wife writes on May 22, 1886, to confirm these accounts, which she herself “heard from the lips of both Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Heather.”

    The narrator of the following cases is the brother of the narrator of No. 232; it is possible therefore to suppose some degree of family susceptibility (p. 132, note). The first case may have been an illusion, and I give it no separate evidential number.

    (561) From the Rev. H. A. H., The Vicarage ——.

    {ii-517}

    “December 19th, 1885.

    “The following occurrences took place three years ago, and had reference to parishioners here who were much on my mind, and whom I was visiting in their last illnesses.

    “One was a farmer’s wife who was much afraid of giving me trouble. I had given her the Holy Communion during the afternoon, and when I left, promised to come again next day. She said she should be very glad to see me, but did not like to be such a trouble, as it was some distance and I was going every day. I said it was no trouble, but the reason why I was here, and I should be sure to come.

    “That evening I had a mission service, 2 miles away, in quite another direction. Mrs. H. was with me. We were walking home together, and had joked about not meeting anyone on the road. I said, ‘You see if you had been alone, you would actually have met no one to alarm you.’ It was rather dark, but you could see a form 15 or 20 yards away. We walked on, talking about various things, and then I saw someone coming. I said ‘Here we meet someone at last.’ She said, ‘I don’t see anyone.’ ‘There,’ I said; ‘look, there comes an old woman, and she is twisting her shawl round her neck.’ My wife, however, could see nothing,1 1 See p. 105, second note. but I thought to myself she will see her plainly enough directly. However, it melted away. There was no one. I said, ‘It is very odd; I certainly did see an old woman. Let us go into C’s house’ (the village carpenter’s) ‘and see if there is anyone dead.’ We went in, and he said, ‘I have just got orders to make a coffin.’ I looked at Mrs. H. and said, ‘Indeed, who is it for?’ He said, ‘For Mrs. B.,’ naming the farmer’s wife I had seen that very afternoon. I said, ‘There must be some mistake. I only left her at 4 o’clock, and there were no signs of immediate death.’ ‘No,’ he said, ‘it is so.’ I went next day, and found she had died from a sudden stoppage of the heart, about half-past 8, and that almost the last words were, ‘I am sorry to give Mr. H. the trouble of coming again to-morrow.’

    “The other occasion was about two or three months afterwards. A very respectable young farmer broke a bloodvessel on the brain, and I visited him some three or four times. The last time he was quite unconscious, and evidently could not live long. He was very anxious to see me as much as possible before becoming unconscious, often saying, ‘Send for the vicar.’ On the morning that he died, I was awoke by what I thought was Mrs. H. in her white dressing-gown. We were sleeping, for some reason, in separate rooms that night. I was very sleepy when awoke, and said, ‘Is it time to get up? I must have another 10 minutes,’ and fell asleep again. I did not look at the face of the form, being very sleepy and feeling sure it was Mrs. H. However, by-and-bye, Mrs. H. did come in, and said, ‘Young R. is dead; the girl who brings the milk brought word.’ I said, ‘Is it very long since you first woke me?’ Then she assured me it was the first time she had been in the room. He had died about 5 that very morning, just as I fancied I had been called by Mrs. H. My regret is, I did not look at the face, but, being tired and sleepy I only saw the figure up to the waist, and went off to sleep with it standing there, never imagining it was not my wife. This is my last hallucination. I have visited scores of deathbeds since, but have had no further visions.

    {ii-518}

    “I may add I am in no way nervous, but a strong, middle-aged man, in excellent health, and very temperate in eating as well as drinking. I don’t quite know how to account for these things, except that both these people were much in my mind, and both of them people for whom I had much respect and sympathy.

    “H. A. H.”

    In conversation, Mr. H. mentioned that he has had two experiences of apparently subjective visual hallucination; but these both occurred when he was a boy. He adds in subsequent letters:—

    “I may add, as regards the first of the two curious visions, that I was very constantly walking that road at that hour, as I had a weekly service; but that was the only occasion my eyes misled me. When I first saw the figure, it appeared to be crossing the road, but in our direction, like a person changing from the footpath to the middle of the road. It was, of course, somewhat shadowy, as a person is in the dusk. Still, it had the look of an old woman; I could distinguish the sex. The road is a country one, but on nearing the village there are some lamp-posts, but we were some distance from them. It was a cloudy and rather windy night, and there were, of course, shadows from clouds and trees cast about; it was not deep dark, but more than dusk. I am so accustomed to these walks that it would be difficult for any natural object to have caused such an illusion. I was quite sure that an old woman was there, in the middle of the road—so sure that I did not keep my eye upon her, and as we came up she was gone. Mrs. H. has ordinary eyesight, much like my own, neither remarkable for great acuteness of vision nor the reverse.

    “I may add, too, regarding the second case, that I was fully awake, though heavy with sleep, and did not dream Mrs. H. awoke me. I am personally convinced of this, for I wondered, as I went off to sleep again, that Mrs. H. did not go, and thought she would tell me in another minute or two that I really must get up. I fell asleep with the sensation of her presence after my eyes were closed again.”

    Mrs. H. writes:—

    “December 23rd, 1885.

    “As you wish to have some corroboration of two curious statements of facts made to you by my husband, I write a few lines to tell you my remembrance of the occasions. We were walking home from a week-night service, from a hamlet some distance from here, when I remarked I would not walk here alone for anything. Mr. H. said, ‘It is curious we have never met anyone.’ Not long afterwards, as we were nearing the village, he said, ‘Well, here comes someone at last; who is it?’ I said, ‘I don’t see anyone.’ He said, ‘Oh you must, by the lamp-post’ [there is a discrepancy here from Mr. H.’s account]; ‘she is putting a shawl over her head, and coming to meet us. Do you know her?’ I said, ‘Certainly not, for there isn’t anyone.’ He said, ‘Anyhow she is coming quickly towards us; then you must see.’ In another minute we were both sure it must have been some appearance, and went into the carpenter’s close by to see if we could hear anything, and his first words were, ‘Well, sir, I have orders for a coffin for Mrs. B.’ We both said, ‘Impossible! she seemed nicely this afternoon.’ I know she was anxious to spare my husband any trouble, as it was a long walk, and we naturally connected it with this.

    “As regards the young farmer, he had been much on our minds, as it {ii-519} was a distressing case in many ways. Word was brought early in the morning that he was dead; but owing to one of the children not being well, and having to be in my room, Mr. H. was in an adjoining one, and I would not disturb him until later. When I went in I said, ‘Well, poor J. R. is gone.’ He said, ‘I knew he would be; but why didn’t you tell me when you came in before?’ I said, ‘I have not been in before.’ He said, ‘Yes, when you came in to wake me, and I begged for at all events 10 minutes more.’ He then told me what he had said to me—as he thought, and he was surprised I did not answer. It must be three or four years ago, but I remember these facts distinctly.

    “E. H.”

    [Neither of these cases would be very striking alone, but they are of interest as occurring to the same percipient. There can hardly be a doubt that the experience in the second instance was a hallucination, not an illusion; and the same account of the first experience is rendered to some extent probable by the fact that Mrs. H. did not share it, though any moving object should have been as visible to her as her husband. And if the experiences were hallucinations, the improbability that Mr. H. should subjectively evolve the only two hallucinations of his adult life at those particular moments remains enormous, however much allowance be made for the fact that he was aware that his two parishioners were in a dying state.]

    In the following case the percipient was a young child. It is a phantasmal case which may be compared to the merely impressional cases, Nos. 47 and 48, and the dream-case, No. 456. See also cases 345, 352, 607, 634, 652.

    (562) From Mrs. Skyring, Admiralty Offices, Spring Gardens, S.W.

    The account was procured for us by Mr. A. W. Lafone, M.P., o[f] Hatton, Bedfont.

    “June, 1883.

    “In or about the year 1832, my husband, Captain Skyring, R.N., left England on a surveying expedition in command of H.M.S. ‘Etna’; our little son, Willie, was about 2 years old at the time of his departure. The child was very fond of carrying about a miniature portrait of his father, and on the 23rd of December, 1833, the child being about 3 years old, he was playing in a curtained recess in the nursery when I heard him call out in an excited tone ‘Papa, papa, come to me.’ On my questioning him he declared he had seen his father, and was so agitated that I was afraid to allude to the subject again. Shortly afterwards I received news from the Admiralty that Captain Skyring had been murdered by the natives at Cape Roxo on the day in question. My son, who is now dead, lived to be a man, but had no recollection of this episode.

    “I may add that Captain Skyring, when lieutenant of H.M.S. ‘Beagle,’ related that his mother appeared to him as he was lying in his cot, and that he entered the occurrence in his log-book at the time; and discovered, on his return to England, that she had died on the date of the apparition.

    “S. L. SKYRING.”

    [This case is again very remote; it is, moreover, impossible to be sure that independent note was taken of the date of the cry. But the incident of the child’s agitation is not likely to have been unconsciously imagined {ii-520} and the coincidence must have been, at any rate, close enough to excite remark. The last paragraph in the account once more suggests that the capacity of percipience was hereditary; but the detail as to the log-book is not one that can be relied on (Vol. I., p. 161, note).]

    (563) Mr. Hensleigh Wedgwood took down the following deposition, in September, 1876, from Jane Barford, the confidential servant (since deceased) of a friend, Miss Stephen.

    “My father died the 11th January, 1848. My mother had sent me away to an aunt, who lived about two miles off, in order to be out of the way while my father was so ill. On the morning of his death I was called at 6 o’clock, intending, as usual, to help my cousins in the dairy. About a quarter before 7, I was going downstairs with my candle in my hand, when I met my father in his night-shirt coming up. He put out his hand, as if to take the candlestick, which I dropped in my fright, and was left alone in the dark. I knew it could not be my living father, and was convinced that he was dead, and had come to bid me good-bye. I told my cousins what had happened, and said that I must immediately go home. They tried to persuade me to stay till after breakfast, saying it was only my fancy, but I set off at once, and on my way I met my aunt, who had been sitting up with my father, and was coming back to tell me of his death, which had taken place just at a quarter before 7.

    “JANE BARFORD.”

    [The cousins cannot now be traced; and as Miss Stephen has no clue to Jane Barford’s family, the date of the death cannot be independently verified. The case is one which could have had little force, since the percipient had no doubt been in anxiety about her father (Vol. I., p. 509), but for the extreme closeness of the alleged concidence.]

    (564) From Mrs. Poulter, wife of a retired Baptist minister at Leeds.

    “1883.

    “When I was a young woman, I lived for some time at Sevenoaks, and attended a Wesleyan class conducted by an elderly lady to whom I became warmly attached. After that (in 1835) I went to live at Bourne, in Lincolnshire, and one day, while sitting in my front room, I was startled at seeing my dear old friend from Sevenoaks pass the window, and go towards the front door. I hastened to receive her, but on opening the front door there was no one to be seen in the whole length of the quiet street. I afterwards learnt that at that hour my friend died.”

    Mrs. Poulter’s son-in-law, Mr. J. L. Cherry, of Rowley Park, Stafford, writes to Professor Barrett:—“It is some 20 years since Mrs. Poulter first told me the story, and since I had the pleasure of seeing you, she has certified to the accuracy of the draft which I submitted to her.”

    [The account is very incomplete; but Mrs. Poulter is old, and must not be troubled further.]

    (565) From Mr. Louis Lyons, 3, Bouverie Square, Folkestone.

    “October 8th, 1883.

    “In 1854 we resided in Hanau. We kept two servants. One winter’s {ii-521} evening, just before going to bed, Gretchen came pouncing into the dining-room where we were sitting, in great excitement, declaring that her father, whom she had left in good health at Gellnhausen, had just appeared to her with such dejection in his countenance that she must go to him that moment; and off she started in the snow, and reached Gellnhausen in time to close her parent’s breaking eyes. I cannot procure further evidence.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Lyons says:—

    “It made a deep impression on me, and is now quite fresh on my mind. I certainly was in the room, and there is not a shadow of doubt in my mind.”

    (566) From Mrs. Morris, Pentrabach, Trecastle, Breconshire.

    “September 17th, 1884.

    “Early in 1881, I had just returned from a drive with my aunt, whom I had seen off by train to what we felt sure was the death-bed of a little cousin. It must have been about 6 in the evening. I was standing at my dressing-table taking off my hat, when I heard someone try my door. I crossed the room and opened the door at once and saw, standing in the doorway, the figure of little G., looking very, very white, and dressed in a white night-dress. What struck me most was that his hands were crossed, and in the fingers of his right hand were two lilies and a leaf. The face smiled at me; and, as I stood looking, the figure disappeared.

    “The following day I went up to join my aunt, and heard that G. had died about 4 o’clock the afternoon before, and that she had seen him soon after her arrival. I immediately asked if he had lilies of the valley in his hand, and she said, ‘Yes.’ I then described his figure, as I had seen it, and she said it was precisely as he looked and was lying at the time; that his sister had bought him, at a florist’s, the lilies, and sent them up to him; that he had been delighted with them, and had held them until he died; and that they were now in his hand.

    “Of course, my mind was full of him, and wondering whether my aunt would find him alive, &c. But if that would have made me imagine I saw him, why should it have caused me to imagine lilies of the valley in depth of winter (it was the time of the deep snow), and of which I had not heard?

    “MARY ETHEL MORRIS.”

    We find from two obituary notices that the child died on Jan. 26, 1881, aged 7 years.

    In reply to inquiries, Mrs. Morris writes, on October 22, 1884:—

    “I will write to my aunt and ask her to confirm my account of my little cousin’s appearance, as I feel sure she will not hesitate to do so.

    “I did distinctly see lilies of the valley in the child’s hand.”

    Mrs. Morris’s aunt writes, in a portion of a letter enclosed to us on Nov. 7, 1884:—

    “As regards poor little G., I quite remember your saying that you saw him outside your door, and I do remember something about your saying you saw him with the lilies. I have an idea you said so, but it was such a sad thing altogether that things are misty.

    “MARY SELWOOD

    Mrs. Morris adds, on Jan. 26, 1886:—

    {ii-522}

    “As far as I can recollect I did not mention my seeing my cousin at the time. I was alone in the house with two very nervous servants, so that I hardly think it likely I should speak to them about anything ‘ghostly.’ But I told my aunt, describing the child’s appearance, before she had told me any particulars of the death, the flowers, &c.”

    Mrs. Morris has had two other hallucinations representing a figure, which in both instances was unrecognised; one of these occurred at the moment of waking; the second may have been due to nervousness or expectancy, as another member of the household had been similarly affected just before. But Mrs. Morris is certainly not of a nervous or fanciful temperament.

    [It is no doubt possible that the hallucination in this case was purely subjective, and connected with anxiety on the child’s account; but it is difficult to believe that the correspondence of the lilies was accidental. Mrs. Morris is certain that there was no association in her mind between the child and this particular flower; and the idea of getting the lilies for him had been a sudden one.]

    (567) From the late Mrs. Amos, Hythe.

    “October 1884.

    “I was living at Faversham at the time when my mother was taken ill, who lived at Hythe, Kent. I went to see her on a Friday and returned home on Tuesday. On Thursday I retired to rest at about 10

    o’clock, when, on looking at the foot of the bed, I saw my mother standing dressed in white; her features were very distinct. I spoke to my husband and asked him to look at the foot of the bed, as mother stood looking at me. He said, ‘I don’t see her; can you see her now?’1 1 See p. 105, second note. My reply was, ‘Yes.’ After that she vanished slowly away. My husband said it was very odd, and at breakfast he asked me if I was afraid to be alone. My reply was, I would rather be by myself. The next day we had a letter to say my dear mother was at rest. I can still see her as plain as at that time. The date was November, 1846. I have never had another vision but this one.

    “SARAH AMOS.”

    We find from the obituaries in two Dover papers that Mrs. Amos’ mother, Mrs. Wiles, died on Nov. 21, 1846.

    Our friend, Miss Porter, who knew and questioned Mrs. Amos, says:—

    “I am quite persuaded of the truth of her statement. In describing the apparition to me, she told me that the room was quite dark, but that there seemed to be a sort of cloud of light behind the figure which enabled her to see it distinctly.2 2 See p. 459, note, and compare case 210. She was very particular in telling me that it remained all the time she was talking to her husband, and that she looked at it fixedly the whole time. She thinks that it must have remained several minutes.”

    [The percipient’s previous state of anxiety has again to be noted, as possibly the cause of the hallucination.]

    (568) Quoted “from the Memoirs of V. Th. Engelhardt” in the work of Professor Pogodine, of Moscow, Simple Discourse on Difficult Subjects, {ii-523} mentioned on p. 508. We have been unable to procure the original Memoirs; and Mr. T. Bruhns, of Simferopol, a Corresponding Member of the S.P.R., who has translated the passage, has been equally unsuccessful.

    “In 1858, I lived in Moscow, and was ordered to go for some time to Arkhangelsk. On February (5th–17th,) before leaving, I wrote a congratulatory letter to my mother in Petersburg, who was about to celebrate (on February 8th–20th) the 80th anniversary of her birthday. I congratulated my dear mother, and entreated her to bless me for my long journey. Without her blessing I feared that my journey would be unhappy. I sent my letter and departed. Up to Iaroslavsk the road was tolerably good. In this town I spent a day. But from Iaroslavsk to Vologda the road became so terribly bad that I was obliged to stop at one station, to rest till the morning. Having taken out my pelisse, I lay dressed on the sofa. I don’t belong to that happy class of men who fall asleep as soon as they lie down. I took a book and tried to read, but my fatigue was so great that I could not read. I rose from the sofa and extinguished the candle, thinking that in darkness I should fall asleep more quickly. Scarcely had I again reached my bed when I saw, to my great astonishment, my mother with her sister, who had died in 1846,1 1 As to the appearance of a second figure, see Vol. i., pp. 545–6. standing a few feet from me. Vividly impressed by this extraordinary vision, I looked, motionless, at these dear ones. My mother was standing before me as though alive, and she blessed me with a sign of the cross. But her sister, though perfectly recognisable, had, so to speak, a more light, ethereal aspect. I took the matches and lighted the candle—but the apparitions had already faded away. This incident took place in the night of 12th–24th, 13th–25th February, 1858, between 2 and 3 o’clock in the morning. About a week after my arrival at Arkhangelsk, I was informed by my brother-in-law that my mother expired in the night of 12th–13th February.”

    § 2. In the next group of cases, first-hand or on a par with firsthand, the conditioning event or state on the agent’s side was something other than death, though in two of them death was rapidly approaching.

    (569) From Mr. Algernon Joy, 20, Wilton Place, S.W.

    “August 16th, 1883.

    “About 1862, I was walking in a country lane near Cardiff by myself, when I was overtaken by two young colliers, who suddenly attacked me. One of them gave me a violent blow on the eye, which knocked me down, half stunned. I distinctly remembered afterwards all that I had been thinking about, both immediately prior to the attack, and for some time after it. Up to the moment of the attack, and for some time previously, I was absorbed in a calculation, connected with the Penarth Docks, then in construction, on which I was employed. My train of thought was interrupted for a moment by the sound of footsteps behind me. I looked back, and saw the two young men, but thought no more of them, and immediately returned to my calculations. On receiving the blow, I began speculating on their object, what they were going to do next, how I could best defend myself, or escape from them; and when they ran away, and I {ii-524} had picked myself up, I thought of trying to identify them, and of denouncing them at the police-station, to which I proceeded, after following them till I lost sight of them. In short I am positive that for about half an hour previous to the attack, and for an hour or two after it, there was no connection whatever, direct or indirect, between my thoughts and a person at that moment in London, and whom I will call ‘A.’ Two days afterwards, I received a letter from ‘A,’ written on the day after the assault, asking me what I had been doing and thinking about at half-past 4 p.m., on the day previous to that on which he was writing. He continued: ‘I had just passed your club, and was thinking of you, when I recognised your footstep behind me. You laid your hand heavily on my shoulder. I turned, and saw you as distinctly as I ever saw you in my life. You looked distressed, and, in answer to my greeting and inquiry, “What’s the matter?” you said, “Go home, old fellow, I’ve been hurt. You will get a letter from me in the morning telling you all about it.” You then vanished instantaneously.’

    “The assault took place as near half-past 4 as possible, certainly between 4.15 and 4.45. I wrote an account of it to ‘A’ on the following day, so that our letters crossed, he receiving mine, not the next morning, as my double had promised, but on the succeeding one, at about the same time as I received his. ‘A’ solemnly assured me that he knew no one in or near Cardiff, and that my account was the only one that he received of the incident. From my intimate personal knowledge of him, I am certain that he is incapable of uttering an untruth. But there are reasons why I cannot give his name, even in confidence.1 1 These reasons have been privately communicated.

    “ALGERNON JOY.”

    [Mr. Joy having received an account of the phantasm written before the news of his accident reached the percipient, his evidence is on a par with first-hand (Vol. I., p. 148).]

    (570) From Mrs. McMullin, formerly Miss Hammill (now in India).

    “9, Southwick Place, Hyde Park, W.

    “1883.

    “Many years ago an old nurse, Mary Vivian, who was living with us, thought she saw one of the De Lancys, whom she had lived with, walk through our nursery. She was so certain she had seen him that she was quite overcome, and said she was sure some harm had befallen him. Some time after, she heard that on his way to the Crimea (I think, but am not quite sure when it was,) this young De Lancy had jumped overboard to save the life of a soldier who had fallen overboard, and had been nearly drowned, the very same evening she thought she saw him in our nursery; and he told her he had thought of his old nurse when he was in the water.”

    Mrs. McMullin adds, “I know it was told me at the time.”

    Lady Bates, of 2, Sussex Place, Hyde Park, writes:—

    “March 14th, 1885.

    “Twenty-eight years ago an elderly woman, named Vivian, lived as nurse in the service of Mr. Hammill, police magistrate, at 34, Sussex Gardens, Hyde Park. She had previously been for many years in the {ii-525} family of Colonel De Lancy, one of whose sons in May, 1857, was on his voyage to India with his regiment, the 22nd. One evening, towards the end of that month, Vivian told Miss Constance Hammill (then about 18)

    that when sitting in the nursery, between 6 and 7 p.m., she had seen Oliver De Lancy enter and pass through the room, and that she felt sure that some misfortune had happened to him. I heard of the occurrence the next day, and well remember, even at this distance of time, the words in which it was related to me:—‘Vivian has seen a ghost in the nursery, and it has made her so ill that she is not able to do her work and has gone to bed.’ Some weeks after, Mr. Priaulx, young De Laney’s uncle, called to tell Vivian that a letter had been received from him, in which he said that he had nearly lost his life in an unsuccessful attempt to rescue a private soldier of the 22nd, who had fallen overboard between Gibraltar and Malta, adding:—‘When I was in the water I thought of old Vivian.’ He gave no date, but Mr. Priaulx, at Vivian’s request, inquired at the War Office, and found that the man had been drowned on the 27th of May—the day on which, according to a note made at the time, she had seen the apparition.

    “Captain De Lancy and Vivian have been long dead; and Miss Constance Hammill is married now in India; but I have written down the story exactly as I remember to have heard it.

    “M. M. BATES

    The following notice is from Hart’s Army List for 1865:—

    “Captain Oliver De Lancy received the medal of the Royal Humane Society for gallant conduct in endeavouring to save the life of Private Dempsey, of the 22nd Regiment, who fell overboard between Gibraltar and Malta, on the night of May 27th, 1857.”

    Miss Ewart, of 3, Morpeth Terrace, Victoria Street, tells us that when Lady Bates related this incident to her, near the time when it occurred, she mentioned that Vivian had gone to make inquiries of Mr. Priaulx the day after her vision, having received special permission from Mrs. Hammill to do so. But Lady Bates, though she says this may probably have been so, does not now remember it.

    Dr. Scott, late headmaster of Westminster School, who heard of the incident soon after its occurrence, has given us an independent and substantially concordant account of it.

    (571) From Mr. H. Wooderson, 2, Little Queen’s Road, Teddington.

    “1881.

    “Like the rest of my brothers and sisters, I have always had the capacity of seeing spirits in a clairvoyant way.1 1 Mr. Wooderson explains these “spirits” to be hallucinations representing living persons, which he has regarded as premonitory of their actual approach. His wife confirms the fact that his prognostications of this kind have often been fulfilled; but no accurate record has been kept. When I was a youth of 14, I ran away from Hampton Court, where my parents lived, and I went into service as under-gardener with Captain Emmett, Ditton House, the next estate to Lord St. Leonards’, at Long Ditton on the other side of the river. One night, about 1857, when it was my turn to look after the fires in the hot-house, just as I was going down into the stoke-hole, I saw my mother standing on the top of the stoke-hole in her night-dress, and {ii-526} her head bound up as in a turban, as if she was ill, which much frightened me; and on joining the foreman of the houses, a Scotchman, he said, ‘You look frightened.’ I told him I had seen my mother; he remarked that I had seen her wraith, and ought to go home, to which I agreed. It was then about half-past 1 o‘clock. We used the Captain’s boat that was in the boathouse to set me over the river, and I ran home. I arrived at home at 2 o’clock, and found my mother lying in bed just as I had seen her in my vision. She said, ‘I knew I should bring you.’ She recovered from her illness.

    “Some time after this, I was employed as guard on the G. E. Railway, and I and my mate, who worked the down train while I took the up train, shared the same lodgings at Selby Street, Waterloo Town, Bethnal Green. We used to cross each other at Bishop’s Stortford, where we would exchange a few words. One night I felt very heavy as if some misfortune was about to happen to my family. I spoke to my companion when I met him at Bishop’s Stortford, and said I was sure that something was wrong with my mother. My companion made light of it, and said I should be all right when I went to work. The impression, however, remained with me, and when I saw my companion at night he told me there was a telegram waiting at home for me from Hampton Court. The telegram was to warn me that if I wished to see my mother alive, I must set off at once. I started as soon as I could, after showing the railway authorities the telegram, and taking the first train to Hampton Court, I arrived about 12 o’clock, and found my mother awaking from half-an-hour’s sleep, which she had had after long wakefulness from fever. When she saw me she said, ‘I could not depart till I had seen you, but now it is all right.’ She then lay down and passed away during the day without any trouble. This was in the summer of 1866.

    “H. WOODERSON

    We find from a newspaper obituary that Mrs. Wooderson died on Aug. 20, 1868 (not 1866).

    [As Mr. Wooderson recollects the turban as the special feature in his vision which suggested to him the idea of illness, it is not so easy as it would otherwise be to suppose that he wrongly read back the turban into the vision after he had seen it in reality; and the case may be compared to those in Chap. XII., § 8, where some real feature of the agent’s aspect seems to be conveyed. The case, however, besides lacking corroboration, is of course much weakened, from an evidential point of view, by its opening sentence.]

    (572) From a lady who has a dread of publicity.

    “September, 1884.

    “In 1857, during church service, I had an impression of something being close to my face. I opened my eyes, and saw distinctly the face of a friend.1 1 Compare case 553, and see p. 33, note. It appeared quite solid, and I could recognise all the markings in the face. Being startled, I closed my eyes, when it was no longer visible; on re-opening them it was still present. I cannot now remember whether the news of my friend’s death reached us that evening, or early the following morning. He died during the day (Sunday) on which I had the vision; but I never heard the exact hour.

    “H. C.”

    {ii-527}

    On being interrogated by our friend, Miss Porter, of 16, Russell Square, Miss C. added that when she was first aware of something being near her and opened her eyes, the vision was within an inch or two of her face, too close for recognition till she drew back a little.1 1 See Vol. i., p. 522, note. It seemed to remain stationary. She cannot say how long it remained, but described how a feeling of horror came over her that it would always be there before her eyes. It was also long enough for her to make up her mind that her friend was dead, and she was not at all surprised when the news came. It disappeared suddenly—did not fade, but was there one moment and gone the next.

    On inquiry, Miss C. told the present writer that she knew her friend to be ill, but was in no apprehension of his death. She preferred not to give his name, but undertook herself to ascertain from the Times obituary whether she was right in her recollection that he died on a Sunday. The result showed that she was not, and that he died on a Wednesday.2 2 As regards the liability to exaggerate the closeness of the coincidence, see Vol. i., pp. 140–6, and the examples given in Vol. i., pp. lxxv-vii. He had however been very ill, and delirious, for 3 or 4 days previously; and as she has never had a hallucination on any other occasion, a remarkable coincidence remains.

    (573) From Mrs. Beaumont, 1, Crescent Road, S. Norwood.

    “February 24th, 1885.

    “One day in the ’40s, when I was living in the Rectory at Marlborough, my father’s house, my mother and sister had gone out, and I was lying on a sofa in the drawing-room; at about 3 p.m. I was reading a book, when the light seemed to be slightly darkened, and looking up I saw, leaning in at the window farthest from me, about three feet from the ground, and beckoning, a gentleman whom I had only seen once, about a fortnight or three weeks previously. Supposing that my father wanted me to sign my name (as a witness to a lease, or something of that kind), I got up, went out of the window (which led down into the garden), and passed along in front of the house, and up six steps

    into my father’s study, which was empty. I then went into the yard and garden, but found nobody; so I returned to my sofa and my books. When father came in, two hours afterwards, I said, ‘Why did you send Mr. H. to call me, and then go away?’ My father replied, ‘What are you talking about? H. is down in Wales.’ Nothing more was said. I did not like to dwell on the subject to either of my parents, and I did not mention the occurrence to any one for several years. About a fortnight afterwards, I was told by my mother that Mr. H. had written, proposing for my hand (some property of his adjoined some property of my father’s in Wales). I cannot fix exactly how close the coincidence was; but my strong impression is that the letter was received within 24 hours of my experience. Before I was told of the contents of the letter, I remember that I found the blue envelope of Mr. H.’s letter (with T. H. on the corner, and with the coat-of-arms on his seal, and with the postmark Llandilo) on the floor in my father’s study. When the news was told me, I seemed to receive some explanation of my vision.

    {ii-528}

    “I have never had any hallucination or vision at any other time, except when I saw the ‘little brown lady’ at Kintbury.1 1 This was an apparition frequently seen by the residents in a particular house.

    “C. BEAUMONT.”

    [Here we have the points that the hallucinatory vision of a recognised figure was unique in the percipient’s experience; and that the supposed agent thoughts must have been much occupied with her at the time. But we have no proof that, on his side, the particular time at which the phantasm was seen stood out in any way from the hours and days that preceded and followed it; and the coincidence therefore lacks precision.]

    (574) From Mr. J. H. Jevons, 182, Elm Grove, Brighton.

    “August, 1884.

    “Whilst I was dressing, the other morning, the form of a friend passed amongst some trees opposite to my house, and so little doubt had I as to the form being his, as he looked up to my window, that I waved my hand to him to ‘go on’ up the road where we frequently walked. I followed in a minute or two, but only to find that I could not find him, high or low, up or down that road, or along any of three others. At length I went along an accustomed road, to a point in the town where we not infrequently met, or separated, as the case might be. But non est inventus.he was not found [legal phrase] Subsequently I called at his house, and found him very ill indeed, as he still remains.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Jevons says:—

    “September 8th, 1884.

    “I think that in cases of this sort one cannot be too careful as to identity, because I know practically how apt the imagination is to outrun the judgment. But of this particular instance under notice, the most I can say is, that if it was one of self-deception or mere subjectiveness, I was most completely deceived indeed. Certainly I had reason to expect my friend, as he came past my place nearly every morning at about 11 o’clock, looked up at my window, and when I saw him, I waved my hand in the direction in which I implied I would follow him. As I did so on the morning to which I am referring, I saw him and nodded to him two or three times, never for an instant doubting that the figure was his. I saw, through the leaves and branches of the trees, on the walk opposite to my house, his white hat, silver-rimmed spectacles and dark grey beard, as well as his peculiar contour and gait. He is 72 years of age, tall, slow of movement, and not very quick of sight; and as he appeared at first to hesitate, I waved my hand again, when he indicated, by his head, in his usual way, that he understood me, and then he walked on. I was but a few minutes in my effort to join him; and it was when I found I could not see him, or anybody like him, in any direction, that I was struck with the remarkableness of the occurrence, and I stood fairly puzzled, as I must have shown, for I noticed a passer-by looking at me in a sort of wondering way.

    “The illness was quite sudden, and neither my friend nor myself had any reason, prior to his seizure, to suppose that we should not meet, as customary, on the morning mentioned. The case has been my only experience of a visual hallucination, with the exception of one (of a different character) I had in my very youthful days.

    “JOHN H. JEVONS.”

    {ii-529}

    [It is against the hypothesis of mistaken identity, that Mr. Jevons remembers that the figure seemed distinctly to recognise his greeting. Still it may have been a hallucination due to expectancy. See Vol. I., p. 516.]

    (575) From a lady, Mrs. W., who desires that her name and address may not be published, as she has a near relation who would much object to their appearance.

    “February 20th, 1885.

    “When a resident near Portsmouth, during a visit made by my late mother to London in the summer of 1858, the year preceding her death, I distinctly saw her walking in the back garden at noon-day. I was not at the time thinking of her, but happening to look from my chamber window, I beheld this figure, which, but for my parent’s absence from home, I should have supposed her veritable self. This incident led me to conjecture something was amiss; and this idea was confirmed when the next morning’s post brought me information that my mother had sustained a severe fall, and was so badly hurt that at first fatal results was feared; and at the moment I fancied I saw her, her thoughts were bent on telegraphing for me to go to her.”

    The following incident is perhaps worth quoting, as having occurred to the same person:—

    “A few years prior to this, when a girl of 16, an engagement was formed between myself and a young naval officer, about to sail for the African coast. He had promised my mother and self that he would write us from Ascension. It chanced, some time after his departure, I accompanied a friend in a long country walk, when all at once a strange feeling possessed me that this young officer was near. I seemed to feel the clasp of his hand upon my wrist, yet I saw nothing, I had only felt a presence. My companion asked why I looked so pale. I made an evasive reply, and on returning home told my mother that ‘Tom was dead!’ She tried to laugh away my fancy; nevertheless, she noted the date of the occurrence; and when a brother of my own, then homeward bound from the coast of Africa, arrived, the first words he spoke, after an exchange of greetings, were, ‘Oh, that poor fellow you sent letters by for me is dead! He died three days’ sail from Ascension, and is buried on the island.’

    “M. W.”

    We learn from Mrs. W. that she has not had any hallucinations which there is reason to regard as merely subjective. She adds:—

    “I cannot, owing to the many years that have passed since the occurrences mentioned, furnish any dates; my mother calculated that the singular impression I received was as near as possible to the time of our young friend’s death. My brother who brought the tidings has been deceased several years.”

    (576) Obtained through Mrs. Pears, of Walton, Clevedon. The narrative was written down from the dictation of Mrs. C.—a relative of Mrs. Pears, a daughter of the well-known Mrs. Fry, and a member of the Society of Friends—who will not allow her name to be published, and entirely declines to be further questioned on the subject.

    “March 10th, 1884.

    “On 14th November, 1837, or about that time, Mrs. C. was lying on a {ii-530} sofa in her drawing-room, reading attentively; the sofa was facing the light. Suddenly lifting her eyes from the book, she saw distinctly, standing at the foot of the sofa, the figure of a person whom Mrs. C. knew by sight, though she was not personally acquainted with him. She observed how the figure was dressed, and even counted the buttons on his greatcoat; five were visible above the rather high end of the sofa. The figure was opaque; Mrs. C. noticed that she could not see the piano through it. After a few seconds, the figure disappeared as suddenly as it had come.

    “A quarter of an hour afterwards, Mrs. C. received a visit from one of the clergymen of the town, who came to tell her of the death, by drowning at sea, of the person whose apparition she had just seen. The clergyman had left the widow’s house to come straight to Mrs. C., and at the moment the apparition was present with Mrs. C., had been listening to the widow’s request that he would enlist her sympathy on behalf of herself and her children.”

    [The remoteness of the case is again a serious weakness; and the coincidence is of a very singular type. At the same time the fact of the news following immediately on the apparition is a striking one, hardly likely to have been unconsciously imported into the narrative.]

    The two following cases seem to fall into the class illustrated in Chap. XIV., § 7, where persons are phantasmally seen or heard very soon before their actual appearance in the flesh. I have explained (p. 96) that it is to some extent uncertain whether this is a genuine telepathic type; but the examples are worth recording; and doubly so where the time-coincidence is fortified (as here and in case 262) by the further point that odd or unfamiliar details of appearance are alleged to have been noted, and have proved to correspond with reality.

    (577) From Dr. Campbell Morfit, 132, Alexandra Road, N.W.

    Writing on July 4th, 1885, Dr. Morfit first describes a couple of business visits which he received at New York, in the year 1859 or thereabouts, from a gentleman named Metarko, who then departed to his home in the West.

    “For a time that disappearance took him entirely out of my world; but one evening, nearly two years subsequently, I had been passing an hour or two at a friend’s, listening to some fine music. On my return, in good health and spirits, I felt unusually wide awake, as recurs to mind even at this moment, and in fact quite free from any susceptibility to hallucination. Nevertheless, scarcely had I got into bed than there, at the side, stood Metarko, looking as when he last was with me, but having two new features, one a kind of excrescence on the cheek, and the other a necktie of striking pattern. At first this sudden presence amused me as a freak of the imagination, but became an annoyance when it would not leave on my trying to dismiss it. The good part done him forbade the idea that he had come to haunt me reproachfully, yet I was somewhat disquieted; and as my brother slept in a distant room upon the same floor, I called to him through the open doors of the intermediate sitting-room, {ii-531} without receiving any answer. The apparition persisted, and I turned my face from it to the wall, by way of exorcism; and a few minutes later seemingly, though actually perhaps only seconds, found that it had vanished.

    “Seeking an explanation of the occurrence by reflecting upon it, I arrived at the conclusion that Metarko had died that night at his distant home and the apparition was a psychological incident to announce the fact to me, though for what reason was beyond my imagination. The circumstance, however, so absorbed my thoughts all the next day, that when evening set in, I felt the need of diverting influences, and went out visiting. On re-entering, about bedtime, I was greeted by my house-keeper with the information that a stranger gentleman had called in my absence, to request that I would allow him a consultation at 9 o’clock the following morning. His name, she said, was on the slate, and there I found it——to be that of Metarko!—in his own unmistakeable handwriting. This fact, astounding for the moment, recalled, vividly, the apparition of the previous evening, so as to render me impatient for the actual interview; and when, at the appointed hour next day, he came in the flesh, profound was my astonishment to find him then exactly as he appeared in the vision 34 hours previously.

    “After listening to the statement of his case, I asked him to call again in the evening. He agreed to this arrangement, and left, but did not return as promised; and from that moment to the present I have never seen or heard of him. Heralded by a spectre like itself, he departed.

    “The incident noted was the only one of a ‘psychical’ character that ever occurred to me.

    “My brother being an unimpressionable man, and not sharing my interest in the matter, has forgotten, most probably, all that I may have told him about it at the time. But my housekeeper, a woman of considerable intelligence and sympathetic nature, might remember. She was even then, however, 20 years my senior, and if not now dead is a very old woman, whose whereabouts has dropped out of my knowledge, and it would be difficult to find her at present.

    “CAMPBELL MORFIT.”

    (578) From the Hon. Mrs. Pigott-Carleton, Greywell Hill, Winchfield, Hants. The percipient, Lord Dorchester, is deceased; but we have his daughter’s evidence to the fact that the anxiety which his experience produced was obvious before he heard what her experience had been.

    “July 5th, 1883.

    “Early in September, 1872, I was with my father and husband at the former’s shooting lodge in Co. Tyrone. An old friend, Captain M., was also staying there, and one afternoon it was arranged that I should accompany this gentleman and a keeper on a fishing expedition. My husband had some engagement, but my father walked a short way with us. He never cared to have me long away from him, and, upon turning back, remarked, as he left me, ‘Don’t get too far from home.’

    “It was a brilliantly fine day; I had a book with me, and often sat down to read while the others fished. We were about four miles down the river, when, chancing to look up from my novel, I perceived a heavy cloud rising into sight above the mountains opposite. I saw we were ‘in for’ a drenching, thought how it would fidget my father, and wished myself at {ii-532} home with all my heart. In a few minutes the storm burst upon us. Shelter there was next to none, and as soon as the deluge had somewhat abated, we made for the lodge, looking as though we had all been barely rescued from a watery grave. When nearly home, we were met by my father, my husband, and several men employed about the place. It seemed to me singular, not to say absurd, that my father should have turned himself and party out in such weather. Still more to my surprise, my father evidently could not get over his disturbance, spoke little that evening, and went off to bed earlier than usual.

    “The next day he told me that some little time after his return from the river, he sat down to read, with his back to the (western) window; that suddenly a shadow fell across the page; that, turning his head, he saw me standing at the half open window, my arms resting upon the push-down sash; that he said, ‘Hallo! Back already!’ that I made no reply, but apparently stepped down off the low outer window sill and disappeared; that he put a mark in his book, got up, and looked out of the window; that, not seeing me, he first went to the servants and asked if I had come in at the back door; and then went out on to the little terrace before the lodge and looked around for me; that he suddenly caught sight of the coming storm-cloud; that his bewilderment changed to uneasiness, and that my husband just then coming in they speedily started in search.

    “HENRIETTA PIGOTT-CARLETON.”

    [This may, of course, have been a purely subjective experience; but it cannot well be attributed to any special expectation in the percipient’s mind; and its coincidence with his daughter’s thought of him, and desire to be at home, is at any rate striking. If the detail of the shadow on the page is correctly reported, the case well exemplifies the development of a phantasm in two stages (Vol. I., p. 520).]

    §. 3. A large group of second-hand cases remains. For convenience, I will again divide them into accounts received from near relatives of the percipients, and from others.

    (579) From Mr. J. N. Maskelyne, originally printed as part of a letter in the Daily Telegraph.

    “Egyptian Hall.

    “October 21st, 1881.

    “SIR,—Having for many years been recognised by the public as an anti-Spiritualist and exposer of the frauds practised by spirit media, it may surprise some of your readers to learn that I am a believer in apparitions. Several similar occurrences to those described by many of your correspondents have taken place in my own family, and in the families of near friends and relatives. The most remarkable one happened to my wife’s mother some years ago. Late one evening, whilst sitting alone busily occupied with her needle, a strange sensation came over her, and upon looking up she distinctly saw her aged mother standing at the end of the room. She rubbed her weary eyes and looked again, but the spectre had vanished. She concluded it was imagination, and retired to rest, thinking nothing more of the vision, until the next day brought the {ii-533} news that her mother, at about the same time the apparition had appeared, had fallen down in a fit and expired.

    “JOHN NEVILL MASKELYNE.”

    In answer to our inquiries, Mr. Maskelyne writes that he regrets not to be able to get this case from his wife’s mother in her own words. “She was a little vexed with me,” he says, “for giving publicity to the circumstance. I have written it exactly as I have often heard her relate it.”

    (580) From a gentleman who prefers that his name should not appear.

    “October 31st, 1884.

    “An occurrence which happened to my father, and which I have several times heard him mention circumstantially, was as follows:—

    “My father, Lieutenant W. C. B., was in command of a gunbrig stationed to keep off slavers on the West Coast of Africa, in 1834. In the October of that year, he was alone in his cabin when he noted distinctly, as he thought, my mother appear to him. He noted down the circumstance in his logbook,1 1 See Vol. i., p. 161, note. giving time and date; but the effect on his mind was so great that on his return to England at the close of the year from ill-health, he called for a file of the Times directly he landed in Portsmouth, and looked to the month in question, and there found that my mother had died that very night that the appearance came to him, but which he had no means of learning earlier, owing to the difficulty of communication by letter in those days.”

    We find from the Times obituary that our informant’s mother died on October 11, 1834.

    (581) From Mr. E. Stephenson, School House, Market Weighton, Yorkshire. His mother’s signature, attached since the account was placed in its present position, makes it really first-hand.

    “November 25th, 1884.

    “I am master of the boys’ school and organist of the parish church at Weighton. My mother’s maiden name was Jane Cooling. Several years ago (about 10 or 12) she told me a remarkable story which sank deeply into my mind. I got her to tell me the whole of her story again, and it was exactly the same as that she had told years before. I cross-questioned her, but always got the same answers. My mother is 65 years of age. Her mind is quite clear and her memory very good. The affair happened when she was about 16 or 17 years old, and she maintains that even yet she can see (in imagination) her brother as fairly as she saw him then.

    “The following is the story, which I have recently taken down carefully from her own lips. Having subjected my mother to some very close questioning, I feel sure that you may depend upon the statements being trustworthy.

    “Henry Cooling, the brother of Jane Cooling, was a sailor, and had gone on a long voyage. Jane was living in Hull in the house of Mr. Kitching, Mytongate. There was a large cupboard in the house, which was on a kind of landing, approached by two or three steps. Just as she was about to go up to it, she saw distinctly, about 5 p.m., her brother {ii-534} Henry standing in front of the door. His eyes were fixed on her for a short time, and then he disappeared towards the left. He was dressed in his seaman’s drawers and shirt. The strings of his drawers were loose; his feet were bare; his hair was untidy; and his whole appearance was like that of one roused suddenly from sleep.

    “After the vision had vanished, as soon as she recovered herself, she went home to her father, and told him what she had seen. He said it was all nonsense, and told her to take no notice of it. However, some days later, a letter came from the captain of the ship, stating that Henry Cooling had been washed overboard during a gale in the Bay of Biscay, just as he was called on deck to assist in working the ship, and the time he gave as about the time of the accident corresponded approximately to that at which my mother saw the vision.

    “Since the above was written, I have found the exact date of my uncle’s death—March 27th, 1836. My mother would, therefore, be 17 within a few days.

    “E.S.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Stephenson writes, on Dec. 2, 1884:—

    “I remember my mother telling us the story several years ago, while her father was living in our house, and I have no recollection of anything but his fullest assent to what she told. You will remember that in my previous letter, I stated that she told her father what she had seen, several days before they knew what had happened. I could almost swear that I have heard him affirm, but will not do so as I do not exactly recollect the occasion, and do not wish to give you anything but the purest evidence in such a matter.

    “My mother confidently affirms that she saw the vision at that hour, 5 p.m., and, as far as she can remember, the letter from the captain of the vessel several days afterwards confirmed her statement as to the time, and the being called from his berth. We cannot find the captain’s letter.

    “My mother has not, when completely awake, had any other apparition or hallucination, except the one furnished you.” [The words “when completely awake” simply reproduce the form in which the question was asked.]

    “(Signed as correct) JANE STEPHENSON.”

    (582) From Mrs. Ricardo, 8, Chesham Street, S.W.

    “April 6th, 1885.

    “I can only recollect the story rather imperfectly, though I have often heard my father, the late Colonel Campbell, of Skipness, tell it.

    “On a fine summer’s evening, between 8 and 9 o’clock (still quite light in the Highlands), about 40 years ago or more, my father was walking to the old ruined castle of Skipness, which was a short distance from the more modern house. He had fitted up a turning lathe and workshop in one of the old rooms, and was going to fetch some tool which he had forgotten in the day. As he approached the gate of the courtyard he saw two of the fishermen (brothers), Walter and John Cook, leaning against the wall rather stiffly. Being in a hurry he merely nodded, said something about its being a fine evening and went on. He was surprised that they did not answer him, which was very unlike their usual custom, but being in a hurry did not think much of it, and when he returned, they were gone. That night a sudden gale sprang up in the middle of the night. Next {ii-535} morning, when my father went out to see what damage had been done, he met some fishermen carrying up a dead body from the beach. He inquired, ‘Who is it?’ They said, ‘Walter Cook, and they are just bringing his brother John’s body too. Their boat capsized when they were out with the herring fleet last night, and they were both drowned.’ My father said, ‘It can’t be, they never went to the fishing, for I saw them and spoke to them between 8 and 9 last night.’ ‘Impossible, laird! for they both sailed with the rest of the fleet between 3 and 4 in the afternoon, and never returned.’ My father never believed in second-sight or wraiths, but said this completely puzzled him. It must have been second-sight, as the men were not yet dead when he saw them,1 1 If the men were in a perfectly normal state when the phantasms were seen, the incident could not be properly included among the telepathic cases in this book (Vol. i., p. 140). But the evidence is quite uncertain as to hours; and there seems at any rate an appreciable probability that the deaths coincided with or preceded Colonel Campbell’s experience. This suggests a more general remark. In Vol. i., p. 122, when contrasting telepathy with various beliefs which have been, or still are, popular superstitions, I included among these the belief in the prophetic gift of “second-sight.” But a careful study of the recorded cases will show that the prophetic character which popularly attached to them was not infrequently a pure assumption. The time of the occurrence of distant events was apt to be confused with the time of hearing of them; and visions and impressions are described as having preceded, and been fulfilled by, events which, for aught that appears, they may have coincided with or shortly followed. (See, e.g., the narratives given in Notes on the Folk-Lore of the North-East of Scotland, by Walter Gregor, p. 205; in Howells’ Cambrian Superstitions, p. 57; and in the Treatise on Second Sight, by Theophilus Insulanus (1763), p. 60; and see also p. 59.) In days when no distinct conception of psychical transference had been formed, and when supersensuous influences were regarded as necessarily supernatural, it is not surprising that effects produced backwards, so to speak, by events still to come, should have been as readily accepted as the coincidental impressions of what we should now call spontaneous telepathy: if the prophetic idea seemed the more marvellous, that would only be an inducement to give it the most extensive application. Not that I would attempt to save the credit of these cases by representing any of them as conclusively telepathic; as a rule, the reports on which they rest have had too many chances of being distorted and exaggerated to serve any evidential purpose whatever. But it is of interest to note here (as before in some of the alleged incidents connected with witchcraft, Vol. i., p. 119) that the residue of fact which might remain, after exaggeration, baseless assumption, and wrong inference had been allowed for, is such as the telepathic explanation would go far to cover. though it was absolutely impossible that they could have been on land at the time. This, as far as I can remember, is the story, but I cannot be quite

    exact as to date and hours.

    “ANNETTE RICARDO.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Ricardo writes:—

    1. “Colonel Campbell never had any other experiences of the kind, and always laughed at any superstitions or fancies of the kind.

    2. “His sight was remarkably keen and long; a splendid shot, &c. [He was known as a spirited writer on Indian field sports.]

    3. “He was always quite certain that the men were the Cooks, and recognised and spoke to them by name.

    4. “It was well known that the Cooks went with the rest between 3 and 4 o’clock; every boat is seen and recognised as it leaves the bay, and they could not possibly return without its being also known.

    5. “The place was not a usual one for the fishermen to lounge, being the walls of our old castle, in the grounds, and the men’s attitude was so stiff that Colonel Campbell imagined they had been drinking.

    “I have just been talking to an elder relation of the family, who had heard my father tell the story, and he corroborates these facts, only not {ii-536} quite sure whether the fleet went at 3 or 4, and thinks the apparition was seen about 9 in the evening.

    “My brother-in-law (Captain Macneal, of Ugadale, Losset Park, Campbeltown, Argyllshire) encloses his statement. There are many others who have heard the story from Colonel Campbell. I do not know if the accident was seen to happen, or if only the boat and dead bodies were found. I have always believed that the accident occurred between 12 and 1, or 1 and 2 in the morning.”

    Captain Macneal writes, on April 18, 1885:—

    “I have heard Colonel Campbell frequently relate the story regarding the Channel fishermen, just as his daughter has related it to you.

    “H. MACNEAL.”

    [We have received two other independent accounts of this occurrence from persons who had heard Colonel Campbell narrate it. These agree with the above in the fundamental point of the apparition of the fishermen occurring at or near the time of their death; but one of them differs in a good many details, and adds an incident which, from the fact that we have never met with it in first-hand narratives, we should judge to be improbable—namely, that the apparition was seen again at the same spot after a considerable interval—when Colonel Campbell was returning home. If this really occurred, it would suggest that either the real men were seen, (which however is impossible, if the hours are correctly stated by Mrs. Ricardo,) or that a real object was mistaken for them. The phantasmal representation of several dying persons is unexampled in our first-hand evidence; but see case 536. As might be expected, it is a feature that is met with in the more legendary records; see, e.g., Sacheverell’s Account of the Isle of Man, (1702), p. 14.]

    (583) From Dr. Frank Comer, 79, Queen’s Gate, South Kensington, S.W.

    “October 5th, 1885.

    “In the year 1820 or 1821, my grandfather, Geo. Miller, M.D., who was a physician practising in Newry, Ireland, emigrated with his family to Canada and settled in the town of Niagara, Upper Canada. On their way to Niagara from Quebec, having reached the town of Prescott, which is above all the rapids of the St. Lawrence River, they then embarked on a sailing vessel commanded by a Captain Patterson. As the voyage from Prescott to Niagara in those days would probably occupy about a week, the passengers would undoubtedly become pretty well acquainted with the captain of the little vessel. About 6 or 8 weeks after the arrival of my grandfather and his family in Niagara, my grandmother (who, by the way, was a lady of more than ordinary sound practical common-sense, and not at all visionary) was walking in an orchard at the back of her house, about 3 o’clock in the afternoon, when Captain Patterson passed close by her and looked straight in her face. At first she was dumbfounded, not having heard his footsteps, but recovering from her surprise she extended her hand to shake hands with him; but he merely smiled and passed out of sight behind a small out-building.

    “Upon my grandfather’s return home, my grandmother told him of the occurrence, but he smiled and said she must have been dreaming, as Captain Patterson and his vessel were then at the other end of the Lake (Ontario); but she insisted that she was wide awake, that it was a clear {ii-537} bright afternoon, and that she certainly had seen him or his apparition. A few days later the vessel arrived in Niagara, and the mate who was in charge reported that the Captain (Patterson) had been washed overboard during a gale at the lower end of the Lake. Upon inquiry it turned out that it was the same day, and (as nearly as could be judged) the very same hour that grandmother Miller had seen his apparition in the garden. My mother, Mrs. J. F. R. Comer, was a girl of 10 or 11 years at the time, and remembers her mother and others talking about the occurrence at the time and afterwards, and she herself still remembers Captain Patterson. She is now in her 76th year, and is again living in Niagara, Ontario, Canada.

    “FRANK COMER.”

    Dr. Comer sent us the original of the following extract from a letter written by his mother:—

    “In one of my letters I gave Frank an account of the drowning of Captain Patterson, on his second voyage up from Prescott, in a storm, and of my mother seeing him pass near the black cherry-tree. It was written on a separate sheet of paper. Did you not get it? I mean the second voyage after he brought my father’s family from Prescott to Niagara.”

    (584) From Mr. T. L. Moore, 6, Downshire Hill, Hampstead.

    “September, 1884.

    “My father, Major-General George Frederick Moore, whose death took place on the 8th of this month, has frequently related to me and to others the following incident. When in India, in the year 1848, very shortly before the siege of Mooltan, he occupied a bungalow at some place in that neighbourhood (the name of which I cannot give with certainty), and had a household consisting of the usual number of native servants. Among these was a woman who was a laundress, and part of whose weekly duty was to bring my father’s clean linen to the bungalow, and deposit it in his bedroom for use.

    “This woman met with an accident, which ended in tetanus. One day, it being fully light, my father was lying on a sofa in his sitting-room, the woman being somewhere in the compound, and in extremis, as he knew, from lockjaw. The door was open, and, as he lay on the sofa, he could see down a passage, which ended in another door (also open), leading to the compound. This latter was the main entrance to the bungalow, and anyone coming up the passage would go either into the sitting-room, or, turning at right angles, down another passage which led to the bedroom and adjoining bathroom. While lying on the sofa, in full view of the entrance-passage, my father was astonished to see his laundress enter from the compound, pass up the passage, carrying, as was her custom, his clean linen.1 1 As to the projection of the hallucinatory figure with familiar dress or appurtenances, see vol. i., pp. 539–40. Upon reaching the sitting-room door she turned down the corridor, leading, as before explained, to the bedroom. He immediately rose and followed her, knowing that she must be in either the bed or the bath room, from which there was no exit save by the way she had come, but no one was to be seen. Much perplexed, he repaired to the compound and found her lying dead, having at that moment expired. My father described her appearance as perfectly definite in every way, wearing the same clothes and bangle ornaments which she used to do when alive; and {ii-538} her apparition was so palpable that it was the knowledge of her impending death which caused him to follow her into the bedroom and bathroom.

    “That this appearance was not that of any living person is proved by the fact of there being no exit from these two rooms save by the passage down which the apparition walked.

    “TEMPLE L. MOORE.”

    Mr. Arthur G. Hill, of 47, Belsize Avenue, Hampstead, writes:—

    “September, 1884.

    “The late General Moore narrated the above account to me in the presence of his son a few weeks ago, very shortly before his death, and had no doubt whatever of the reality of the ‘wraith.’ He had intended to dictate an account, at my request, specially for the S.P.R. He was the most unimaginative and strong-minded man imaginable.”

    [Mr. Hill mentions that this was not General Moore’s solitary experience of hallucination, as he had once seen the figure of his brother, two days after his brother’s death.]

    (585) From Mr. H., a journalist, who desires that names may not be published. The account has been submitted to the first-hand witness, who is perfectly willing that it should appear, and may be taken to admit its correctness.

    “November 12th, 1883.

    “Many years ago, my father had an intimate and dear friend, a doctor, who had to pass every winter in Madeira. One night my father was going to his rooms, in the Strand, when, on the stairs, coming down, he met, as he thought, poor Dr. G. So vivid was the illusion, that he held out his hand, and, I believe, spoke. Of that I am not certain. The ghost, or whatever it might have been, looked at my father, and passed down the stairs. Some little time afterwards, my father received news of his friend’s death. It happened, I believe, on the very day my father met with his little adventure. This is the story as I have heard my parent tell it.

    “Visitations or warnings of this kind are common enough, and I remember perfectly well that the affair, hallucination or not, impressed my father very much—not that he is by any means a superstitious man.”

    [The percipient cannot remember the precise date of the occurrence, which took place more than 30 years ago.]

    (586) From Colonel V., who writes, in a letter dated March 11, 1886, “The account was written by me from a statement made to me by my father, the late Capt. J. H. V., in 1864. The words are my father’s, and I wrote them as he related them to me.” Names were given in confidence.

    “One of my [i.e., Colonel V.’s, not his father’s] grand-aunts was Mrs. F., married to an officer, Major or Colonel F., of the Dragoons, serving in George III.’s time in America. He was killed at the battle of Saratoga. My aunt lived at the time in Portland Place, W., and was entertaining a large party one evening. Suddenly they remarked she seemed to be in great pain and agony, exclaiming quite aloud to her guests, ‘Oh, do go home. I have seen a most fearful sight, and am compelled to break up the party.’ Some of her most intimate friends asked her what she had seen. She replied that she was certain ‘her husband F. had been killed in a battle, and that she most distinctly saw his body being carried to the rear by his soldiers.’ She remained in great anxiety for weeks, when the sad news confirming her vision arrived from America, and that at the hour she made the exclamation to her guests, her husband, F., of the Dragoons {ii-539} (allowing for difference of longitude), was killed in an attack made on the enemy at the battle of Saratoga.”

    Colonel V. adds, “An aunt now deceased, told me she was, when a girl, present at the time when [her aunt] Mrs. F. called out ‘that F. had been shot and that she saw his body being carried off the field of battle.’”

    We find from Burgoyne’s Campaign, by Charles Neilson (Albany, 1844), that Brigadier-General F. was wounded at the battle of Saratoga, at 2 p.m. on Oct. 7, 1777, but did not die till 8 a.m. on Oct. 8. From Letters and Memoirs relating to the American War of Independence, by Madame Riedesel (Translation, New York, 1827), we learn that he was carried to Madame Riedesel’s hut at about 3 p.m., which would correspond with about 8 p.m. in London; and that during the afternoon, while he was lying mortally wounded, he frequently uttered his wife’s name.1 1 I append the following version of the same incident (received from a lady of sense and great practical ability), as illustrating what I have before emphasised (Vol. i., p. 149)—the difference in evidential value between a record given by a person nearly connected with the original witness, and having command of the circumstances, and a story casually picked up from an acquaintance. The essential point of a telepathic vision remains; but almost every detail is altered; and, as so frequently happens in such cases, the chain of evidence is shortened, and the narrator’s informant is represented as the person to whom the experience occurred. She was really the “aunt now deceased” of Colonel Y. “March 14, 1884. “Mrs. V., whose husband was in the Artillery in India, told me the following occurred to herself. The story is well known in her family. She has been dead some years, and it occurred when she was comparatively a young woman. I heard it from her 23 years ago last Christmas, at Southampton. One evening, sitting in her drawing-room, she saw distinctly a military funeral procession pass at the further end of the room. The coffin borne on a gun-carriage; the men with arms reversed. Directly it passed away, she noted the circumstance, writing it down, and passed some months in the greatest anxiety. It was before the days of overland route. She heard of her husband’s death, which had occurred that day, and allowing for the difference of time, the funeral had taken place at the moment she had seen the vision, death and burial following each other within a few hours in India.” The “arms reversed,”the “overland route,” and the remark about “death and burial,” show that a report is not more likely to be accurate for being circumstantial.

    [We have no means of judging whether the vision of the soldiers carrying the body was of the clairvoyant type, or whether the scene was merely a setting supplied by the percipient’s own mind. Nor can we judge how far the experience was an externalised hallucination. (See Vol. I., p. 545, note.)]

    (587) From Mrs. Hackett, 10, Steele’s Road, Haverstock Hill, N.W.

    “September 26th, 1883.

    “The incident which I have often heard my father [James Dawson] speak about was that one of the men on board my grandfather’s ship was ill, and could not be induced to eat anything. He said if he could have a piece of game-pie, he thought he could eat that. When grandfather got home (the ship was then in dock in London), he found a hamper had arrived from Yorkshire and in it was a game-pie. My father at once begged to take a piece to the man. He had it tied up in a cloth, to be able to hold it more securely in going up the side of the ship. When nearly at the top of the ladder, he said he distinctly saw his sister dressed in white. It so unnerved him that he dropped the pie into the water. His sister was living in Yorkshire, near Flamborough Head. As soon as a letter could be had in those days, they heard this sister [Jane Foster] died at that time, and he was the person she spoke of last. I never heard my father say he had seen anything of the kind before or afterwards.

    “C. J. HACKETT.”

    {ii-540}

    [No one, perhaps, will imagine that a fictitious narrative would take such a form as this—the apparition coming in as a mere episode in the pie’s history. But the incident is remote, having occurred, Mrs. Hackett thinks, before 1830. She last heard the account from her father about 1850. She told Mr. Podmore on April 18, 1886, that a surviving aunt of hers remembers hearing the account from Mr. Dawson, but is too old to be applied to for dates, &c.]

    (588) From Mr. J. H. Redfern, 20, Great Ancoats Street, Manchester, the narrator of case 214.

    “1882.

    “The following narrative I give you as I have had it often from the lips of my wife. The circumstance took place a number of years ago. She repeated it often. I have ridiculed it, made fun of it, &c. It had no effect upon her. She was a quiet, thoughtful, upright woman; and so far as the thing appeared to her, all who knew her would be satisfied as to the accuracy of the statement as given by her. She was a native of Worksop, Notts. A Mr. Drobble, an old friend of her father’s, residing not far away, was fond of her even as a child, and as she grew up, petted and made much of her; this continued, and she always regarded him as an intimate and dear friend. In winter, or at any time going from home, he wore an old-fashioned great-coat of drab cloth. I mention this as it was of peculiar make, and the only one of the kind about that part of the country. [She left home, and was staying at Stockport.] In that town, in a street called Underbank, is an old-fashioned mansion with a large courtyard in the front. It was (and is now) a branch of the Manchester and Liverpool District Bank. Being one day about noon there, and chancing to look through a window into the street, she saw on the footpath opposite the bank, and looking up at the building, Mr. Drobble. He had on his drab overcoat, and appeared as if he was upon the point of coming through the gateway into the courtyard. She saw him (she said) face to face. She instantly stepped out of the bank, across the courtyard—expecting to meet him—into the street. He had disappeared. On each side of the bank were shops. She fancied that he must have gone into some of them. She followed, as she thought, but could see nothing of him. She felt much disappointed; but gradually the thing was in a great measure forgotten.

    “Fifteen or eighteen months after, she went home to Worksop. After some days, incidentally she asked her mother how Mr. Drobble was. Her mother stared at her at first, and then asked her what ever she was talking about? Mr. Drobble had been dead for more than 12 months. My wife, in her turn, protested that she saw him, face to face, in broad daylight; that it

    was impossible that she could be mistaken in the matter; and to this she adhered to her dying day.

    “Upon further inquiry it appeared that Mr. Drobble had died at about the time of the day when she believed that she saw him, and so near as they could get at it, on the same day; and that he had been confined to bed for something like 9 or 10 months previous to his death.

    “It appeared also that they had never sent word of his death, and she had never learned it until in the way, and at the time, here told.”

    Mrs. Hannah Lees, of Clifton Crescent, Rotherham, writes to us:—

    {ii-541}

    “I can confirm the truth of Mr. Drobble’s death when sister Redfern was away. I was with her at home, when, as described by Mr. Redfern, she asked about him, and only then learned of his death. Nothing could shake her belief in the fact of her having seen him at the time, and in the manner described.”

    [Mr. Redfern assures us that he had not exchanged a word on the subject with Mrs. Lees for years, and that her testimony has been given without his having in any way refreshed her memory. But the degree of closeness in the coincidence is uncertain; and the case may possibly have been one of mistaken identity.]

    The next case is perhaps an example of the rare type where the operative idea in the agent’s mind was of the place in which (rather than of the person by whom) the phantasm is seen. (Vol. I., p. 268.)

    (589) From the Rev. W. S. Grignon, The Grove, Pluckley, Kent.

    “24th October, 1882.

    “The date was between 1820 and 1830. My father made a journey from Montego Bay to Spanish Town, to attend the session of the ‘House of Assembly’ of Jamaica, of which he was a member, and passed a night en route at the house of a friend whose name I cannot now remember. The family consisted of his friend, his friend’s wife, and the wife’s sister, a Miss R. (we will call her so; I know the name but have perhaps no right to give it). This young lady was out of health, and in a very depressed state. After dinner the ladies left the room, and my father shortly after strolled out of doors in the very brief twilight of a tropical day. To his surprise he saw Miss R. going along a path from the house towards a clump of trees not far from it; he was not very near her, but called out to her. She proceeded on her way without taking any notice of him; supposing that she wished to be alone, he turned off in another direction, and shortly after returned to the house. On entering the drawing-room he found his friend and his wife there, and Miss R. also there, reclining on a sofa. When he came in she rose and left the room. He said to his friend’s wife, ‘Do you think it safe for your sister to go out of doors so late, with a heavy dew falling? I met her outside a few minutes ago.’ ‘You must be mistaken; she came in here with me from the dining-room, lay down on the sofa, and I am quite certain, did not leave it till just now on your entrance. I have been here the whole time.’ They were all puzzled by his certainty that he had seen Miss R., and some time having passed without her returning to the room, she was looked for and not found in the house. On further search outside, she was found dead, having hanged herself on one of the trees in the clump towards which my father had seen her, or the appearance of her, moving.

    “It must be remembered that the servants about the place were all negroes or brown people. Had such a thing happened in England it might be thought that some female servant, sufficiently like Miss R. in figure to be taken for her at a little distance, had been seen. There this could not have been. Probably the poor girl was, while reclining on the sofa, {ii-542} thinking, with an intentness which the sane mind cannot easily conceive, of her purpose of suicide and the place she had chosen for it. Could this have had the effect of visibly projecting the appearance of her form towards the place?

    “W. S. GRIGNON.”

    [In spite of the special reason suggested for rejecting the hypothesis of mistaken identity, we can scarcely feel, in so remote a case, that we realise the circumstances with sufficient completeness to justify confidence on that point. If the vision was not flesh and blood, it is certainly difficult to resist the conclusion that it was of telepathic origin.]

    (590) From a teacher in the Gymnasium of Tver, Russia, whose name we are asked not to print. The first-hand account was sent by Mr. Vladislavleff, of Tver, to Mr. Bruhns, who translated it for us.

    “1883.

    The narrator begins by saying that about 1856, when a boy of 12, he was a collegian of the first Moscow Gymnasium, and that his parents lived about 250 miles from Moscow. “One morning in the beginning of April, I went as usual to the Arkhangelsk Cathedral in the Kremlin. The liturgy had already commenced. The church was, as usual, full of worshippers. At the beginning of the liturgy I accidentally turned my head, and to my greatest surprise saw in the crowd of worshippers my mother, praying, and with her eyes directed to the holy images, like other worshippers round her. She was dressed in her usual dress. My astonishment was very great, for I knew very well that my parents were then at home. I spent the whole liturgy in looking at her, and in thinking of the incident. Meanwhile the liturgy had come to an end, and the worshippers began to kiss the cross. Among others, my mother approached the priest. Fearing to lose sight of her, I went through the crowd of worshippers which surrounded the priest with the cross, and when she, after having kissed the cross, went to the door, I went after her. She went out of the door, advanced some feet, and then stopped at the corner, formed by the wall of the cathedral itself and the wall of the altar, and in such a manner that her face turned towards the crowd which was passing by her. Going after the worshippers, I approached her. I saw her looking at me and weeping, her tears flowing down her cheeks. I stopped momentarily, but the crowd continued to pass by us, and I all at once understood that I saw before me something extraordinary—something that was visible to me alone. An inexpressible terror seized me, and I cannot remember how I reached our lodging. But I told nobody of the incident.

    “The summer came. We went home to our parents. When we arrived, we heard of our mother’s death: she died precisely at the beginning of April. Our father did not inform us about this death fearing the sorrowful news might disturb our May examinations in the University and in the Gymnasium.”

    [If this report is accurate, the case does not look like one of mistaken identity. But the extraordinarily prolonged character of the apparition suggests exaggeration (compare case 300); and the more so when the youth of the percipient is remembered.]

    {ii-543}

    § 4. The cases in this section are narrated by persons not closely related to the respective percipients.

    (591) From Dr. de Wolf, Providence, R.I.,—a letter to Professor Barrett.

    “August 28th, 1884.

    “I have been for many years a practitioner of medicine in this city; my birthplace was the town of Bristol, some 15 miles distant, where I resided for more than 30 years, and for the greater part of that time was a next-door neighbour of Right Rev. A. V. Eriswold, Bishop of the Eastern Diocese of the Protestant Episcopal Church, and who died some 40 years ago. He was, as all Churchmen in this country know, greatly esteemed for his talents and piety.

    “For what follows the Bishop himself was my informant. He told it to others, and I heard it frequently spoken of by different members of the family.

    “One afternoon, while standing at his desk writing in his study, a door opened1 1 Compare cases 530 and 537. This form of hallucination is met with also in purely subjective cases. from an adjoining room, and Mr. Collins, his son-in-law, entered, and passed slowly through the room and out of another door; the Bishop said he had not been thinking or talking of Mr. Collins, and had not heard from him for some time. He knew that he could not be within a thousand miles of him, and yet he had distinctly seen him pass through the room. This of itself was a very remarkable occurrence, but what follows renders it still more so.

    “When the mail from Charleston arrived some 3 or 4 days after (there were no telegraphs or railroads at that time), a letter was received announcing the death of Mr. Collins, on the very day and hour when the Bishop saw him apparently pass through his study.

    “The good Bishop (who was no believer in ghosts, necromancy, or anything of the sort) said it was a most remarkable and singular circumstance, the coincidence rendering it still more remarkable, and he could not account for it, but supposed it must be some sort of a hallucination; for, as he was standing at a high desk, he could hardly have been dreaming.

    “JOHN J. de WOLF, M.D.”

    Dr. de Wolf has kindly inspected the tombstone of Mr. Collins, which shows that he died on July 4th, 1807. Dr. de Wolf has also endeavoured to find some other person who has heard the account direct from the Bishop; but in this he has failed. The Bishop’s grandchildren have all heard of the occurrence, but not at first hand. One of them told Dr. de Wolf that the Bishop himself was disposed to say very little about it.

    (592) Copy of part of a letter from Miss M. A. Ewart, of 3, Morpeth Terrace, Victoria Street, S.W., to Mrs. Sidgwick, dated April 4, 1886.

    “I waited to write until I had seen Mr. Henry Clarke, who was brother-in-law to Mr. Guthrie, Vicar of Calne, in Wilts, who told me at dinner at Bowood, about 1860, of the apparition of Lord Kerry, as I described it to you. Mr. Clarke had no recollection of having heard Mr. Guthrie tell the story, and did not know it; but he said that Mr. Guthrie was greatly attached to Lord Kerry, who was his pupil, and that Lady {ii-544} Lansdowne was always very grateful to Mr. Guthrie for the influence he had over her son. Lord Kerry died in 1836. Mr. Clarke could not say that he died at Bowood.

    “It was in the beech avenue, approaching the house at Bowood, that Mr. Guthrie told me he met Lord Kerry, when he was going to the house to see him, knowing him to be unwell and shut up. When he reached the house, the servant told him that Lord Kerry had died a few minutes before, and, as Mr. Guthrie believed, at the moment he had met him, walking briskly, and surprising him so much that he did not attempt to stop him. Lord and Lady Kerry lived in a house I know well, close to Bowood (where Mr. Clarke’s sister, Mrs. Warren, now lives), but Mr. Clarke says that they may have been at Bowood at the time of his death. Mr. Clarke was then in China. I am sorry that I cannot tell you more.

    “M. A. EWART.”

    [This narrative belongs, no doubt, to a type which as a rule is untrustworthy—having been told to our informant by an acquaintance, not a relative or intimate friend, and on one occasion only. But the facts, it will be seen, are of the very simplest kind, and are presented without any attempt at ornament or detail; and Miss Ewart’s acquaintance with the locality would naturally tend to fix the simple lines of the picture in her mind.]

    (593) From Mr. P. H. Berthon, F.R.G.S., 20, Margaret Street, W. The narrative was sent to Professor Barrett in 1875.

    “Some years ago, when residing at Walthamstow, in Essex, my wife and self became intimate with a lady and gentleman who had become temporarily our near neighbours. On one occasion, when they were dining with us quite en famille, my friend and I, on repairing to the drawing-room, not long after the ladies had left us, were surprised to find that his wife had been suddenly taken with a kind of fainting fit, and had been obliged to return home accompanied by one of our female servants. My wife, as a matter of course, went the next day to inquire after her friend, who then told her that the cause of her sudden indisposition had been the appearance, as if in her actual person standing before her, of one of her two sisters, who were then residing with their mother at Beyrout, in Syria, which had greatly alarmed her. Communication by telegraph had not then been established, and by post it was much slower than at present. Many days had therefore elapsed before the lady received letters from Beyrout, but on their arrival they conveyed the intelligence that her sister had died on the day and, allowing for the difference in the time, at about the hour of her appearance to our friend.”

    In conversation, Mr. Berthon told the present writer that the lady, Mrs. de Salomé, was playing the piano when she saw her sister’s figure at her side. Mr. Berthon did not hear of the incident from Mrs. de Salomé herself, but was at once told of it by his wife, and was also told at once of the arrival of the news. He frequently saw Mrs. de Salomé during the interval. He says also that his daughter, who was 12 at the time, distinctly remembers hearing of the circumstances at the time. Mrs. de Salomé died soon after the occurrence, which took place in the autumn of 1853. Mrs. Berthon is also deceased.

    {ii-545}

    (594) From Dr. H. T. Berry, 29, Pembridge Crescent, Bayswater.

    “December 29th, 1884.

    “Although living now at Bayswater, I have been in practice in the North of London for nearly 40 years. The following account I can vouch for in every particular, but remember I draw no inference from it.

    “Some five or six years since, I was attending Mrs. A., in the neighbourhood of Gray’s Inn Road. The lady became so ill that she sent for her mother, residing nearly one hundred miles from town, to nurse her. Some eight or ten days after, I made my usual morning call, and found Mrs. A. improving, and her mother quite well. About 3 o’clock in the afternoon of the same day, I was hastily summoned to Mrs. A.’s house. When I arrived, Mrs. A. was no worse, but her mother had suddenly dropped down dead in a fit. I telegraphed to the husband [Mrs. A.’s father] to come to town directly, not telling him of his wife’s death, fearing to alarm him too suddenly. When the husband came up (he was a very intelligent man, about 70) he told me he was not surprised to find his wife dead when he arrived in town. For, about the time of her death, he was returning to his home, through a field, when he distinctly saw his wife cross the field a few yards from him. As he went home he called at a friend’s house, and said, ‘I am sure my wife is dead. When I reached home I found the telegram asking me to come up directly; but I felt certain my poor wife was dead.’ As I said in my note, I make no theory to explain the above. The facts I know of my own personal knowledge.

    “H. T. BERRY.”

    In a subsequent letter, Dr. Berry says, “The old man told me himself, within 24 hours of the vision. I don’t think he is living now.” He adds that the incident occurred in the summer of 1880; and that he attended the inquest.

    He has given us, in confidence, the name and address of his patient, but does not allow us to apply to her. As he does not remember her mother’s name, we have had some difficulty in obtaining confirmation of his account. We applied to the coroner of the district, who found no inquest recorded in his books; but he kindly inquired of a grandson of the deceased lady, from whom he learnt that she had died in the summer of 1880, and that there was no formal inquest. No doubt (as the coroner suggests) Dr. Berry used the word “inquest” for the informal consultation at which he assigned the cause of death.

    (595) From Miss Eliza Mortlock, Tivoli Lodge, Clevedon, who does not remember when it was that the account was written.

    “At Wiesbaden we were acquainted with a clever good man, Professor Ebenau, whose old sister kept his house, &c. He told us he had a friend residing 40 or 50 miles off—likewise a professor—who was very poor, and had a large family. On hearing that the wife was dying, Mr. E. went to see them, and brought back their eldest boy, for whom a little bed was put up in Mr. E.’s room.

    “One morning, about 10 days after, Mr. E. called and asked me, ‘Do you believe that at the moment of death, you may appear to one whom you love?’ I replied, ‘Yes, I do.’ ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we shall see. I have noted the day and the hour; for last night after I went up to bed, the {ii-546} child said sweetly (in German), “Yes, dear mamma, I see you.” To which I replied, “No, dear boy, it is I, I am come to bed.” “No, he said, “it is dear mamma, she is standing there smiling at me,” pointing to the side of the bed.’ On his next visit, Mr. Ebenau told us that he had received a letter saying that at that time, and on that evening, the wife had breathed her last.

    “ELIZA MORTLOCK.”

    [This event happened in the spring of 1854, and Miss Mortlock has lost sight of Professor Ebenau; but it will be seen that she herself was informed of the vision before the death was known. The boy seems to have been sufficiently awake at any rate to understand and reply to Professor Ebenau’s remark, and Miss Mortlock is sure that the Professor believed him to have been awake. But he may have been in a state favourable to subjective hallucination, from knowledge of his mother’s critical condition.]

    (596) From Mr. Wicks (a Temperance Missionary), 87, Southfields, Leicester.

    “July, 1884.

    “In Devonport, in the year 1884, I was acquainted with a Mrs. Flaherty, an Irish widow, who occupied two rooms in a house which accommodated several poor families. She had three sons, the eldest of whom, Garland, a lad of about 17, who was steward on board one of Her Majesty’s ships, was her main support. This lad had been ashore on leave,

    and had bade his mother farewell to return to his duty. She, soon after parting with him, set about cleaning the doorway of the house. Looking up from this occupation, she saw him returning up the street, and she exclaimed, ‘Why, goodness! he has lost the boat. Whatever will he do?’ She rose up and surveyed him as he approached her, identifying his face, hair, figure, gait, dress, and even the bundle of clothes he had carried away. She called out to him, but he made no answer, walked past her into the house, and went up into her rooms. She followed, but finding nobody there, she called out chidingly, ‘Garland, don’t play with me. Tell me, why haven’t you gone aboard?’ Her excitement brought in her neighbours, who asked what was the matter; to which inquiry she responded, ‘Indeed, I don’t know. By the Holy Mother, I never saw Garland in my life if I didn’t see him just now come in at the door and go upstairs before me.’ ‘Are you sure, now, he is not hiding in some of your rooms?’ They soon satisfied themselves by search that this was not the case, and told Mrs. Flaherty she must have been mistaken. To this she answered positively, ‘Don’t I know my own boy—my own Garland? bless him! and didn’t I see him come up the street, and come into this house? Yes, and up over the stairs: and didn’t he pass me without speaking? the likes of which he never did before at all, at all. Something must be the matter with him.’

    “In this she was right. It turned out that in trying to get from the boat on to the ladder lying over the ship’s side he missed his foothold, fell into the sea, and was drowned. This happened at the very time his mother saw his apparition.

    “I had this story, as it is here given, from Mrs. Flaherty’s own lips, and have frequently since heard it from her second son, John Garland Flaherty, who was my companion for over 10 years.

    “WILLIAM WICKS.”

    {ii-547}

    (597) From the late Miss Elizabeth Jacob, who wrote down the account, some years ago, for Mrs. Saxby, of Mount Elton, Clevedon. The date of the incident is now irrecoverable; Mrs. Saxby, writing on March 11, 1886, says that she thinks it “must have occurred full 20 years ago.”

    The narrative begins by describing how one John Miller, an old blind man whom Miss Jacob and her sister, Mrs. Russell, used to visit in London, died unexpectedly at a time when his son-in-law was seeking employment in the country. “The second night after the death, Mrs. Miller and her daughter had gone to bed, but they were unable to sleep for thinking of him, when, to use her own words, ‘I heard something strike against the window, ma’am, and I started up and found that it was someone throwing up stones against it. So I jumps up, throws my flannel petticoat over my shoulders, and opens the window. ‘Who’s there?’ says I. ‘It is I, mother,’ says Jem, “come home.” “Oh, Jem,” says I, “father’s dead.” Says he, “I knowed it, and that’s why I come home.” So, ma’am I was struck all of a heap, as you may guess, and I whipped on my clothes and let Jem in, and then he told us all how it was.’ He had been in Buckinghamshire, towards Oxford, and he was walking by a ploughed field in a country place, when, looking up, he saw his father [in-law] coming towards him. He was quite sure it was his father [in-law]. He felt startled, but was just going up to speak to him when he passed away over the ploughed field without turning, or speaking, or looking at him. Jem felt so awe struck that he could neither move nor do anything, but he thought directly that it was a sign that something was wrong, so he turned and walked back to London as soon as he could, and very footsore and tired he was when he arrived.”

    Mrs. Saxby tells us that Miss Jacob heard old Mrs. Miller relate this incident a few days after Jem’s return; and adds, “They found that it was exactly at the same hour that the old man died, that his son-in-law saw him glide past him in the ploughed field.”

    [This case depends on the evidence of respectable, though uneducated, witnesses; and the fact of the son-in-law’s return, and the reason he alleged for it, are not matters on which memory would become untrustworthy in a few days. At the same time, the exactitude of the coincidence may easily have been exaggerated. As Mrs. Miller was cognisant of Jem’s unexpected return before he heard of the death, and must have heard of the vision that caused his return in almost the same breath as he heard of the death, her evidence may perhaps be reckoned as on a par with first-hand (Vol. I., p. 148).]

    (598) The late General Campbell, of Gwalior House, Southgate, informed us that a relative of his, Major Hasell, had seen the apparition of a brother at the time of the latter’s death, and that the only authority whom he was at liberty to quote was a common relative of his own and of Major Hasell’s—General Orchard. At our request he wrote to General Orchard, who replied as follows:—

    “Woodville Gardens, Barnes, S.W., Surrey.

    “May 17th, 1884.

    “The event took place during June, 1849 (the precise date I cannot say); it took place on his voyage home, on medical leave. Hasell (48th {ii-548} Ben. N.I.) told me it was in the Red Sea that his brother died, on the way to Suez. Hasell further stated that on seeing his brother’s apparition he looked at his watch, and noted down the date and time his brother appeared to him, and by his calculations it was exactly the time intimated as to his demise, which he afterwards received. The name of the ship I do not know; however, that can be easily ascertained from the India Office, as well as the actual date and where he died. The particulars that I have not been able to give have quite escaped my memory, although at the time they must have been mentioned to me.

    “Hasell was in India with his regiment, and his brother going to England on medical leave at that time.

    “J. W. ORCHARD.”

    General Orchard writes to us on May 24, 1884:—

    “I cannot bring to mind when Major Hasell told me of the occurrence.

    “The apparition appeared in the afternoon, but the hour has escaped my memory. It showed itself to Major Hasell, and he told me it was visible for a second or two, and then faded away. He made the calculation as to the time, which agreed with that of his brother’s death.”

    General Campbell says that Major Hasell struck him “as being a very straightforward, practical sort of man.”

    We learn from the India Office that Captain William Lowther Hasell, attached to the 44th Bengal Native Infantry, died at Cairo, on his way home, on the 13th June, 1849. The vessel in which he embarked from India was the P. and O. steamship “Oriental,” Captain Powell.

    (599) The following narrative, received from an intimate friend of Mr. Myers and the present writer, is third-hand, and is admitted only by special exception (see Vol. I., p. 158, note).

    “1883.

    “My grandfather, Sir J. Y., was drowned by the upsetting of a boat in the Solent, in or about the year 1830.

    “On the day of his death Miss Manningham, a great friend and connection of his, was at one of the Ancient Concerts in Hanover Square Booms. During the performance she fainted away, and when she came to, declared that she had seen a corpse lying at her feet, and though the face was turned away, she knew the figure to be that of my grandfather. Communication in those days was not of course as easy as now, and her fears were not verified till some days after the event.1 1 The journey from Southampton to London only took one day at that time; but Miss Manningham may not have been immediately informed of the news. Such is the family story, which I heard often from my father, and had verified by my mother when last I saw her.”

    In answer to an inquiry, the narrator adds, “I have always understood that my father heard it from Miss Manningham; my mother heard it from my father.”

    The following account of the same incident occurs in A Portion of the Journal kept by T. Raikes, Esq., from 1831 to 1847, Vol. I., p. 131:—

    “Wednesday, 26th, December, 1832.—Captain —— recounted a curious anecdote that happened in his own family. He told it in the following words:—It is now about 15 months ago that Miss M., a connection of {ii-549} my family, went with a party of friends to a concert at the Argyll Rooms. She appeared there to be suddenly seized with indisposition, and though she persisted for some time to struggle against what seemed a violent nervous affection, it became at last so oppressive that they were obliged to send for their carriage and conduct her home. She was for a long while unwilling to say what was the cause of her indisposition; but on being more earnestly questioned, she at length confessed that she had, immediately on arriving at the concert-room,

    been terrified by a horrible vision which unceasingly presented itself to her sight. It seemed to her as though a naked corpse was lying on the floor at her feet; the features of the face were partly covered by a cloth mantle, but enough was apparent to convince her that the body was that of Sir J. Y. Every effort was made by her friends at the time to tranquillise her mind by representing the folly of allowing such delusions to prey upon her spirits, and she thus retired to bed; but on the following day the family received the tidings of Sir J. Y. having been drowned in Southampton River that very night by the oversetting of his boat, and the body was afterwards found entangled in a boat-cloak. Here is an authentic case of second-sight, and of very recent date.”

    We find from the Hampshire Telegraph that the fatal accident occurred at about 4 p.m., on May 5, 1831.

    It will be seen that the accounts present a discrepancy in the name of the building where the vision was seen—the “Argyll Rooms,” according to the older version, the “Hanover Square Rooms” according to the later. We find from the advertisements of the Morning Post that “the celebrated Russian Band” was that week giving daily concerts, at 3 p.m., at the Argyll Rooms; and from Crickley’s Picture of London (1831), p. 93, we learn that “the Argyll Rooms, Regent Street, burnt down in the early part of last year, have been again restored to their former splendour. They are devoted to concerts, balls, and exhibitions, and are much frequented by persons of rank and fashion.’ It is therefore probable that Miss Manningham was present at the afternoon concert at these Rooms. The Hanover Square Rooms were also used for concerts at that time; and as the title “Argyll Rooms” has long ceased to suggest a high-class concert-hall, one easily sees how it may have been unconsciously replaced in the mind of our friend’s parents by the more apparently suitable appellation.

    The newspaper-account shows that the bodies of Sir J. Y., and of two friends who were drowned with him, were “completely enveloped in their cloaks and greatcoats”; and therefore the detail of the boat-cloak in the vision, if correct, is interesting; but as we do not know at what hand the older account is given, it is impossible to rely on such a point.

    (600) From Mr. James Cox, (mentioned above, p. 235).

    “Admiralty House, Queenstown.

    “March 18th, 1884.

    “When I was serving in China in 1860, during the war, a military officer, who was serving there at the same time, while crossing Talienwhau Bay, was capsized and drowned. One of his brother officers informed me that at the time of the accident he distinctly saw his apparition while riding across the country.

    {ii-550}

    “I cannot now remember the names of these officers, as this happened more than 20 years ago.

    “JAMES COX.”

    In reply to the question whether he heard of the event immediately after its occurrence, Mr. Cox says:—

    “March 25th 1884.

    “The fact of the officer in question having been capsized and drowned was known to us all, I think, on the day the sad event happened; as the fleet was anchored in the Bay of Talienwhau, and the troops were encamped on the shores of the Bay, so that the army and navy were in constant communication. But the next day, I believe, while I was returning from the camp, where I had been on a visit, the military officer who had seen the apparition spoke to me of it.”

    We find from Mr. R. Swinhoe’s A Narrative of the North China Campaign in 1860, that the officer who was drowned, as described, was Lieutenant H. L. G. Gordon, of the Madras Engineers. His death took place on July 11th, 1860.

    Sir Peter Lumsden, K.C.B., who was in the boat with Gordon, and Colonel W. H. Edgcome, R.E., who was in the Madras Engineers in China at the time, tell us that they never heard of the apparition.

    [Mr. Cox is a careful informant; and the fact that he was on the spot, and heard of the incident immediately on its occurrence, seems to justify an exception to the rule of not admitting accounts from persons who had only a slight acquaintance with the original witness.]

    (601) Mr. F. L. Brine, Finsbury Distillery, E.C., sent us a letter from his sister, Mrs. F., containing the following passage:—

    “February 29th, 1884.

    “I remember, as if it were only yesterday, staying at the Miltons. It was Mr. Milton’s custom to go into the cellar, to turn the gas off at the meter. When he came up he was looking unusually pale, and he said, ‘Where is the scoundrel?’ Of course it frightened us, as we thought he meant a burglar; and he would not believe, for some time, that his son, Harry, was not having a game with him; as he saw him quite plainly in the cellar. A few weeks after, they had a letter from the captain of the ship, to say he died in Hobart Town Hospital, on the very night he appeared to his father.

    “S. F.”

    [Mrs. F. dislikes the subject, and we can obtain no further details from her. We have written to Hobart Town, to obtain a certificate of the death, but have not received it in time for insertion here.]

    (602) From an article in Church Bells for March 20th, 1885, by the Rev. J. Foxley, Vicar of Market Weighton, Yorkshire.

    “There is now living in the parish where we write—she was at church last Sunday—a widow now in her 78th year, but in full possession of all her faculties, who has more than once told us, with all the fulness of detail, and subject to all the cross-questioning which we could devise, how she was at service some miles from home during her father’s last illness, and that one Thursday she felt unable to go on with her work, and after a while, about 1 o’clock, saw a vision of her father; that it turned out afterwards that her father died at that very time, and that just before his death he had been speaking of her; that a letter sent to inform her of his being worse failed to reach her; and that though she knew he was {ii-551} ill, she was not aware that he was in immediate danger; but that she was so impressed with her vision that she set off home the Saturday following, and learnt1 1 At a wayside inn, now a cottage, at Arras, on the Beverley-road, about three miles from Market Weighton, but in the parish.—J. F. on the way that her father was dead, and that his funeral was to take place that very day, so that she arrived only just in time. We have verified one subordinate part of the above narrative; for by reference to the parish register we find that the burial took place on the 31st of May, 1823; and as the Sunday letter for that year was E, which is the letter for the 1st of June, the burial turns out to have been, as stated, on a Saturday. Our informant was then, as shown by the register of her baptism, 25 years old.”

    In sending the above, Mr. Foxley writes, October 24th, 1884:—“The enclosed cutting from Church Bells has the advantage of having been read over to Mrs. Pollard, and accepted by her as a faithful statement of what occurred to her. She was buried here, February 14th, 1884. She could read well. The ‘1 o’clock’ mentioned was in the day-time. I recollect her mentioning dinner-time. The place was some out-building, I think a summer-house, but of that I am not certain. She always told the story under the impression that she was wide awake.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Foxley adds:—

    “I cannot recollect whether she said she mentioned the apparition to anyone before the news of the death arrived. But she told me that the apparition was one cause, if not the cause, of her asking leave to go home to see her father. I cannot say in whose service she was.

    “All I can add is, that I cross-questioned Mrs. Pollard repeatedly, in every way I could think of, and that I could not shake her story. But then she may have told it so many times that it had become truth to her, like George the Fourth’s presence at the battle of Waterloo.”

    [Here the impression seems to have been so vivid as to prompt a very decided line of action. But on the other hand, the percipient was probably in anxiety as to her father’s condition, which diminishes the improbability that her hallucination was purely subjective.]

    (603) From Mr. Norris, (Barrister), Dalkey, Ireland. The account was written down before 1868: we received it in 1882.

    “In or about 1850, and for some years previous and subsequent, there lived at Hampton Court, near Douglas, Isle of Man, a gentleman named Abbott with a family, consisting of Mrs. Abbott, five daughters, and one son. Mr. Abbott being fond of the sea, kept a small yacht, but particularly desired his son never to go out in it without his permission. About the time above mentioned, while he was himself absent in Dublin, his son obtained his mother’s permission, and with two young companions crossed the Channel to Kirkcudbright on the opposite Scottish shore. On Mr.

    Abbott’s return, he was annoyed to find the boys had gone out without taking a sailor with them, and this annoyance was not lessened by the receipt of a letter saying they could not return until they received a remittance. Mr. Abbott at once went into Douglas, a distance of four or five miles, and posted a letter to his son with the necessary enclosure. He had scarcely done so when, turning round, he saw his son at the opposite side of the {ii-552} narrow street, looking at him with a very sorrowful expression. Just at that moment he was too much annoyed to speak to him, so he went home and told Mrs. Abbott that he had had all his trouble for nothing as John was in Douglas. He added that he was too much annoyed to take any notice of him, but he supposed he would be in for dinner. In vain they waited. At the very time, his father (from whose lips I had the story) saw him in Douglas he was drowned in Kirkcudbright Bay by the upsetting of his boat. This was about noon or a little earlier. I know not whether Mr. Abbott be now alive, nor can I give the address of any of his family; but he told me the story as I have stated it, with his own lips.

    “THOMAS J. NORRIS.”

    Mrs. Tandy, a daughter of Mr. Norris, writes to us from 1, Tempé Terrace, Dalkey, Ireland, that she was 14 at the time of this occurrence, and perfectly remembers hearing Mr. Abbott’s account of it. She then narrates it just as it is given above.

    [We have failed to find any newspaper-account of this accident; and the death was not registered—registration in those days not being compulsory. But we learn from the collector of H.M. Customs at Douglas, and from the sexton at Kirkcudbright, that several residents at these places remember the event.]

    (604) From the Rev. R. L. Loughborough, Pirton Vicarage, Hitchin.

    “January 25th, 1884.

    “I was visiting a poor woman, Mrs. Abbiss, far gone in consumption, and wishing to draw her thoughts to the certainty of approaching death, I asked her certain questions about her relations and her mother. I had no sooner named her mother than she exclaimed, ‘Ah, sir, there was a strange thing happened at the time of mother’s death; but I’m thinking you would hardly believe me if I were to tell it ye.’ ‘I do not know,’ I said, ‘I hear of too many strange things to be much surprised at what you could tell me, or to doubt the truth of what you may say.’ ‘Well, sir, the truth of it was this. I was but a girl at the time, and mother being very ill, suffering from the same complaint as mine, we had a woman to help me. Mother kept her bed. And one morning when we had made her comfortable and given her her breakfast, we thought she seemed a little better, and came down stairs to have our breakfast; but, sir, we hadn’t sat very long before the door opened, and in came father looking all skeered like, and sat himself down in that very chair where you are now sitting. “Oh, father,” I said, “how you fritted me, what’s the matter?” “How’s mother”?’ he said. “Why, we gave her her breakfast, and she seemed quite comfortable like when we left her not many minutes since.” “Then run and see how she is now.” I went up, and would you believe it, sir, we found mother was dead? When I asked father what made him come up in that frightened way, he said, “Why, I was hoeing in Mr. W.’s field, and just as S—— clock was striking 9, I see your mother standing at the end of my hoe. I was struck all of a heap like, and threw down my hoe, and ran home as fast as I could.”’

    “The father’s name was John Wilson. You may place the fullest reliance on the narrative, as my impression is still most vivid as to the whole circumstance of the relation. The poor woman was well known to me from my frequent visits. She was too simple-minded to romance upon {ii-553} the matter, and there was a sort of dramatic earnestness in her manner as she told me, which convinced me that she realised again the strange look of her father when he returned to inquire about his wife.

    “R. Lindsay Loughborough.”

    Mr. Loughborough has ascertained from the Register that Mrs. Wilson died in January, 1850, aged 41; her husband in January, 1853, aged 48; and Mrs. Abbiss in September, 1856, aged 32. He thinks it most probable that Mrs. Abbiss gave him the account in the early summer of 1856. She must have been at least 25 (though she says “but a girl”) at the time of the incident.

    [The evidence is of the same class as in case 597, Mrs. Abbiss having been a witness of the unusual demeanour of her father, due to the vision—though she did not actually hear the vision described—before the fact of the death was known to him.]

    (605) From Mrs. Laurie, Fiesole, Bathwick Hill, Bath. We owe this case, in the first instance, to Mr. G. J. Romanes, F.R.S., who sent us a letter containing an account which Mrs. Laurie had dictated in June, 1883; but the following account, dictated in 1885 to Mr. L. G. Fry, of Goldney House, Clifton, is a little fuller.

    “General Kennett was travelling home to his wife, who was staying in some part of India, from Bombay, and was intending to break the journey for a week at my husband’s (Mr. Laurie) house at Baroda. He declined to sleep in the house, saying that he would have his tent pitched near, and preferred it, as cooler. Next morning, however, he came in in a very agitated state, saying that he hoped we would excuse him, and that he had ordered his tent to be struck, as he intended to resume his journey immediately When we asked what was the matter, he replied that his wife had appeared to him, saying that if he did not return home immediately he would never see her alive. I suggested that it was a dream, but he said ‘No,’ he had really seen her. My husband said ‘Well, General, I am sorry you’re going, I hope you’ll find her quite well.’ General Kennett started immediately, and on arriving home he wrote to us stating that she was dead, and that he found her in the dress in which he had seen her in his tent She died a few minutes before his arrival, and therefore four or five days after the vision—as he had a long distance to travel. When he had left his wife, she appeared in good health, and he had no message to say she was ill. The fact that he found her dressed would seem to suggest that she died very suddenly.

    “CAROLINE EMMA LAURIE.”

    General Kennett and Mr. Laurie are both deceased.

    [This is, of course, a very inconclusive case; for the dress may probably have been a familiar one; and if the death was so sudden that no premonitory symptoms had been felt four or five days before, there would be no strong reason for regarding the vision as telepathic rather than as a purely subjective hallucination. But the death was not by an accident—it at any rate took place from some morbid physical cause; and it must not be forgotten that the approach of death from such a cause may conceivably be discerned in a way which is out of the range of consciousness as we understand it. (See Vol. I., p. 231.)]

    {ii-554}

    (606) The following letter was published in the Banner of Light of January, 1878. We wrote to make inquiries of the writer, Mr. Alwis, but have since been informed by the Colonial Office that he died in 1878.

    “Colombo, Ceylon.

    “It was a fine, clear evening, many years ago, a day after I had gone to Negombo, to act for Mr. John Selby as District Judge of that place, that I joined that gentleman at a game of cricket. We finished our game, and were, in the dusk of the evening, coming to the Government House, where we all lived, when Mr. Selby, who was behind us, came rushing past us, and beckoned me to come fast. He was rather excited, and desired me to be good enough to consult my watch and tell him the time. I did so. He then sat down at my writing-table, took a sheet of note-paper, and wrote down, ‘My wife died 13 minutes to 6 o’clock’ (month, &c., which I forget). This slip of paper he put into an envelope, sealed it, and got me and another gentleman then present to put our signatures to the fact therein stated. We did so. And he then explained to us that his wife, who had been long ill in England, had appeared to him at the time above indicated, under the shadow of the big banian, and that he had not the slightest doubt that she had died at that hour, and that it was her spirit1 1 As regards this word, which occurs again in the introductory paragraph to the following case, see p. 48, note. which he had seen. In consequence of this persuasion, Mr. Selby, who was to leave Ceylon in a few days for England, postponed his trip for a short time. And when the mail had arrived, a month or more after the date above given, he showed me his private letters, and they fully confirmed the prediction of his wife’s death, within a few hours, as I remember, of the time he stated he had seen his wife under the tree.

    “JAMES ALWIS.”

    Mr. S. C. Obeyesekere writes to us from Colombo, on July 18, 1885:—

    “You are correctly informed as to my being a son-in-law of the late Hon. James Alwis. On inquiry from Mrs. Alwis and several of his friends, I learn that the extract from the report appearing in the Banner of Light forwarded to me is substantially correct, and accords with their recollection of Mr. Alwis’ account to them of the incident referred to in it.

    “Both Mr. John Selby and his brother, Henry Collingwood, who was Queen’s Advocate of Ceylon, are dead, and I do not know whether there are any relations of theirs in the Island, except a son-in-law of Thos. H. C. Selby—Mr. Frank Byrde, of Avissawelle. Mrs. Selby [i.e., Mrs. H. C. Selby]. [sic] I believe, is still alive at Bath, in England, and you might get some information from her about what you refer to. The other gentleman who, with Mr. Alwis, witnessed Mr. Selby’s memoranda, I am informed, was a Mr. Macartney, of the Police, who is also dead.

    “Mr. Alwis acted for Mr. Selby as District Judge of Negombo from 13th April to 24th May, 1863. [We have received confirmation of this fact from the Colonial Office.]

    “I have not succeeded in tracing out any written memoranda of the event at the time of Mr. Alwis; if I do succeed in tracing them out, I shall with pleasure forward you their copy.

    “S. C. OBEYESEKERE.”

    {ii-555}

    Mrs. H. C. Selby writes to us, from 2, Yale View, London Road, Bath, on May 28, 1886:—

    “We have heard of the circumstances to which you refer, with regard to Mr. John Selby; but not having seen him when he was in England, after the death of his wife, we are unable to give you any information.”

    Mr. Frank Byrde has kindly written to us, saying that the account given “substantially agrees” with what he had heard before, but that he has no written record of the incident. He has also given us the means of tracing Mrs. John Selby’s death, which took place, as the Register shows, on May 14, 1864. The month, it will be seen, agrees with the above evidence; but the year there given is 1863. The mistake, if it be one, probably occurs in some record to which Mr. Obeyesekere and the officials of the Colonial Office both had access; but possibly Mr. Alwis acted as substitute for Mr. J. Selby more than once.

    (607) The following case was reported by the late Serjeant Cox to the Psychological Society, in February, 1879, on the authority of Surgeon Harris, of the Royal Artillery; who, with two of his daughters (one of whom became Serjeant Cox’s wife), was a witness of the occurrence. The narrative has been already published in a book called Spirits before our Eyes, by W. H. Harrison, pp. 64–5.

    “A party of children, sons and daughters of the officers of Artillery stationed at Woolwich, were playing in the garden. Suddenly a little girl screamed, and stood staring with an aspect of terror at a willow tree there. Her companions gathered round, asking what ailed her. ‘Oh!’ she said, ‘there—there. Don’t you see. There’s papa lying on the ground, and the blood running from a big wound.’ All assured her that they could see nothing of the kind. But she persisted, describing the wound and the position of the body, still expressing her surprise that they did not see what she saw so plainly. Two of her companions were daughters of my informant (one of the surgeons of the regiment), whose house adjoined the garden. They called their father, who at once came to the spot. He found the child in a state of extreme terror and agony, took her into his house, assuring her that it was only a ‘fancy,’ and having given her restoratives, sent her home. The incident was treated by all as what the doctor had called it, and no more was thought of it. News from India, where the child’s father was stationed, was in those days slow in coming. But the arrival of the mail in due course brought the information that the father of the child had been killed by a shot, and died under a tree. Making allowance for difference in the counting of time, it was found to have been about the moment when the daughter had the vision at Woolwich.”

    [If here, as in so many other of the second-hand cases, the details and the alleged accuracy of the coincidence must be doubted, the main fact of a striking coincidence of the sort alleged may still be reasonably accepted as probable.]

    I have more than once spoken of nautical evidence as likely to be coloured by superstition, or modified and exaggerated in the way natural to oft-repeated “yarns.” But it may be reasonably supposed that the first-hand witnesses in the two following cases really had {ii-556} some such experience as is described, and that the coincidence was not a pure invention.

    (608 and 609) From Mr. William Dunlop, Engineer, care of Messrs. Windsor, Redlock, and Co., Bangkok, Siam.

    “Feb. 17th, 1883.

    “A relation of mine, named Richard Jones, was apprentice pilot in the Mersey. One day he boarded an inward bound vessel, and took charge. The captain of the vessel was sick, and the mate had command; he seemed to be very low-spirited, and would hardly answer my cousin when he spoke to him. They walked the deck in silence for a long time, when at last the mate suddenly asked my cousin what sort of weather they had had about the coast for the last month or so. My cousin said the weather had been very bad. The mate then asked if my cousin knew anything about a certain brig; he answered that he did, but that he wished to know why the question was put. The mate then said: ‘My brother was captain of that vessel, and I’m uneasy about him, because, as we were coming down the Mediterranean this trip, I saw my brother aboard of this craft. At 8 bells (noon) I went below to dinner; when I came on deck again I took a look up to windward to see what the weather was like, and, standing close against the bulwarks I saw my brother. I went over to him, but as I got close to him he disappeared. I turned round and saw him on the other side of the deck; I went towards him with my arms stretched out; when I got near him I made a sudden clasp at him, but he disappeared again.’ My cousin asked the mate to give him the date of this appearance; the mate did so, and my cousin answered, ‘On that day, and as near as I can judge, at the same hour, your brother’s brig was lost with all hands.’”

    [We discovered a recent address of Mr. (now Captain) Richard Jones; but he had left, and we have been unable to trace him.]

    “From the 7th of October, 1867, till the 14th April, 1871, I was shipmate with Mr. F. L. Murphy, aboard the ss. ‘Riga,’ of Leith, of which vessel he was second officer. Mr. Murphy, in spite of his name, was an Englishman; he belonged to the middle class, was very well educated, but very superstitious. Never mind that, he was as truthful as man could be, hated lies and liars, and no man could be braver. His death showed what manner of man he was, for when the ss. ‘Hong Kong’ was lost in the Red Sea about 8 years ago, he gave his place in the boat to another man and stayed on the wreck, well knowing that it was death to do so. The other man had a family, Murphy had none, so he sacrificed himself.

    “I think it was somewhere about the year 1863, that Murphy was before the mast on board the ‘sultana’ of South Shields, on the run home from Bombay to England. Off the Cape of Good Hope they were running with dirty weather, and towards nightfall it looked very nasty, so the captain determined to heave to. At 8 bells it was all hands to close reef the main topsail. Now when a man is bearing a hand to reef a main topsail, with something like a gale of wind blowing, he has not much chance to fall a-dreaming. If you have been to sea you know what it is; if you have not, just fancy yourself some 70 or 80 feet up in the air, swung from port to starboard, from starboard to port like a stone in a sling, with {ii-557} the great sail slatting and thundering below you. Well, Murphy was aloft fisting the sail, when he happened to look forward, and saw someone on the fore topsail yard. He shouted to the man next him, ‘Who’s that on the fore topsail yard?’ His mate gave a look forward and answered, ‘Why, there’s no one there, we’re all on the yard here.’ Murphy looked along the main topsail yard and counted the hands; sure enough they were all there. He looked forward again, and saw that the man on the fore topsail yard was his cousin Stevens, who was in England at the time. When the ship was brought to the wind, Murphy, before turning in, entered in his private log the date and hour of the apparition.

    “On arriving in England he found that his cousin had died on the same day he appeared aboard the ‘sultana,’ but between the hour of his death and the hour of the apparition, there was a difference for which the longitude did not account.”

    [The last sentence may be taken as in some measure an indication of accuracy in the narrative.]

    (610) From Mr. Francis Dart Fenton, formerly in the native department of the Government, Auckland, New Zealand. He gave

    the account in writing to his friend, Captain J. H. Crosse, of Monkstown, Cork, from whom we received it. In 1852, when the incident occurred, Mr. Fenton was “engaged in forming a settlement on the banks of the Waikato.”

    “March 25th, 1860.

    “Two sawyers, Frank Philps and Jack Mulholland, were engaged cutting timber for the Rev. R. Maunsell, at the mouth of the Awaroa creek, a very lonely place, a vast swamp, no people within miles of them. As usual they had a Maori with them to assist in felling trees. He came from Tihorewam, a village on the other side of the river about 6 miles off. As Frank and the native were cross-cutting a tree, the native stopped suddenly and said, ‘What are you come for?’ looking in the direction of Frank. Frank replied, ‘What do you mean?’ He said, ‘I am not speaking to you; I am speaking to my brother.’ Frank said, ‘Where is he?’ The native replied, ‘Behind you. What do you want?’ (to the other Maori). Frank looked round and saw nobody; the native no longer saw anyone, but laid down the saw and said, ‘I shall go across the river; my brother is dead.’ Frank laughed at him and reminded him that he had left him quite well on Sunday (five days before), and there had been no communication since. The Maori spoke no more, but got into his canoe and pulled across. When he arrived at the landing-place, he met people coming to fetch him. His brother had just died; I knew him well.”

    In answer to inquiries as to his authority for this narrative, Mr. Fenton writes to us:

    “December 18th, 1883.

    “I knew all the parties concerned well, and it is quite true, valeat quantum,take it for what it's worth as the lawyers say. Incidents of this sort are not infrequent among the Maoris.

    “F. D. FENTON,

    “Late Chief Judge, Native Law Court of New Zealand.”

    This case, if faithfully reported, is an interesting example, {ii-558} vouched for by an educated European, of telepathy occurring among an uncivilised people.

    § 5. I will conclude this chapter with three cases, which are respectively one, two, and three centuries old, but of which the first and second, at any rate, may fairly receive an evidential number.

    (611) From the Life of Mrs. Mary Fletcher, by Henry Moore (1818), Vol. I., pp. 208–209—an extract from Mrs. Fletcher’s diary.

    “October, 1784.—As I was retired this morning at my 10 o’clock hour, I was called down to Mary G. She gave me a strange account which I shall insert as she related it:—A short time ago, she said, she was one day going out to work in the fields, but thought she would first go upstairs to prayer. While on her knees, praising God for the care He had taken of her children, she was amazed to see her eldest son, about 21 years of age, standing before her! She started up—but thought, ‘Maybe it is the enemy to affright me from prayer.’ Casting her eyes up again to the same spot, she still saw him there; on which she ran down into the kitchen, calling on the name of the Lord. Still, wherever she looked, she saw him standing before her, pale, and as if covered with dirt. Concluding from this that he was killed, she ran to her mother, who, on hearing the account, went directly to the pit, determined to have him home if alive. On her drawing near the pit, she heard a great tumult; for the earth had fallen in on him and two other men, and the people were striving to dig them out. At length he was got up alive and well, and came home to his mother pale and dirty, just as she had seen him! She then fell on her knees, and began praising that God who hears and answers prayer.”

    (612) From The World of Spirits, by R. Baxter (1691), pp. 147–151. Abridgment of a letter to Baxter from Mr. Thomas Tilson, Minister of Aylesworth, in Kent.1 1 This letter, which must be presumed to be correctly quoted, cannot be impugned on the ground of Baxter’s own credulity and prejudice in respect of many of the matters dealt with in his book; as to which see Hutchinson’s excellent remarks, Historical Essay concerning Witchcraft (London, 1720), pp. 79–101.

    “July 6th, 1691.

    “Mary, the wife of John Goffe, of Rochester, being afflicted with a long illness, removed to her father’s house at West Mulling, which was about 9 miles distant from her own; there she died, June 4th, 1691.

    “The day before her departure she grew impatiently desirous to see her two children, whom she had left at home, to the care of a nurse. She prayed her husband to hire a horse, for she must go home to die with her children.

    “Between 1 and 2 o’clock in the morning she fell into a trance. One widow Turner, who watched with her that night, says that her eyes were open and fixed, and her jaw fallen; she put her hand on her mouth and nostrils, but could perceive no breath; she thought her to be in a fit, and doubted whether she was alive or dead. The next day this dying woman told her mother that she had been at home with her children. ‘That is {ii-559} impossible,’ said the mother, ‘for you have been here in bed all the while.’ ‘Yes,’ replied the other, ‘but I was with them last night while I was asleep.’

    “The nurse at Rochester, widow Alexander by name, affirms and says she will take her oath of it, before a magistrate, and receive the sacrament upon it, that a little before 2 o’clock that morning she saw the likeness of the said Mary Goffe come out of the next chamber (where the elder child lay in a bed by itself, the door being left open), and stood by her bedside for about a quarter of an hour; the younger child was there lying by her; her eyes moved, and her mouth went, but she said nothing. The nurse, moreover, says that she was perfectly awake; it was then daylight, being one of the longest days in the year. She sat up in her bed, and looked steadfastly upon the apparition; at that time she heard the bridge clock strike 2, and a while after said, ‘In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, what art thou?’ Thereupon the appearance removed and went away; she slipped on her clothes and followed, but what became of it she cannot tell. Then, and not before, she began to be grievously affrighted, and went out of doors, and walked upon the wharf (the house is just by the river-side) for some hours, only going in now and then to look at the children. At 5 o’clock she went to a neighbour’s and knocked at the door, but they would not rise; at 6 she went again, then they rose and let her in. She related to them all that had passed; they would persuade her she was mistaken, or dreamt; but she confidently affirmed, ‘If ever I saw her in all my life, I saw her this night.’

    “One of those to whom she made the relation (Mary, the wife of J. Sweet) had a messenger who came from Mulling that forenoon, to let her know her neighbour Goffe was dying, and desired to speak with her; she went over the same day, and found her just departing. The mother, amongst other discourses, related to her how much her daughter had longed to see her children, and said she had seen them. This brought to Mrs. Sweet’s mind what the nurse had told her that morning; for, till then, she had not thought fit to mention it, but disguised it rather, as the woman’s disturbed imagination.

    “The substance of this I had related to me by John Carpenter, the father of the deceased, the next day after the burial—July 2. I fully discoursed the matter with the nurse and two neighbours, to whose house she went that morning.

    “Two days after, I had it from the mother, the minister that was with her in the evening, and the woman who sat up with her last that night. They all agree in the same story, and every one helps to strengthen the other’s testimony.

    “They all appear to be sober, intelligent persons, far enough off from designing to impose a cheat upon the world, or to manage a lie; and what temptation they should lie under for so doing I cannot conceive.

    “THOMAS TILSON.”

    [This case may possibly have been reciprocal; but proof is lacking that the dying woman’s sense of having seen her children was anything but purely subjective.1 1 Mr. Tilson’s case finds a curiously close parallel in the following narrative, abridged from the words of the late Mrs. Charles Fox, of Trebah, Falmouth, (a lady well known to Mr. Myers,) who had heard the account from one of the percipients. The Fox family was one in which such a tradition as this would be likely to be soberly preserved; but the youth of the original witness, and the loss of the contemporary records, make it impossible to reckon the case as evidence. “In 1739 Mrs. Birkbeck, wife of William Birkbeck, banker, of Settle, and a member of the Society of

    Friends, was taken ill and died at Cockermouth, while returning from a journey to Scotland, which she had undertaken alone—her husband and three children, aged seven, five, and four years respectively, remaining at Settle. The friends at whose house the death occurred made notes of every circumstance attending Mrs. Birkbeck’s last hours, so that the accuracy of the several statements as to time as well as place was beyond the doubtfulness of man’s memory, or of any even unconscious attempt to bring them into agreement with each other. “One morning, between 7 and 8 o’clock, the relation to whom the care of the children of Settle had been entrusted, and who kept a minute journal of all that concerned them, went into their bedroom as usual, and found them all sitting up in their beds in great excitement and delight. ‘Mamma has been here!’ they cried, and the little one said, ‘She called, “Come Esther!”’ Nothing could make them doubt the fact, and it was carefully noted down, to entertain the mother on her return home. That same morning, as their mother lay on her dying bed at Cockermouth, she said, ‘I should be ready to go if I could but see my children.’ She then closed her eyes, to reopen them, as they thought, no more. But after 10 minutes of perfect stillness she looked up brightly and said, ‘I am ready now; I have been with my children’; and then at once peacefully passed away. When the notes taken at the two places were compared, the day, hour, and minutes were the same. “One of the three children was my grandmother, née Sarah Birkbeck, afterwards the wife of Dr. Fell, of Ulverston. From her lips I heard the above almost literally as I have repeated it. The eldest was Morris Birkbeck, afterwards of Guildford. Both these lived to old age, and retained to the last so solemn and reverential a remembrance of the circumstance that they rarely would speak of it. Esther, the youngest, died soon after. Her brother and sister heard the child say that her mother called her, but could not speak with any certainty of having themselves heard the words, nor were sensible of more than their mother’s standing there and looking on them.” See p. 156.]

    {ii-560}

    Theodore A. D’Aubigné, in his Histoire Universelle (1616–20), Vol. II., p. 143, relates the following incident, as told to him privately by the King of Navarre.

    “Le Roi estant en Avignon, le 23 Decembre, 1574, y mourut Charles, Cardinal de Lorraine. … J’afferme sur la parole du Roi le second prodige [the first was a violent storm]. … c’est que la Roine [Catherine di Medici] s’estait mise an lit de meilleure heure que de coustume, aiant a son coucher entr’ autres personnes de marque le Roi de Navarre, l’Archevesque de Lyon, les Dames de Rets, de Lignerolles et de Saunes, deux desquelles ont confirmé ce discours; comme elle estait pressée de donner le bon soir, elle se jetta d’un tressaut sur son chenet, met les mains audevant de son visage, et avec un cri violent appella à son secours ceux qui Tassistoient, leur voulant monstrer au pied du lit le Cardinal, qui lui tendoit la main, elle s’escriant plusieurs fois, ‘Monsieur le Cardinal, je n’ai que faire avec vous’; le Roi de Navarre envoie au mesme temps un de ses gentils hommes au logis du Cardinal, qui rapporta comment il avoit expiré au mesme point.” [Translation]The King being at Avignon, on December 23, 1574, Charles, Cardinal of Lorraine, died at that place. I affirm on the King’s word the second marvel . . . the Queen [Catherine de Medici] had gone to bed earlier than usual. She was seen to bed by the King of Navarre, the Archbishop of Lyons, and Lady de Retz, Lady de Lignerolles, and Lady de Saunes, among other notables. Two of them have confirmed what follows. As she was saying good night, she sprang back convulsively against the head of the bed [Translator’s note: chenet ‘fire-dog, grate’ is an error for chevet], put her hands over her face, and cried out violently for help from those waiting on her, trying to show them the Cardinal at the foot of the bed with his hand outstretched, and calling out several times, “Monsieur Cardinal, I have nothing to do with you.” At that time, the King of Navarre sent to the Cardinal’s lodging one of his gentlemen, who reported how he had died at the same instant.

    [The Queen was probably aware that the Cardinal’s death, of which she had been very desirous, was imminent.]

    {ii-561}

    CHAPTER VI.

    AUDITORY AND TACTILE CASES.

    § 1. MOST of the following cases are on first-hand testimony; but some of them are remote in date; in some a certain amount of anxiety may have predisposed the percipient to hallucination; and in others the degree of exactitude in the coincidence is not certainly established. I will give first a group where the impression was of distinct words.

    (613) From Mr. M. P. Stephenson, 8, Southfield Road, Cotham, Bristol.

    “January 31st, 1884.

    “On or about the 11th November, 1882, I was awakened by two or three knocks at my bedroom door,1 1 Where the rousing from sleep is as sudden as this, an impression which follows it may perhaps fairly be reckoned a waking experience. and a voice called, ‘Pa! pa!’ I called out, ‘Who’s there?’ but no answer came. (I was sleeping alone, as my wife was ill, and slept in an adjoining room with a daughter.) At breakfast I inquired if either of them had called me; they had not done so. ‘Then,’ said I ‘someone else did, and I fear we shall have bad news from New Zealand,’ where our two sons were living.

    “I awaited anxiously the arrival of the next mail, which came in the middle of December, and then we had what I believed to be the solving of the mystery. Our eldest son, on the 21st October, 1882, was going to see his son at Palmerston, a town some 60 or 70 miles from Dunedin, and midway the train got off the line; some carriages were smashed. He was severely shaken, but felt nothing seriously the matter until two days after the mishap, on his return home. He was taken with cold shivering, and the doctors said they were afraid of erysipelas and blood-poisoning setting in. Such was the account of the case in our first letter. We looked with great concern for the next mail which was due on the 2nd January, 1883, although in my own mind I seemed sure he was dead; and on Christmas Day I said to a friend, who dined with us, that I believed he had been in his grave six weeks, which was the fact. The news came that our son died on the 11th of November and was buried on the 14th.

    “M. P. STEPHENSON.”

    {ii-562}

    We find from the obituary of the Bristol Mercury and Daily Post that Mr. Stephenson’s son died in New Zealand on November 11, 1882.

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Stephenson adds:—

    “I have been very sorry that I did not make a note of the exact time of the voice and raps at my bedroom door. I have been trying to calculate it exactly, but my experience of memory is that in old age we can recollect things that occurred 50 or 60 years ago more distinctly than events which happened two or three months back. My firm impression is that what I heard was about 6 o’clock in the morning of the 11th November, and his death took place at 11 or 12 o’clock on the 11th, New Zealand time. I have searched for the letter which stated the time, but have not been able to find it.”

    [If Mr. Stephenson is right as to the day of his experience, and as to the hour of the death, the sounds followed the death by 5 or 6 hours. In an interview with Mr. Podmore, he stated that both his wife and daughter clearly remember the incident; but on religious grounds they decline to give written testimony.]

    (614) From Mr. and Mrs. Roberts, of New Berlin, Chenango Co., New York.

    “March, 1884.

    “During the Civil War in America a young man of the name of George Roberts enlisted on the Union side. He was with those troops when Port Hudson, Louisiana, was attacked, and in an assault made upon that place on Sunday, June 14th, 1863, he was killed. He fell about 10 o’clock that morning.

    “His parents, living in Chenango Co., State of New York, knew that he was in the neighbourhood of Port Hudson, and that there might be a battle some time, but nothing more.

    “On Sunday, June 14th, 1863, Mrs. Roberts was getting ready for church, and the first bell that rings a quarter before 10 had just ceased, when Mrs. R. heard George’s voice calling to her, ‘Mother! Mother!’ It was perfectly distinct and clear, as though in the room. The fright and conviction of her son’s death affected her so much that she became ill.

    “Shortly after this, came the news of

    the death of George before Port Hudson, at the very hour that his mother heard his voice in her room calling her.

    “These statements are correct, as they occurred, June 14th, 1863.

    “JONATHAN ROBERTS.

    “MARTHA ROBERTS.”

    The Rev. R. Whittingham, of Pikesville, Maryland, a Corresponding Member of the S.P.R., who procured this narrative for us, vouches for Mr. and Mrs. Roberts as “extremely respectable, worthy, well-to-do people”; and says:—

    “I know Mr. Roberts said that his son was shot just at 10 o’clock; for he spoke to me of his having a strange feeling of someone being behind him in the church tower as he was ringing the first bell at, or for, 10 o’clock, and he said that was the hour that George was shot. This being {ii-563} only a feeling, or impression, on his part, I did not think it worth mentioning, as it could be easily imagined afterward; but it fixed the time of George’s death on my memory. That was the solitary instance of hallucination that they have ever experienced. They are by no means imaginative or credulous in temperament or habit.”

    [If the coincidence here was as close as is alleged, the case is of some weight, even though the mother’s mind may have been to some extent preoccupied with the thought of her son.]

    (615) Extract from a paragraph in the Times of Sept. 11, 1876, which recorded the funeral, at Aleppo, of Mr. George Smith, the eminent Assyriologist.

    “A most striking coincidence may here be mentioned without comment. A young German Assyriologist of the highest promise, Dr. Friedrich Delitzsch, is now, for the second time, in this country, having been sent, as on his former visit, by the King of Saxony to study the arrow-headed inscriptions in the British Museum. During his former stay here last year, which was noticed at the time in our columns, Dr. Delitzsch and Mr. George Smith naturally became fast friends, and the Leipzig savant and his brother Hermann were chosen by Mr. Smith to introduce to German readers his Chaldean Account of Genesis, which has accordingly just been published at Leipzig under their joint editorship.

    “On the 19th ult., the day of Mr. George Smith’s death, Dr. Delitzsch was on his way to the house of Mr. William St. Chad Boscawen, who is also a rising Assyriologist. Mr. Boscawen resides in Kentish Town, and in passing the end of Crogsland Road, in which Mr. George Smith lived, and within about a stone’s throw of the house, his German friend said he suddenly heard a most piercing cry, which thrilled him to the marrow, ‘Herr Dr. Delitzsch.’ The time—for as soon as he got over the shock he looked at his watch—was between 6.45 and 7 p.m., and Mr. Parsons gives the hour of Mr. Smith’s death at 6 p.m. Dr. Delitzsch, who strongly disavows any superstitious leanings, was ashamed to mention the circumstance to Mr. Boscawen on reaching that gentleman’s house, although on his return home he owns that his nervous apprehensions of some mournful event in his own family found relief in tears, and that he recorded all the facts in his note-book that same night. Dr. Delitzsch told the story at our informant’s breakfast-table, with all the circumstances mentioned above, including the hour at which he heard the shrill cry. He distinctly denied having been thinking of Mr. George Smith at the time.”

    In January, 1885, (having failed to elicit from Herr Delitzsch any reply to several previous applications,) we sent him a copy of this extract, telling him that we proposed to state, in reprinting it, that it had been first forwarded to him, with a request that he would contradict it if it did not truthfully represent the facts. No reply has been received; and Mr. Görtz, of the British Museum, tells us that Herr Delitzsch expressed to him a reluctance to write on the subject. We may presume, however, that, had the statement been substantially inaccurate, he would have said so.

    [If the hours are correctly given, the cry was heard about 3¼ hours after the death.]

    {ii-564}

    (616) From Miss Bushell, Hythe, Kent.

    “1885.

    “On the evening of Feb. 18, 1863, I distinctly heard myself called, and recognised the voice as that of Dr. Harding, a retired physician, who lived in the same town [Ramsgate, and in the next street]. The voice seemed to come from the staircase. I was walking along a passage, and turned towards the stairs, so real did it appear; though I could hardly imagine Dr. Harding to be in the house. I knew him slightly. He was a kind, friendly man, and he always spoke to me if we met in the streets, addressing me as ‘Bushell’—which is the name I heard that evening. The next day, I heard that Dr. Harding had died the preceding afternoon or evening. I cannot fix the precise hour. Though out of health, he was not confined to the house, and I had met him out of doors about three days before the occurrence, so that I was not by any means expecting his death.

    “This is the only hallucination of the senses that I have ever experienced.

    “MATILDA BUSHELL.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that Dr. Harding died (aged 50) on Feb. 20, 1863. Miss Bushell is certain (and this is a point which would be likely to be rightly observed at the time) that her experience was on the evening before the morning on which she heard of the death—that no longer interval elapsed; and she has no separate recollection of the date of her experience. It is probable, therefore, that the “18th” in the first line of the account is wrong, and that the coincidence was a close one. Not, however, so close as was at first represented; for Miss Bushell’s later impression is that the death took place in the early hours of the morning—i.e., some hours after her evening experience of (presumably) Feb. 19. In answer to an inquiry, she says that she did not mention what she had heard to anyone before the death was known.

    (617) From Mrs. Fagan, Elfanwalt, Bovey Tracey, Newton Abbot.

    “1883.

    “I was residing in England, while my son [who was one of the percipients in case 310] was a chaplain in India. I one day experienced a prayerful and earnest desire, in going up to the altar one Easter Day, that somehow, I knew not how, my son might be permitted to communicate me; and as I received without raising my eyes to the celebrant, I felt my desire granted. In due course of post, my son asked me if I could explain what had occurred to him at about the time when he knew I must have been making my Easter Communion. While preparing for the evening service, and not thinking of me or home, he heard me call him by name, not as though in any distress, but with a tone of great urgency. Instantly remembering how I was then occupied, he was with me in spirit, and, though unconsciously, was permitted to satisfy my longing. After this, though he knew there was no one in the house, he made diligent search to prove to others that it was no delusion. The fact that Cardinal Borromeo, while preaching elsewhere, had communicated the dying Pope was not known to me for many years after.”

    In answer to an inquiry, Mrs. Fagan says that she made her Easter Communion between noon and 1 p.m.; which would synchronise with 6–7 p.m. in the place where her son was. The year, she thinks, was 1874.

    [This clearly must not be reckoned as a reciprocal case, since there is no reason to suppose Mrs. Fagan’s own impression to have been anything {ii-565} but subjective. That impression is, however, of importance, as indicating the intensity of her feeling at the moment. Her son has occasionally had subjective auditory hallucinations, but not sufficiently often to diminish appreciably the force (such as it is) of the present coincidence. The case is of course not one on which much stress can be laid.]

    In the following example, the fact of non-recognition tells against the supposition that the hallucination was due to anxiety. As for the sense of feeling someone’s presence, I have already pointed out that a faint auditory impression is sufficient to account for it;1 1 See Vol. i., p. 528 second note; and compare case 172. and even the “feeling someone stooping over” (which occurs again in the next case) need not imply any distinct hallucination of touch.

    (618) From Miss Summerbell, 140, Kensington Park Road, W. (mentioned in Vol. I., p. 507). As the more distinct part of the impression seems to have been received after she had not only been woke, but had herself uttered a couple of sentences, the case may be fairly reckoned in the waking class.

    “1882

    “A lady, to whom I was much attached, and who had had partial care of me during some part of my early youth, had for some years suffered from a complaint which at last necessitated a surgical operation. This operation was performed early in August, 1877, by Dr. Spencer Wells; my friend was in a house, chosen by Dr. Wells for the purpose, in Seymour Street. The operation was successful, and we had the assurance of Dr. Wells, and of the other doctor who attended her, that she was doing well. I was staying with her nephew, at Weybridge, at the time. Every day we heard better accounts of the patient. On Saturday evening, Mr. T., with whom I was staying, received a letter saying that his aunt was out of danger, and appointing the following Tuesday for him and me to go and see her.

    “We went to bed in excellent spirits, and I slept at once. I was awakened, in the dim dawn, by feeling someone stooping over me. Thinking it was Mrs. T. who had come into the room for some purpose, I said, aloud, ‘Is that you, Annie?’ I received no answer, but I felt, though I could not see, someone close to me. I spoke again, and I distinctly heard a voice whisper, ‘Soon will you and I be lying, Each within our narrow bed.’ I was terrified. I looked at my watch to see if it was nearly time for people to be moving about. It was 4 o’clock. I could not sleep. I felt horrified and miserable, but oddly, I never thought of my friend. When I went down in the morning, my friends remarked that I was silent and dull. I said I was sure something was going to take place, and at length I told them what had happened. Of course they laughed. I went to church with Mr. T., and the first hymn sung was the one I had fancied I heard in the night, beginning ‘Days and moments quickly flying.’ This made me more depressed, but I still did not think of my friend.

    “On Monday we went on the river in a small boat, and I told Mr. T. I knew we should be drowned because of my presentiment. We {ii-566} however, arrived safe at home at 7 p.m., when Mr. T. found a letter, saying that at 10 on Saturday night, his aunt had suddenly exhibited bad symptoms, and that she died at 4 o’clock on Sunday morning.

    “L. D SUMMERBELL.”

    [The Times obituary records that the death took place, in Somerset Street (not Seymour Street), on Aug. 4, 1877. This was a Saturday, not a Sunday; therefore, if Miss Summerbell is correct as to the hour of her impression, the coincidence was less close than she represents, as the death must have taken place before midnight.

    We cannot obtain Mr. T.’s corroboration, as he died in the year following the occurrence.]

    The next two records seem to illustrate the occurrence of several similar telepathic experiences to the same percipient (compare No. 279). The cases not being strong ones, I have included each set under a single evidential number.

    (619) From Mrs. E. M. Maunsell, Ballywilliam, Rathkeale, Ireland, who says of herself, “I am neither nervous nor superstitious, but a very matter-of-fact person.”

    “October 27th, 1884.

    “My eldest sister was paying us a visit, when she was taken ill with internal cramp; she called to me in a peculiar choking voice; we used remedies, and she soon recovered. About a year afterwards, she was staying with another sister, when one night I was awakened by a distinct impression of my sister stooping over me, and calling ‘Eliza’ in the same choking voice. I sleep very soundly, but I started up wide awake, and again the voice seemed to call me from the open window, faint and choking, ‘Eliza.’ I am a rather stoical person in times of danger or fright, so I merely said to myself ‘Isabella is ill,’ and was soon again fast asleep. The next time I saw my sister, she told me that the very night I had heard her call, and nearly to the hour, (for I had heard the clock strike 12) she had been taken ill, and had been only able to stagger out of bed to call for help. This was my first experience of this kind, that I can remember; I was then a young girl. I was not particularly attached to my sister, for she had married young and left home; but she always looked up to me and considered me a great authority on most points.

    “The second instance also concerned my eldest sister. My father, at the time of which I write, was living in Limerick, as did also my sister. One evening about 8, I left the room to make the tea; passing the foot of the staircase, I heard my sister’s voice, hushed and distinct, call ‘Eliza.’ I listened, but the call was not repeated. I thought at once, ‘Isabella is ill, and will send for me.’ I hurried, and prepared tea, and I well remember taking a second slice of bread, for, I thought, I may be up with her all night. Less than half an hour after a note was brought my father, I watched him, and when he had read it asked, ‘Is Isabella ill?’ ‘Yes,’ my father replied, ‘she is very ill, and is calling for you.’ My father, who was a doctor, accompanied me to her house; we doctored her, and she recovered after an illness of four or five days.

    “My father is long dead; so is my eldest sister. The events occurred over 20 years ago, many years before my marriage.”

    {ii-567}

    On Dec. 19, 1885, Mrs. Maunsell wrote:—

    “On another occasion, when living with my father and mother, I heard my mother call me; I found her ghastly pale, and very ill; but she assured me she had not called me; as indeed, she was too faint to raise her voice. On another occasion, my brother-in-law, who had gone to London, and was very ill, though it was kept a secret, had returned on his way home, as far as Dublin. I was not thinking at all about him; but, one day in this house, I was walking from the office to the back door of the dining-room (mid-day), when I heard him call loudly his wife’s name, ‘Martha.’ I wrote at once to her (she had not accompanied him) to make inquiries. She had received a letter that morning, [to the effect that] he would return next evening, Saturday, and was quite strong after his trip. The following Tuesday I received a letter from my cousin saying that Mr. Caswell [the brother-in-law] was found dead in his armchair, partly dressed, at his lodgings in Dublin, on Sunday morning. I had not known he was ill at all.

    “ELIZA MAUNSELL.”

    In answer to an inquiry, Mrs. Maunsell states positively that she has never had any hallucination of the sort except on these four occasions, (and possibly one other, when what she heard may have been a real call). She adds:—

    “I regret extremely that I can procure for you no corroborative evidence about my brother-in-law. My sister is far too nervous a person for me to have told her at the time. The event [i.e., the death] occurred on the 9th of August, 1874.”

    [We have verified this date in the Freeman’s Journal, which describes the death as having been rather sudden. Mrs. Maunsell heard the voice 3 or 4 days before; and though her brother-in-law was probably at that time in a somewhat abnormal state, the accuracy of coincidence which (if correctly remembered) would justify us in regarding the former experiences as very probably telepathic, is lacking to this one.]

    (620) From Mr. J. Augustus Edmonds, 16, Waterloo Road South, Wolverhampton. The evidence is third-hand, and is admitted by special exception (Vol. I., p. 158, note). Mr. Edmonds received the account of the second of the two incidents narrated from both his father and brother.

    “1883.

    Mr. Edmonds first describes a very serious illness which attacked his father (the Rev. T. C. Edmonds, pastor of the Baptist Church, St. Andrew’s Street, Cambridge,) in the year 1831. During the illness a letter was received from a friend of his father’s, the Rev. Josiah Wilkinson, of Saffron Walden, Essex.

    “It was to this effect. I don’t vouch for the perfect verbal accuracy. It was addressed to my mother.

    “‘I have been made aware1 1 Mr. Edmonds does not know whether Mr. Wilkinson had heard of the illness in any normal way, or whether the first intimation of this fact, as well as the assurance of recovery, was communicated in the abnormal manner afterwards described. The assurance of recovery may easily, of course, have been subjectively imagined, and in no way concerns us here. of the alarming illness of your dear husband, but I have the happiness to assure you that his sickness is not unto death.’ The note concluded with a message of love, when my father {ii-568} should be able to receive it, and of sympathy to herself. This note arrived when my father was to all appearances as near his end as at any period of his illness.

    “When my father was able to see a few friends, Mr. Wilkinson came over and urged him, as soon as he was permitted to move, to come with my brother Cyrus, his second son, and visit him, which they did. These three being alone, my father mentioned this note and said it very much surprised him, on account of the singularly

    confident manner in which his recovery was spoken of. To which Mr. Wilkinson replied that in several instances he had been told by an audible voice of some fact specially concerning his interests or welfare, a voice which none but himself heard, and there was no visible presence. These intimations, he said, had always been made to him during his family worship, and (I believe I am right in saying) that they had never been mentioned out of his own family. He said, however, ‘I will relate one such case.

    “‘I was kneeling at prayer one morning with my family, when a voice said, “Your brother is dead.”1 1 Compare cases 153 and 284. I had but one brother, to whom I was greatly attached, who lived at the West End of London. The shock was so great that I sank on the floor in a swoon. On recovery I desired my wife to put the needful things into my portmanteau, and send to stop the Cambridge coach to London, a short distance from the house, telling her that my brother was dead, and that I must go to London. On arrival I drove to the house, found the blinds closely drawn, and on coming to the door the servant expressed great relief at seeing me, saying that his master had died suddenly in the night and his mistress was in a most sad condition.

    “‘Now,’ Mr. Wilkinson said, ‘on the morning on which I wrote that note to your wife, at morning prayer with the family, a voice said, “Your dearest friend is very ill, but his sickness is not unto death.” I heard no more, but as soon as our worship was concluded I wrote that note.’

    “J. A. EDMONDS.”

    § 2. In the next two cases, the impression, if really a hallucination, seems to have represented a sound which was actually in the agent’s ears at the time.

    (621) From Mrs. Malcolm, Wribbenhall, Bewdley, (mentioned above, p. 79).

    “August 5th, 1885.

    “During the commencement of the year 1849 (I being then a young girl), I had a tedious illness. On one occasion, to relieve a congested lung, I had a blister applied, and, in consequence, was prevented on that night from obtaining sleep. One of my brothers was with the army in the Punjaub at that time, and my thoughts were constantly with him, and doubtless I followed the events of the war with intense interest. On the night in question, being, as I have said, wide awake, I was astonished by hearing the report of big guns. I raised myself in bed with some difficulty, and then continued to hear the distant firing of cannon, sometimes nearer, sometimes remote. At length the guns ceased, but were succeeded by a sharp and rapid discharge of musketry. The sounds lasted altogether about four hours. My great anxiety was that some one should hear these strange sounds of battle as well as myself; but I was forbidden at the time {ii-569} to leave my room, and hearing my father coughing in his bedroom opposite, I pacified myself with the assurance that he must be awake and would hear what I heard. Great was my mortification in the morning to find that neither he nor my mother were aware of anything unusual having occurred in the night past. Then my old friend the doctor came in, inquiring laughingly whether I was growing fanciful (having been told my story). I also laughed and replied, ‘You shall know if my battle is mere fancy when the next news comes from the seat of war in India.’

    “Whether this was my first connecting of the sounds I had listened to with an Indian battle, or whether I had done so during the continuance of those sounds, is a point I am not now clear upon. But although the doctor, when out of my hearing, desired that I might not again be left alone at night, it is observable that neither then nor at any later time was I rendered the least nervous by my strange experience, nor did I apprehend evil to the brother engaged in the campaign. In due time, tidings of the severe battle at Goojerat reached us—the day on which it was fought, and hours, allowing for difference of time, exactly coinciding with the date of my prophetic1 1 As to the tendency to regard impressions corresponding with unknown reality as prophetic, see p. 535, note. battle. My brother was in the thick of the fight, but escaped unhurt.

    “GEORGINA MALCOLM.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Malcolm says:—

    “I send you a written testimony from one of my sisters, as to my having spoken of hearing the battle at the time of the occurrence. The hours during which the sounds continued were from 1 to 5 o’clock a.m. in the morning as far as my recollection serves. At the time of the occurrence I was living in my father’s house in a very remote part of Warwickshire. The nearest soldiers’ quarters to us would be at Coventry or Birmingham, at a distance of between 30 and 40 miles.”

    The sister’s corroboration, dated October 9, 1885, is as follows:—

    “I remember the incident about the battle of Goojerat. You were ill at the time, and in the morning you told us you felt as if you had been in a battle, as you had heard continual firing and report of cannon for a long time. I cannot say what time of the night it was when you heard it.

    “I think you made a note of it, and we heard afterwards from Frank that the battle began on the following morning.

    “LUCY DICKINS.”

    From the London Gazette for April 19th, 1849, it appears that the battle, which took place on Feb. 21, lasted from 8.30 until midday, after which the pursuit of the enemy commenced, lasting until dusk. 8.30 a.m. at Goojerat would correspond to about 3.30 a.m. in England.

    Mrs. Malcolm nas experienced no other auditory hallucination, except that twice, when overstrained by nursing a relative in a fatal illness, she had the impression of hearing her name called.

    [The fact that the sounds were not heard by others, though at least one other person seems to have been awake at the time, is rather a strong proof that the experience was a hallucination; and if so, there is at least an appreciable chance that it was telepathic. I have mentioned a case of subjective hallucination of the same character in Vol. I., p. 494, second note. The long duration of the impression is, owing to its “rudimentary” character, less remarkable than that alleged in cases 300 and 590.]

    {ii-570}

    (622) From a lady, Mrs. M., whose name and address it seems right to suppress, though she made no stipulation on the subject. The account was received in August, 1884.

    Mrs. M. describes how, in July, 1874, while spending her holiday happily in the vale of Leven, and in perfect health, she “was awakened suddenly with a cry of distress ringing in my ears, and it was twice repeated after I became wide awake. The last time it seemed partly suppressed and further away. It seemed very near at first, and I recognised the voice as poor little Tom’s. [Tom was a child between 2 and 3 years of age, one of several of whom she had been in charge, and whom she had known to be considerably ill-used by the lady who was acting as his guardian.] I sprang out of bed and looked out. It was a lovely still night, not a movement nor a sound disturbed the air, and it was so light that I could see the time on a small silver watch which was lying on the table. It was 12.45.”

    The effect on Mrs. M. was so great that she mentioned the experience next morning to the aunt with whom she was staying, and resolved to return at once to the scene of her duties, but was prevented by a telegram giving her other instructions. When she did return, she learnt from the servants that, on the Sunday night when she had heard the cries, Tom’s guardian had had him in her room all night; and that they “heard cries and moans until they fell asleep, and at midnight were awakened by three successive cries that rang through the house—the last a suppressed echo of the others.” Next morning the servants found marks of cruel ill-usage on the child, which Mrs. M. found still very apparent.

    [We have not received the aunt’s corroboration, though Mrs. M. promised to try to obtain it for us. The correspondence of the three cries is a detail not unlikely to have been subsequently imagined. See p. 229, note.]

    § 3. The following is a group of non-vocal cases, of an entirely rudimentary type (see above, pp. 125–32).

    (623) From a gentleman who does not feel justified in allowing his brother’s, the agent’s, name to appear, and is therefore obliged to withhold his own from publication. The percipient has died since 1883, when the account was written.

    In the autumn of 1874, the narrator’s brother, W. M., a resident in Edinburgh, was staying, with a sister, some 18 miles from that place. “He had been subject, at irregular intervals, to attacks of illness of a severe character, but, at this date, was in fair health, and attending to business.

    “Two or three days after his arrival at our sister’s house he was quite unexpectedly seized, late one evening, with serious illness, hematemesis supervened, and within two or three hours from the first seizure he was a corpse. The late hour, and distance from the railway station, prevented any communication during the night with our household in Edinburgh.

    “Between 11 and 12 o'clock that night, my mother, aged then 72, but active and vigorous in body and mind, as indeed she is still, was alone in her bedroom and in the act of undressing. She occupied this room alone, and it was the only sleeping apartment on the dining-room flat which was {ii-571} in use that night, the only other bedroom there being the adjoining room, then untenanted, owing to my own absence in the North. My father, eldest brother, and sister-in-law occupied rooms on the flat above. The servants’ accommodation was in the under or sunk flat beneath, shut off from the upper by a swing door at the foot of a flight of steps. A small dog, the only other inmate of the house, slept that night, and indeed always, in the kitchen. My mother was in her usual good health, her faculties perfectly preserved, and her mind untroubled with any apprehensions of evil tidings. She had read, as usual, a portion of her Bible, and was in the act of undressing, when she was suddenly startled by a most extraordinary noise at the door of her room, which opened directly into the inner lobby. It was as if made by a person standing directly outside and close to the door, but it was utterly unlike any ordinary summons or alarm. In her own words, it was like nothing so much as the noise of someone hastily and imperiously lashing the door with a heavy riding whip, demanding admittance. It was loud, and repeated three or four times, as if insisting on attention, with brief intervals between. Then it ceased.

    “My mother, though possessed of considerable coolness, was startled; but with a resolution which many might envy, she proceeded to light a candle, knowing the hall lights were extinguished, the whole of the inmates having before retired for the night, and went to the door. ‘I knew,’ she said, ‘that it was no one in the house seeking admission. Such an imperative summons would never have been made at my door.’ On opening it, nothing was visible, the various doors opening on the lobby were closed, and the fastenings of the front door undisturbed. Much surprised, though retaining self-possession, my mother debated with herself as to rousing the other members of the family, but ultimately resolved not to do so unless the sound was repeated, which it was not. It was about midnight, but my mother did not note the precise hour and minute. Early next forenoon, my father and sister-in-law having left, the news came that my brother had expired at midnight, 18 miles off by road from Edinburgh.

    “It may be noted that nothing in or near the door could possibly have occasioned the noise in question, the material being old, well-seasoned timber, not liable to warp or crack. It afterwards appeared that the noise in question had not been heard by anyone in the house save by my mother, which no one will wonder at who knows how perfectly ‘deafened’ old-fashioned stone houses in Edinburgh invariably are.

    “Speaking for my own part, I would not have placed so much reliance on the narrative which I have from my mother’s own lips, had it come from any other person in the house. The others might have been imaginative or nervous, or wise after the event, or possibly wholly mistaken. But with my mother’s clear and balanced judgment, little affected by matters which powerfully sway others, I have no room for hesitation whatsoever. I believe, as firmly as I believe in the fact of my own existence, that the circumstances happened exactly as she narrated them.”

    [The entry in the Register of Deaths, which is probably correct, shows that the death occurred on September 2, 1875 (not 1874), at 4.50 a.m., not at midnight. The coincidence was therefore not so exact as the narrator imagined. Still, if the mother’s experience was a hallucination—and it {ii-572} certainly does not seem easy to explain it otherwise—the identity of night makes the case a striking sample of its kind.]

    (624) From Mrs. Callin, of whom her mistress, Miss Rosenberg, of Gabarrie Yilla, Sarsfield Road, Balham, says:—

    “I can vouch for the accuracy and trustworthiness of Mrs. Callin, the narrator of the incident described.”

    “December, 1882.

    “Mr. J., employed as agent by my mistress, Miss C., resident in the Royal Avenue, Chelsea, had long suffered severely from asthma, and on Miss C. going to see him one day, when he had been unable to go out for many weeks, some time in November, 1879, he remarked he should go to see her on her birthday (having always done so for many years), if he had to take a cab for it; his wife rejoined, ‘I do not think you will,’ meaning his state of health would not allow him to do so, and he replied to her, ‘Yes, I will.’

    “Miss C. retired to bed as usual on the night of December 7th. I slept in the same room, which was the front one on the first floor, with folding doors into the small dressing-room behind, no other person being in the house. In the early morning of next day (8th, and her birthday) Miss C. was awoke by a loud knock at the folding-door, and, listening, it was repeated: she then called me, but before she could rouse me, heard it again, the third time.1 1 See p. 229, note. I then got up, and looked outside both the doors with a light, and could see no one; I also looked at the time, which was a quarter past four. We then both went to sleep again, I thinking my mistress had dreamt this, but she always persisted she heard the knocks distinctly.

    “After breakfast we heard that Mr. J. had died at four that morning, and Miss C. said to me that he came to tell her, having so certainly promised to go to her on that day.

    “Miss C. died the following March, aged 94, but having all her faculties clear to the last, and often alluding to Mr. J.’s visit on her birthday. His age was about 60 only, and he had frequently said he should die before her, and she used to reply ‘Don’t wait for me out of politeness,’ being always ready with a joke.

    “M. CALLIN.”

    We find from the Times obituary that Mr. J. died on December 8, 1879.

    [It may be conceived that Mr. J.’s previous promise of a visit on that day worked itself out in the percipient’s mind, when the day arrived, in the form of a hallucination; but such accurately-timed development is, as far as I know, quite unexampled, except in some rare hypnotic cases of commands and promises à longue échéance.]over a long period of time

    The following experiences—if hallucinations, and not due to some undiscovered physical cause—are of interest as having taken precisely the same form.2 2 See p. 35, note. It is one that is likely to raise a smile; but I must repeat that it is quite open to hallucinations of the senses to take peculiar forms, and that there is no reason why telepathic specimens should have an immunity in this respect (Vol. I., pp. 503, 547). Moreover, the particular form here described may without improbability {ii-573} be traced to early associations in the percipient’s mind. The grounds for doubting the telepathic origin of the impressions are, not their oddness or triviality, but (1) the fact that they did not in any way suggest the supposed agent, which always greatly diminishes the force of the time-coincidence; and (2) in one case the lack of precision in the time-coincidence itself. The narrator, Miss H., is, in her own words, “of a matter-of-fact

    disposition, and not a believer in things out of the way,” and she attaches no importance whatever to these incidents. She withholds her name from publication out of deference to what she thinks would be the wishes of her relatives.

    “N—— Vicarage, October 26th, 1884.

    (625) “A few years ago [in 1874] I was staying with some relatives at Folkestone, who had taken a house there for a few weeks and had occupied it all the previous summer. We were a merry party, with young people and children. I slept in a large room on the first floor. I was awakened one night by the sound of many mice pattering over the floor; they appeared to be running swiftly and then out at the door. Much astonished, I looked around to see where they could have come from, but no trace appeared. In the morning I inquired of the nurse, who came to call me, if she had heard anything, ‘No,’ was the reply. I foolishly said, ‘Well, I do not mind mice, but in our family the sound of them means death or ill luck.’ I complained to the landlady, who said ‘she had never seen a mouse in her house’; she sent in a new trap, but nothing more was heard of the intruders. Three or four days after this, came the sad news of the death of a very dear relative from an accident, whilst abroad. The event happened a few minutes before the noise of the mice had disturbed me.

    “In December, three years after this, I was at St. Leonards-on-Sea, with a relative who had been seriously ill, and on the night of the 31st December I sat up in my own room at the top of the house, to see the old year out and the new one in. I have referred to a diary kept by my sister, and I find I had spent a most quiet day. I was in good spirits, for my invalid was much better, the fire in the room was bright, and I certainly was not thinking of mice; but just before 12 o’clock came the sound of many mice sweeping over the floor. I heard it distinctly and with some trepidation, but no one dear to me was ill. I noted down the fact, and, having relatives abroad, awaited with some impatience the colonial mail. I received the following note from my brother:—

    “‘DEAR L.,—I write to tell you a piece of sad news. Whilst you were probably welcoming the new year, a few minutes before it arrived I went down my garden, to receive the corpse of my eldest son; he had broken his neck by a fall from his horse three hours before.’

    “I had been in the house where this occurred several times before, and have stayed there several times since, but I have never seen or heard real mice there.

    “I may add that my mother regarded the sound of mice as an omen of disaster, but she never would tell me why, looking upon it probably as a superstition she wished her children to be free from.”

    {ii-574}

    In answer to a request for her sister’s corroboration, Miss H. replies:—

    “I regret to say that on religious grounds Mrs. L. will not write a confirmatory note; of course she says she perfectly remembers the circumstances, and that a mouse-trap was immediately purchased for my room. That’s practical.”

    In conversation, Miss H. informed me that she has had no other hallucination, unless hearing some unaccountable knocks on one occasion, when others heard them, be so counted. On the first occasion, in a lodging, the boards were bare to a great extent. The second time the room was carpeted. The noise was loud as well as distinct. Miss H. has since heard real mice, and was glad to identify the sound again. Her mother’s superstition as to mice foreboding trouble had been constantly brought before her mind, during her mother’s life: it was much on her mother’s brain, so to speak.

    The Army List shows that the death in the first case took place on July 22, 1874.

    We find the accident in the second case described in a local paper for January 3, 1877, as having taken place on December 31; and the death is reported as having taken place “about midnight”—i.e., allowing for longitude, nearly 12 hours before Miss H.’s impression. Without extenuating this element of weakness in the case, I may remind the reader how frequently the emergence of telepathic percipience seems to be deferred until a season of solitary recueillementcontemplation (Vol. I., p. 201).

    § 4. The following are tactile cases.

    (626) From Mr. W. B. Clegram, Saul Lodge, Stonehouse, Gloucestershire.

    “January 15th, 1884.

    “I well remember a singular circumstance I have often heard my father (one of the early civil engineers of this country) relate, which occurred to himself. He was a man of very strong mind, and more free from fancies and superstitions than most people. At the time of the occurrence he was about 30 years of age.

    “He was in the habit of lying with his right hand extended out of bed, and one morning, about 5 o’clock, when wide awake, he felt a firm hand grasp his, so much like the grasp of his father’s hand that he immediately told my mother ‘that his father had taken his hand as he usually did when saying “good-bye.”’ His father died at that time that morning, somewhat suddenly. My father did not know he was ill. His father died near Sunderland; my father at that time was living in Sussex.

    “W. B. CLEGRAM.”

    Mr. Clegram mentioned in conversation that his grandfather had a particularly firm and strong clasp of the hand, which was also a characteristic of his father, the percipient. The latter was a strong, practical man, as far removed as possible from superstition. The incident made a deep and lasting impression upon him.

    (627) From Lady Belcher, 25, Cumberland Terrace, Regent’s Park, N.W.

    “April, 1884.

    “During the great French war, when Napoleon I. was overrunning {ii-575} Holland, and after the unfortunate Walcheren expedition, our fleet was ordered to the Scheldt, I believe in the severe winter of 1813. The sailors and marines from the various ships were landed in parties to man and defend the dykes. So severe was the cold that long wooden sheds were erected, and large fires kept up for the watch parties. All the officers in turn landed to keep the men to their posts.

    “On one night when my father, Captain Peter Heywood, landed with his men from the ‘Montague,’ the line of battle ship he commanded, and the watch had been set, the officers stretched themselves down on some mattresses, the first lieutenant near him, then the Master of Marines. All was quiet, when the last mentioned officer cried out that some one had laid a cold hand on his cheek! Silence was ordered. Again in a few minutes he made the same complaint and challenged the lieutenant, who peremptorily ordered silence. A third time he made the same outcry, jumped up and rushed from the spot in terror. The whole party were thoroughly roused, and my father considered the circumstance so peculiar that he noted it with the date and the precise hour at which it had occurred.

    “Weeks after, when the despatches and letters arrived from England, the Master of Marines received the news of his father’s death and the hour of his departure, which tallied exactly with the note which Captain Heywood had made. Up to the period of my dear father’s death I have heard him mention the fact, but never reasoned on it. He possessed a calm judgment and a very religious mind.

    “DIANA BELCHER.”

    We learn from the Admiralty that Captain Peter Heywood was in command of the “Montague” from July, 1813, to March, 1814; also that there is no such officer as “Master of Marines,” but that the Masters (now styled Staff-Commissioners or Navigating Lieutenants) were George Dunn and J. Sanford.

    [This case is very remote; and even if correct in the central fact, cannot be relied on in details—e.g., as to the absolute exactitude of the coincidence, and as to the three occurrences of the sensation, the favourite legendary number (p. 229, note).]

    (628) From Mrs. Spenser, 36, Portland Street, Southport, a member of the Society of Friends.

    “September 1st, 1871.

    “I formerly had two aunts. One, my aunt De Mierre, residing at Putney, had been confined three weeks. My aunt, Mrs. Williams [who lived in London], being an invalid, was in the habit of taking a warm bath at night. When her maid had placed her in it, she retired, until the time appointed for leaving her had expired; but one night, soon after she had left, she was much alarmed by sounds of great distress from her mistress, which led her hastily to ring for assistance and summon her master, for her mistress’s weeping and agitation were uncontrollable. As soon as her husband entered the room, Mrs.

    Williams exclaimed, ‘Susan is dead. She has been to take leave of me. Her kiss was like a waft of cold air upon my cheek.’ Her husband did his best to allay her agitation, telling her she had fallen asleep in the bath and dreamt it. He also told her that he had, that afternoon, seen one of her brothers who had told him that her sister was so remarkably well that her husband was going to the play that {ii-576} night, with other members of her family. But nothing soothed her until he promised to send to Putney the next morning to inquire.

    “The groom received orders to leave by 6 o’clock, so as to bring the answer back by 8 o’clock. When the groom arrived at the house the servant said, ‘My mistress is dead. She was taken suddenly ill while sitting up, and was dead before my master got home. She died at half-past 10 o’clock'—the exact time that her sister was thrown into such distress by her appearing to take leave of her. I remember the occurrence well.

    “LUCY SPENSER.”

    Mrs. Spenser writes on March 18, 1886: “I think my aunt died about 1804. I am the only one living who heard the fact related at the time; and often, in after years, without any variation.” And later, “I remember with unclouded clearness the particulars respecting my aunt’s death—the first in the family that I knew of and cared about. It was a great event in the family, and the impression made on my mind was indelible.” We have failed to discover the exact date of the death: Mrs. de Mierre does not seem to have been buried at Putney. In conversation Mrs. Spenser stated that she thinks that there was an appearance, as well as the sensation of the kiss.

    [The narrator, who wrote the above 15 years ago, shows even now no sign of impaired memory; but the case is again far too remote for details to be trusted.]

    (629) From the Rev. George Brett, The College, Weston-super-Mare, who heard the account from the percipient, a very near relative of his own.

    “January 26th, 1885.

    “About 40 or 45 years ago, a Miss Sophia Wallace was engaged to a Mr. Wilson. They were much attached to each other, and he seems to have been a man whose mental constitution was of a kind to make him capable of exerting a very real influence upon those among whom he was known. He died of consumption before the time proposed for their marriage; naturally, his fiancée was very anxious, and much saddened, when it became evident that he would not live. On the evening of his death she was passing along a darkened passage in a house where she was staying, not more than 2 or 3 miles (perhaps less than 2) from the house of Mr. Wilson, when she felt a cold hand clasp hers. Upon comparison of time afterwards, she found this had occurred at the time of Mr. Wilson’s death.

    “GEO. BRETT.”

    [The anxiety here, of course, allows it to be supposed that the experience was purely subjective (Vol. I., p. 509).]

    I will conclude this chapter with a case which suggests the same sympathy of physical condition as we have encountered in certain hypnotic cases (see above, pp. 330–1), where the transference is from the “subject” to the operator. The exceptional rapport (established or increased by a course of hypnotism) which existed between the two persons concerned has been mentioned in Vol. I., p. 316, and must be borne in mind in the judging of the present incident.

    (630) From Mr. F. Corder, 46, Charlwood Street, S.W.

    {ii-577}

    “December, 1882.

    “On July 8, 1882, my wife went to London to have an operation (which we both believed to be a slight one) performed on her eyes by the late Mr. Critchett. The appointment was for 1.30; and, knowing from long previous experience the close sympathy of our minds, about that time I, at Brighton, got rather fidgety, and was much relieved—and perhaps a little surprised and disappointed—at not feeling any decided sensation which I could construe as sympathetic. Taking it therefore for granted that all was well, I went out at 2.45 to conduct my concert at the Aquarium, expecting to find there a telegram, as had been arranged, to say that all was well. On my way I stopped, as usual, to compare my watch with the big clock outside Lawsons’ the clockmakers. At that instant I felt my eyes flooded with water, just as when a chill wind gives one a sudden cold in the eyes, though it was a hot, still summer’s day. The affection was so unusual and startling that my attention could not but be strongly directed to it; yet, the time being then 11 minutes to 3, I was sure it could have nothing to do with my wife’s operation, and, as it continued for some little time, thought I must have taken cold. However, it passed off, and the concert immediately afterwards put it out of my mind.

    “At 4.0 I received a telegram from my wife ‘All well over. A great success,’ and this quite took away all anxiety. But on going to town in the evening, I found her in a terrible state of nervous prostration; and it appeared that the operation, though marvellously successful, had been of a very severe character. Quite accidentally it came out that it was not till 2.30 that Mrs. Corder entered the operating-room, and that the operation commenced, after the due administration of an anæsthetic, at about 10 minutes to 3, as near as we could calculate.

    “F. CORDER.”

    [If telepathy is a reality, there seems at any rate a fair probability that this incident was telepathic. But it is no doubt possible to suppose that the occupation of Mr. Corder’s thoughts with his wife’s condition had induced a sympathetic liability to the peculiar affection recorded, and that the reason why it came to a head at that particular time was simply the change of physical condition involved in going out into the open air. It will be observed, however, that the day was hot, which rather tells against this hypothesis.]

    {ii-578}

    CHAPTER VII.

    CASES AFFECTING MORE THAN ONE OF THE PERCIPIENT’S SENSES.

    THIS chapter contains some further cases in which the senses of sight and hearing were both affected.

    (631) From the Story of my Life, by Colonel Meadows Taylor, Vol. I., pp. 32–33.

    “This determination [to live unmarried] was the result of a very curious and strange incident that befell me during one of my marches to Hyderabad. I have never forgotten it, and it returns to this day to my memory with a strangely vivid effect that I can neither repel nor explain. I purposely withhold the date of the year. In my very early life, I had been deeply and devotedly attached to one in England, and only relinquished the hope of some day winning her when the terrible order came out that no furlough to Europe would be granted. One evening I was at the village of Dewas Kudea, after a very long afternoon and evening march from Muktul, and I lay down very weary; but the barking of village dogs, and the baying of jackals, and over-fatigue and heat, prevented sleep, and I was wide awake and restless. Suddenly, for my tent door was wide open, I saw the face and figure so familiar to me, but looking older, and with a sad and troubled expression; the dress was white, and seemed covered with a profusion of lace, and glistened in the bright moonlight. The arms were stretched out, and a low plaintive cry of ‘Do not let me go; do not let me go!’ reached me. I sprang forward, but the figure receded, growing fainter and fainter till I could see it no longer, but the low sad tones still sounded. I had run barefooted across the open space, where my tents were pitched, very much to the astonishment of the sentry on guard, but I returned to my tent without speaking to him.

    “I wrote to my father, I wished to know whether there was any hope for me. He wrote back to me these words: ‘Too late, my dear son—on the very day of the vision you describe to me, A. was married.’“

    Miss Meadows Taylor, the editor of the book from which this passage is quoted, writes to us:—

    “6, Phillimore Terrace, Kensington, W.

    “December 5th, 1883.

    “I have received your letter on the subject of the vision mentioned in {ii-579} my father’s, Colonel Meadows Taylor’s, ‘Life.’ I have heard him mention it very often, and he always related the incident precisely in the same manner, and exactly as it is in the book. I can throw no further light upon it; nor can I add any further particulars. The lady is dead, and I am not aware that she ever knew of the circumstance.

    “ALICE MEADOWS TAYLOR.”

    [We have discovered a certain amount of inaccuracy in another narrative told in the same book; otherwise the present one would not have been relegated to the Supplement. Miss Meadows Taylor’s remarks show, however, that the experience was distinctly imprinted on her father’s memory. The detail as to the lace, it will

    be observed, is of a sort very likely to have been “read back” into the vision after the news arrived which would seem to make it appropriate.]

    (632) From the Rev. J. Hotham (Congregational Minister), Port Elliot, South Australia, who told us (in 1884) that the account was given to him by some friends, Mrs. Leaworthy and her daughters, and was written out by him the same evening “in nearly the same language in which it was given, and submitted to Mrs. Leaworthy, who corrected it.” It may therefore be taken as her account. Mr. Hotham has since died, and his son says that no more information can be obtained.

    The account first describes the rescue, in 1841, of the crew of the French ship, “L‘Orient,” off the coast of Devon, mainly by the exertions of Mr. Leaworthy.

    “The captain, during his stay in the neighbourhood, was a constant visitor at our house, and became quite a favourite. After he had recovered from his cold and wetting, he told us that he was sure something serious had happened at home. When asked why he thought so, he said that just before the storm came on, he had seen his wife standing close beside him, and that she had said: ‘Do not grieve for me.’ Well, we all tried to put this melancholy idea out of his head. We told him he was low-spirited at the loss of his ship, and that nothing but imagination had made him fancy this thing.

    “Of course the captain wrote directly home, giving an account of the loss of his ship and cargo, and anxiously awaited a reply. He was detained some weeks among us, and during that time we became very intimate. In due time he received a letter informing him that his wife had been confined, and mother and child were both doing well. We then joked him about his fears, and congratulated him upon the good news he had received. During the weeks he further remained with us, we set to and made up a box of presents—small things, &c., for the baby. After completing all his arrangements, he bid us good-bye, and started for home. A letter from him, however, informed us that the presentiment was too truly fulfilled. His wife died on that night; but when his friends received his letter mournfully detailing the loss of his vessel, they were afraid to send him word about the loss of his wife, and so replied as we have said.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Hotham added:—

    “Mrs. Leaworthy, senior, has recently died. Her daughters are still living—one, Mrs. Lindsay, only a short distance from me; and the other {ii-580} who married Mr. John Hindmarsh, only son of our first Colonial Governor, has removed to New Zealand.

    “In answer to your questions—(1) The account was given me at the house of Mr. Jno. Hindmarsh, near Port Elliot, South Australia. (2) Yes. By ‘died on that night’ I mean on the night he saw the apparition—the night the storm began.

    “JNO. HOTHAM.”

    (633) From the late General Craigie, who told us (March 11, 1883) that he had heard the facts from Colonel and Mrs. ——, the parents of the percipient.

    General Craigie began by describing how, in 1868, he became acquainted with Colonel —— and his family, resident at Mussoorie, and at their house saw a good deal of some relatives of his own, Mr. and Mrs. B.

    “The year 1868 had come to a close. With the termination of the season, of course all European visitors had returned to their homes in the plains. In the ordinary course of relief, my regiment was ordered to Cawnpore, and from that time I lost sight of Mr. and Mrs. B., whom I left behind at Meerut. I cannot, without referring to friends at a distance, give the dates of what follows; but I believe that it was in the beginning of 1869 that society was shocked by hearing that Mr. B. had [in consequence of domestic unhappiness due to his own conduct] shot himself. He shot himself at Meerut, at about 8 o’clock in the evening.

    “On that night Colonel ——’s wife and daughter were together in a bedroom at 10 p.m. The former had already got into bed; the latter was brushing out her hair by her cheval-glass, and in her night attire. Suddenly the girl exclaimed: ‘Oh, mamma, there’s Mr. B!’ ‘Where?’ cried the scandalised mother, clutching and pulling up the bed-clothes.1 1 This is almost certainly an illustration of that unfortunate tendency to give spurious vividness to a scene, by which second-hand evidence is so apt to be disfigured. But it is often rather in adding details than in altering essential points that this dramatising tendency finds its chance; and thus the distrust which it excites, though legitimate, may easily extend too far. ‘There, mamma! Do you not see him? There—he says: “Good-bye, Sissygood-bye!” There, now he’s going—now he’s gone!’ An immediate alarm was given; the room, the house, the garden were carefully searched, without obtaining any satisfactory clue to so extraordinary a scene in a lady’s bedchamber. Colonel —— closely questioned the girl, who not only positively adhered to her previous declarations, but now detailed the clothes worn by Mr. B. as he appeared to her.

    “Two days afterwards, the post, and newspapers, brought to Mussoorie the news of the suicide of Mr. B. Colonel —— and his wife did not communicate the fact to their daughter for some days, as they thought that since the night when she seemed to have seen Mr. B. she had been strangely depressed. When the fact was gently broken to her, it had such an effect that never from that day was any allusion ever made to the occurrence.

    “H. C. CRAIGIE,
    “Major-General.”

    We find from the East India Company’s Register that Lieut. B.’s death took place on Nov. 6, 1868, at Meerut.

    [Colonel —— is dead. We have applied to his widow for her recollections {ii-581} of the incident, but have not as yet received a reply. We have ascertained that Colonel —— was on furlough in 1868.]

    (634) Dr. Spencer T. Hall, a well-known writer on forestry, &c., in his Days in Derbyshire (1863), pp. 85–6, relates as follows:—

    “Philip and his first wife, Martha, who was a cousin of mine, having no children of their own, adopted the little daughter of a young woman, who went to live at Derby. The child called them father and mother as soon as she could speak, not remembering her own parents, not even her mother. While yet very young, she one day began to cry out that there was a young woman looking at her, and wanting to come to her, and, according to her description of the person, it must have been her mother. As no one else saw the apparition, and the child continued for more than half an hour to be very excited, Philip took her out of the house to that of a neighbour; but the apparition kept them company, talking by the way. They then went to another house, where it accompanied them still, and seemed as though it wanted to embrace the child: but at last vanished in the direction of Derby—as the little girl, now a young woman, describes it—in a flash of fire.

    “Derby is about 14 miles distant from Holloway, and as in that day there was neither railway nor telegraph, communication between them was much slower than at present. As soon, however, as it was possible for intelligence to come, the news arrived that the poor child’s mother had been burnt to death; that it happened about the time when it saw her apparition; and, in short, that she was sorrowing and crying to be taken to the child during the whole of the time between being burnt and her expiration.

    “This is no ‘idle ghost story,’ but a simple matter of fact, to which not only Philip, but all his old neighbours can testify; and the young woman has not only related it more than once to me, but she told it in the same artless and earnest manner to my friend, the late Dr. Samuel Brown, of Edinburgh, who once called at the cottage with me, repeating it still more clearly to Messrs. Fowler and Wells, on our recent visit.”

    In answer to inquiries, the narrator (since deceased) wrote to us:—

    “1, Leopold Grove, Blackpool.

    “November 14th, 1884.

    “It is now a generation since I resided in Derby, and most of those known to me there are now dead or the addresses forgotten. Philip Spencer, my cousin, died long ago, and his second wife too. I have forgotten the young woman’s name, but she may be married, or have left the neighbourhood. My poor dear friend, Dr. Samuel Brown, is dead. If anybody is living at Holloway likely to remember all the particulars of the case you mention, my cousin, Mrs. Sarah Buckle, may, but I cannot tell. [We wrote; but the lady appears to have left the place, and our letter was returned.] You may, however, refer to me as to the accuracy of the narrative in my book. Anything more carefully or clearly attested than what is written I never heard, and I could have had no motive for inaccuracy.

    “SPENCER T. HALL

    [One may surmise that this was very possibly a case of telepathic hallucination, without placing reliance on the details.]

    {ii-582}

    (635) From Mrs. Walsh, of The Priory, Lincoln. The percipient refuses a first-hand and signed account; she has risen in life, and is very sensitive as to anything which may recall her former dependent position. The Rev. J. J. Lias, who procured the narrative for us, tells us that he first heard it in the lifetime of Mr. Walsh, who “was by no means a credulous man, but a man of the world.”

    “February 18th, 1884.

    “Some time in the year 1862 (I think) I was living with my husband and family of little children, accompanied by our English nurse, in apartments in the city of Brussels. The house we occupied was a large one, and we rented the drawing-room and the floor above. The ground floor was occupied by the owner of the house, a Belgian, and his wife and little children. We had no intercourse with this family; we had our own kitchen on the drawing-room floor, and the upper floor consisted of nursery, with nursery bedroom opening from it. We had a Flemish general servant, who went home about 9 every night. Our English nurse was a very clever girl, about 22 or 23 years of age. She read a good deal, and taught herself French. She was very matter-of-fact, and handy and useful in every way. She had been with me 5 or 6 years. Her parents were labouring people in the neighbourhood of London, and by reading and culture she had raised herself a good deal out of their sphere. We had been about 12 months away from England, when the circumstance I write of happened. M.’s mother, after having a large family—the youngest being about 9 or 10—did not tell M., nor did any of the family, that she was again expecting an addition. The wife of our landlord had been confined two days, so was in her own room, on the ground floor of the house we lived in.

    “One night my husband and myself had been out to dinner. On returning, a little after 10 o’clock, my husband was amazed to find our apartments in darkness, and he ran up to the nursery floor to complain to M. of her inattention; as the other servant had gone home it was her place to light our room. My husband found the nursery lighted, but empty, and going towards the children’s room he met M. coming out. She began, ‘Oh! I am so glad to see you; I have been so frightened that I was obliged to sit on Willie’s bed till you came in.’ I was in the room by this time, and inquiring into the cause of fear. M. said, ‘After I put the children to bed I sat down in the nursery to my work, when I heard someone coming up the stairs. I went to the door, and on the first landing by your room, I saw, as I thought, Madame N. carrying something heavy. I felt that she ought not to be out of her bed, and I called to her in French: “Je viendrai vous aider,”I’ll come help you running down the stairs to where I supposed she was. When I got there it gave me a queer sensation to find no one. However, I said to myself, it was a shadow, and made myself go back to my work. I had scarcely seated myself when a voice called: “May, May, May” (the name my children called her). I got up, went to the door, and seeing someone, ran halfway down the stairs to meet the woman, when a terrible dread came upon me, and I rushed back to the nursery and sat on one of the little beds, feeling that being with even a sleeping child was better than being alone.’ My husband laughed at her, told her the vin ordinaire was too strong; that she had been dreaming, &c. We none of us thought much of it, till the first post from England {ii-583} brought M. a letter to say her mother had been confined, and she and the child had died within an hour after. Then we all felt convinced that M.’s mother had been able to come and see her daughter.1 1 See p. 48, note.

    “HARRIET WALSH.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Walsh says:—

    “At the time, I am sure she did not connect the appearance with her own mother, nor did she recognise the voice. All she told us was that she thought it was Madame Nyo. May’s mother was very much the same sort of person in appearance as Madame Nyo,2 2 As to the mis-recognition, compare cases 170, 171, and 676. without there being any likeness; they were about the same age, figure, and position in life. We only connected May’s story with her night of terror, when she received the news from England.”

    [We cannot now ascertain the exact times of the apparition and of the death; but they probably occurred within a few hours of each other. If, as seems nearly certain, the call of the Christian name, as well as the visual experience, was a hallucination, that point is decidedly in favour of the telepathic explanation of the case.]

    (636) From Mr. Louis Lyons, 3, Bouverie Square, Folkestone.

    “1882.

    “Madame Laramea Espéron, of Nantes, since dead, told me the following some 16 or 17 years ago. She had an only son, fond of fishing, which recreation he indulged in during the forenoon, and had been for some years most punctual to be home for dinner at 12 o’clock. One day he did not make his appearance at the usual hour. His mother opened the window to look out for him, when she heard him call her several times, and on turning round she saw her son coming through the wall, and making his exit through the opposite wall.3 3 See Vol. i., pp. 432 (note) and 573. An hour or so afterwards, a message was brought to her, that her son fell over the pier an hour ago, and was drowned. Madame Espéron was a most worthy woman, and told me her story bathed in tears. A mother weeping for her only son tells no lies.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Lyons adds:—

    “Madame Espéron was in mourning for her son when she told me the sad story. I was very intimate with her, and my daughter, who went with me to Nantes, was a frequent visitor at her house.”

    (637) From Mr. John Williams, 99, Wellington Road, Dudley.

    “April 7, 1884.

    “On December 3rd, 1849, my mother died, between the hours of 9 and 10 p.m. Her sister, living from 3 to 4 miles away, saw her on the top of the staircase, she having just gone to bed, at the same time that mother expired. Such was the effect, that she sent a messenger next morning to see if her sister was really dead.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Williams states that his mother died at The Hays, Old Swinford, Worcestershire. His aunt (Sarah Piper, formerly {ii-584} of Netherton, Dudley) is now deceased. He heard of her experience from his sister, Mrs. Raybould, of Stourbridge (aged 14 at the time), who, he says, “well remembers aunt coming in the afternoon, after the return of the messenger, and telling father and her as to seeing her sister at the top of the staircase. I was not at home when she (aunt) called, so I heard it from my sister, or father, when I got home the same evening of aunt’s visit. My sister well remembers what her aunt said, and to-day (February 16, 1886) she told me that aunt said, mother called her by name (Sarah) 3 times;1 1 See p. 229, note. so she not only saw, but heard her.

    “J. W.”

    The Register of Deaths confirms Dec. 3, 1849, as the date.

    Mrs. Raybould writes, on April 7, 1886:—

    “I remember well the night of December 3, 1849, it being the night of my dear mother’s death, which happened about 9.40 p.m. On the following day my aunt, mother’s sister, Sarah Piper, came to our house in the afternoon, and said she knew that my mother was dead, for she saw her at the top of the stairs in her bedroom, and heard her call ‘Sarah,’ 3 times. This, from the time she stated as having seen and heard her, was as near the time mother died as possible.

    “MARY RAYBOULD.”

    In answer to an inquiry, Mr. Williams says that his aunt knew nothing of her sister’s illness—puerperal fever after a premature confinement—“so could not be expecting her death.”

    (638) From Mrs. Say Thomson, 47, Albany Villas, Brighton.2 2 A

    very incorrect version of this occurrence was given in No. 13 of “Volunteering, Past and Present,” by “Ancient,” in the Volunteer Service Review, July 1st, 1882.

    “February, 1886.

    “I will relate the incident that occurred to my late husband, Colonel Thomson, as I was with him at Brussels at the time. Colonel Thomson was with the King of the Belgians, at Brussels, and his brother, the Count de Flandres—and, I believe, very few others in the room. He was writing down instructions from the king about the volunteers that Lord Heaton and he had brought over. Someone leant over him, and said, ‘Your brother wants you’; he answered, ‘Tell him I am now engaged with the king, and impossible to leave him; but ask him to wait.’ Being very much engaged writing down the king’s directions, he said he half looked round, and saw a man in his volunteer uniform; he hardly gave him a glance, but said he would come as soon as he could. Directly he was disengaged, he went into the ante-room, and asked the many he knew there if they had heard anyone asking for him, as he heard his brother had arrived in Brussels. Of course all questions were asked, privately, and on parade, but all wearing his uniform denied having called him. Moreover, the two sentries who were on guard, outside the room the king was in, said it was impossible that any volunteer had passed in without their knowledge. In the course of a few days he heard of his brother’s death.

    “I cannot tell you day and date of Mr. John Sinclair Thomson’s {ii-585} death, but I have no doubt my sister-in-law can supply you with correct information on that point. Colonel Thomson was commanding the Tower Hamlets Rifle Brigade, consisting of three corps; but at Brussels Lord Heaton and he took over, I think, at least 800 volunteers to Belgium. Colonel Thomson died the next year, June 8th, 1870. He was at Brussels in August or September the year before. I never heard of my husband seeing or hearing anything supernatural1 1 See p. 48, note. before.

    “W. S. THOMSON.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Thomson writes on March 7th, 1886:—

    “The hour my husband heard the voice, telling him his brother waited for him, was noon. The news of his brother’s death did not come until the next day. But whether the hours of hearing the voice and the death occurred at the same time I am unable to say. We hardly ever spoke of it, as it was not a subject Colonel Thomson cared to discuss.”

    We learn from Miss Kate Thomson, a daughter of Mr. John S. Thomson, that her father died at about 8 p.m., on Saturday, Sept. 11th, 1869, at Aitechuan House, Ardrishaig, Argyleshire; and we have verified the date by an obituary notice in the Scotsman.

    Mr. Podmore writes, February 9th, 1886:—

    “I called on Mrs. John Sinclair Thomson, of 18, Gloucester Walk, Campden Hill, W., on the 9th February, and heard the narrative, as here given, from her. Her husband’s death was quite unexpected,—the illness being only a sudden attack of gout; and she thinks it is certain that Colonel Thomson did not even know that his brother was ill. She herself did not see Colonel Thomson in the interval before his own death in the following June; but shortly after that event she heard, for the first time, of the above occurrence from a Dr. Walker, of Peterborough, who had received an account of it from Colonel Thomson himself. She has subsequently heard the full details from Mrs. Say Thomson.”

    [If the letter announcing the death really arrived at Brussels, from Scotland, on the day following Colonel Thomson’s experience, the death must clearly have preceded that experience by more than 12 hours. But Mrs. Thomson admits that she has no distinct recollection of the interval that elapsed before the arrival of the letter, and indeed spoke of it, in the first letter in which she mentioned the occurrence to us, as “a few days”; and though her son, Mr. J. F. Alison Thomson, of Croxton Lodge, Clarendon Street, Leamington, mentions having heard from his father that the letter arrived “on the following morning after the warning,” he adds a sentence showing that he conceives this to be tantamount to saying that the days of the death and of his father’s experience were the same; and his evidence, therefore, cannot be held to decide the point.]

    (639) From Mr. Williams, Summerfield, Rhyl.

    “November 23, 1885.

    “About 46 years ago my father went to a place near Utica, in America, leaving my mother with myself, then six years of age, a younger brother, and a baby sister at home at Bontuchel, in North Wales. In his correspondence {ii-586} with my mother he described the country to which he had gone, and intimated his purpose to return home and sell his property at Bontuchel, and take us all out to live there. We all slept in a two-bedded room, with windows facing each other. My brother and I were together in one of the beds, asleep, before my mother came to bed with the baby. After putting the lights out she heard a noise resembling the flapping of a bird’s wing against the windows. It was a moonlight night. She got up and looked out of the window, but seeing nothing returned to bed. Immediately after this she saw my father standing in the room, dressed in his usual clothes, and looking at her and at the child lying beside her. As soon as she caught his eye he turned his back upon them, and looked at us as we lay in the other bed. My mother called him by his name, and got out of bed to go to him, fully believing that it was he, but he instantly vanished. So terrified was she now that she left the house the next day, and went to her parents, who lived at Ruthin, taking us with her. About six weeks after this removal, a letter came sealed with black, written by a friend of my father’s, detailing the circumstances of his illness, of his death and burial, and specifying the time of his demise. My mother had carefully recorded the time of her vision, and now found that, allowing for difference of longitude, it corresponded exactly to that of his death. I remember my mother’s sudden removal from Bontuchel to Ruthin, and heard her repeatedly relate the particulars here given. I cannot say that I heard her relate the particulars before she received the letter; but I remember distinctly that she said she gave them to her parents, at the time of her removal, as the reason why she came to them so suddenly. My brother and sister, still living, can corroborate this testimony.

    “W. Williams.”.

    [The brother’s and sister’s corroboration has not been received in time for insertion.]

    The following is the only instance known to me in which telepathy seems actually to have aided the course of the law. The story is remote, but we have the contemporary evidence; and there seems no reason to doubt that a coincidence of the kind alleged took place.

    (640) The Buckingham, Bedford, and Hertford Chronicle for Nov. 1, 1828, states that on Saturday, Oct. 25, 1828, William Edden, market gardener (called Noble Edden), was found dead on the road between Aylesbury and Thame, with several ribs broken. He was discovered by Mr. Taylor, miller, who was returning from Aylesbury, and gave the alarm. At the adjourned inquest, on Nov. 5, a verdict of murder was returned against some person unknown.

    The Buckingham Gazette of August 22, 1829, gives an account of the apprehension of a man named Sewell, who had stated in a letter to his father that he knew who had killed Edden. He accused a man named Tyler, and both were tried at the Aylesbury Petty Sessions, August 22, before Lord Nugent, Sir J. D. King, R. Browne, Esq., and others. On the first day of the examination, Mrs. Edden, wife of the murdered man, gave the following evidence:—“After my husband’s corpse was brought home, I sent to Tyler, for some reasons I had, to come and see the corpse. {ii-587} I sent for him five or six times. I had some particular reason for sending for him which I never did divulge. … I will tell my reasons if you gentlemen ask me, in the face of Tyler, even if my life should be in danger for it. When I was ironing a shirt, on the Saturday night my husband was murdered, something came over me—something rushed over me—and I thought my husband came by me. I looked up, and I thought I heard the voice of my husband come from near my mahogany table, as I turned from my ironing. I ran out and said, ‘Oh, dear God! my husband is murdered, and his ribs are broken.’ I told this to several of my neighbours. Mrs. Chester was the first to whom I told it. I mentioned it

    also at the Saracen’s Head.”

    Sir J. D. King: “Have you any objection to say why you thought your husband had been murdered?” “No! I thought I saw my husband’s apparition and the man that had done it, and that man was Tyler, and that was the reason I sent for him. … When my neighbours asked me what was the matter when I ran out, I told them that I had seen my husband’s apparition. … When I mentioned it to Mrs. Chester I said: ‘My husband is murdered, and his ribs are broken; I have seen him by the mahogany table.’ I did not tell her who did it. Mrs. Chester answered, I was always frightened, since my husband had been stopped on the road. [The deceased Edden had once before been waylaid, but was then too powerful for his assailants.] In consequence of what I saw, I went in search of my husband, until I was taken so ill I could go no further.”

    Lord Nugent: “What made you think your husband’s ribs were broken?” “He held up his hand like this” (holds up her arm), “and I saw a hammer, or something like a hammer, and it came into my mind that his ribs were broken”

    Sewell stated that the murder was accomplished by means of a hammer. The examination was continued on August 31 and September 13; and finally both prisoners were discharged for want of sufficient evidence. Sewell declared that he had only been a looker-on, and his accusations against Tyler were so full of prevarications that they were not held sufficient to incriminate him. The inquiry was again resumed on February 11, 1830, and Sewell, Tyler, and a man named Gardner were committed for trial.

    The trial (see Buckingham Gazette, March 13, 1830,) took place at the Buckingham Lent Assizes, March 5, 1830, before Mr. Baron Vaughan, and a Grand Jury; but in the report of Mrs. Edden’s evidence, no mention is made of the vision.

    Sewell and Tyler were found guilty, and were executed, protesting their innocence, on March 8, 1830.

    Miss Browne, writing to us from Farnham Castle, in January, 1884, gives an account of the vision which substantially accords with that here recorded, adding:—

    “The wife persisted in her account of the vision; consequently, the accused was taken up, and, with some circumstantial evidence in addition to the woman’s story, committed for trial by two magistrates, my father Colonel Robert Browne, and the Rev. Charles Ackfield. The murderer was tried and convicted at the Assizes, and hanged at Aylesbury.

    {ii-588}

    “It may be added that Colonel Browne was remarkably free from superstition, and was a thorough disbeliever in ‘ghost stories’ He came home, and said, laughing, ‘We have had a ghost called in, in court to-day. We shall see how the story is confirmed!’”

    The following narrative may be compared to the arrival examples in Chap. XIV., §7. But if we found a difficulty, in any case, in regarding the mere fact of impending arrival as the occasioning condition of a telepathic transference (p. 96), the difficulty is intensified when the arrival is of someone with whom the percipient is in daily association, and who has only been away an hour or two on ordinary business. I think, therefore, that the chance that the experience here described was purely subjective is too appreciable to allow the account to be numbered as evidence.

    A letter written to the Spectator by the late Rev. W. L. Clay, of Rainhill Vicarage, under date Feb. 9, 1869.

    “On a Sunday afternoon, about 30 years ago (the precise date I cannot recollect), my mother and eldest sister, then about 8 years old, were sitting together in the dining-room. No one else was in the house except a younger child and his nurse, and another servant; all the rest of the family were … at church, and my father, John Clay, of Preston, was at the gaol. He was due home in about half an-hour, it then being nearly 4 o’clock. The afternoon was very wet, but very still, the rain pouring in torrents, but with an even, steady downpour. While sitting thus my mother heard footsteps approach, and presently some one opened and passed through the yard-door. (This yard-door faced on the road. … The nearest house was full 500 yards distant, and any one going to the front door would have to pass this yard-door, the dining-room windows, another window, and then turn round the corner of the house, through a gate in the garden.) She was a good deal startled, more especially as this door, according to domestic regulations, ought to have been locked. She roused herself to listen with all her might, and heard distinctly—all the more distinctly as the house was so quiet—the person who had opened the yard-door enter the house by the back door, traverse a passage in the basement storey, open the door at the foot of the back stairs, mount the back stairs, and enter the front hall. But by this time she was completely reassured, for she had recognised my father’s footsteps. He put his umbrella into the stand, with a rattling noise, took off his top-coat and shook it, and then came through the inner hall into the dining-room. The hall-door and dining-room door were both ajar, so she easily heard all this. He went up to the fire, and resting his elbow on the mantel-piece, and one foot on the fender, stood there for a few moments drying himself. At length she said, ‘You must be very wet; had you not better go and change your clothes at once?’ ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I think I had better do so,’1 1 See p. 460, second note. and so he turned, left the room, and went upstairs to his dressing-room.

    “As he did not come down again for more than half-an-hour, my {ii-589} mother followed him to see what was the cause of his delay. To her astonishment, she found his room empty, and no sign of his having been there. She searched all through the rooms on the same landing, but could not find him, and at length came down puzzled and frightened; but trying to calm herself with the supposition that, although she had not noticed his departure, he must have left the house again for some purpose or other. But while she sat there, still flurried and uneasy, she heard again the same footsteps approaching, the same opening of the yard-door, the same entrance by the back door, the same traversing of the passage downstairs, and mounting by the back stairs into the hall, the same putting down of the umbrella, and shaking of the coat, and then my father came into the room, walked up to the fire, and placed his elbow on the mantel-piece, and foot on the fender, just as he had done before. ‘Why, where have you been?’ exclaimed my mother, as soon as she could speak after the first gasp of amazement. ‘Been?’ he said, turning round and noticing for the first time her excitement and distress, ‘I have been to the gaol as usual.’ ‘Oh! you know that’s not what I mean. I mean where have you been since you came in by the back door just as you have done just now, rather more than half-an-hour ago?’ ‘I don’t understand you at all; I have come straight from the gaol and have never been in the house since I left this morning.’ ‘Oh, it’s too bad playing jokes like this to frighten me, when you know I am not well.’ (My mother was in delicate health at the time.) And then, in answer to his amazed questions, she poured out the story I have told you.

    “I believe the incident happened exactly as I have narrated. I have heard my father tell the story repeatedly, and he was singularly accurate and truthful. My mother’s account, too, tallies precisely with his. My sister cannot now, I think, distinguish between what she recollects and what she has so often heard related. But my father at the time questioned her as to what she had heard and seen, and her account was that ‘I saw mamma get up suddenly, and go into papa’s dressing-room, and then she went into all the rooms upstairs as if she was looking for something, and then she came down and looked as if something was the matter, but she wouldn’t answer me when I asked her what it was.’

    “When my mother told her story my father instantly recollected that as he left the gaol the thought occurred to him, when he saw how heavy the rain was, that if he found the yard-door unlocked he would go in that way—a thing that he very seldom did—to avoid going round the corner to the front door, and the thought having once occurred he mentally rehearsed the circumstances of his entrance—doing in spirit precisely what he afterwards did in the body. The distance from the gaol to our house at East Cliff was rather more than two miles, and … this corresponds with my mother’s ‘rather more than half-an-hour.’

    “W. L. CLAY.”

    Mrs. Clay, widow of the Rev. W. L. Clay, and a friend of Professo Barrett’s, writes on 24th September, 1883:—

    “I have more than once heard the story related and discussed in my mother-in-law’s presence by her husband. There is no doubt she firmly believed in the vision. My impression is that he thought it had been a very vivid dream.

    “E. J. CLAY

    {ii-590}

    CHAPTER VIII.

    RECIPROCAL CASES.

    The following specimens, or possible specimens, of this rare type seem worth presenting, though for the most part far from complete from an evidential point of view.

    (641) From a clergyman in Yorkshire, who desires that his name may not be published.

    “January, 1885.

    “The following experience took place nearly 25 years ago, but there is no doubt of its correctness in every detail. I became acquainted with a young lady in London, who, I may say without vanity, fell violently in love with me. There was a strange fascination about her which attracted me to her, but, although very young, I was far from reciprocating her affection. By degrees I discovered that she had the power of influencing me when I was away from her, making me seem to realise her presence about me when I knew that she was some distance away; and then that she was able, when I saw her, to tell me where I had been and what I had been doing at certain times. At first I thought that this was merely the result of accident—that some one had seen me and reported to her—until one day she told me that at a certain hour of the day I had been in a drawing-room, which she described, when I knew there had been no chance of collusion, and that no one could have told her of my visit to the house.

    “She then told me that when she began intently to fix her mind on me, she seemed to be able to see me and all my surroundings.1 1 See Vol. i., p. 268. At first she fancied it was only imagination, until she saw by my manner that what she described had really taken place. I had several opportunities afterwards of testing this power, and found she was correct in every instance.

    “I need scarcely say that when I had satisfied myself of this, I kept out of the way of such a dangerous acquaintance. We did not meet for about 10 years, and had drifted so widely apart as to lose sight of each other. One day I was walking with my wife on the West Cliff at Ramsgate, when a strange feeling of oppression came over me, and I was compelled to sit down. A few minutes afterwards my old acquaintance stood before me, introducing me to her husband and asking to be introduced to my wife.

    {ii-591}

    “We met several times while they stayed at Ramsgate, and I learned that she had been married for some years, and had several children; but I have seen nothing of them since, and have no wish, even if I had the opportunity, of renewing the acquaintance. No reference whatever was made to the past, and I did not learn whether she had still the strange power she formerly possessed.”

    This may probably have been a reciprocal case, though we cannot now ascertain whether the impressions which suggested to each of the two parties the other’s presence were simultaneous. The only other case in our collection where a prolonged course of reciprocal action is alleged to have occurred is the following.

    (642) From Miss L. A. W. (the narrator of case 140), whose only reason for withholding her name from publication is that she is sure that her family would object to its appearance.

    She begins by saying that when she was 19 or 20, she had a spell of indifferent health, caused, it was thought, by over-study. During this time, from March in one year till June in the next, she was much troubled at intervals by singular dreams, which she recorded in a note-book, and also described to one of her sisters. The main feature in these dreams was the appearance of a particular person. “I was not in love, nor indeed had I been; and certainly no feeling but that of a mysterious repugnance (and at the same time an inability to avoid or escape from the influence of the person of whom I dreamt) actuated me. He was someone I had never in all my life wittingly seen, though I had reason to think afterwards that he had seen me at a Birmingham musical festival. On that occasion I had apparently fainted, and it was attributed to the heat and the excitement of the music. I hardly knew if it were or not. I only knew I felt all my pulses stop, and a burning and singing in my head, and that I was perfectly conscious of those around me, but unable to speak and tell them so. To return to my dreams. I always knew as I slept when the influence was coming over me, and often in my dream I commenced it by thinking, ‘Here it is, or here he comes again.’ They were not always disagreeable dreams in themselves, but the fascination was always dreadful to me, and a kind of struggle between two natures within me seemed to drag my powers of mind and body two ways. I used to awake as cold as a stone in the hottest nights, my head having the queer feeling of a hot iron pressing somewhere in its inside. I would shiver and my teeth chatter with a terror which seemed unreasonable, for there was, even in the subjects of my dreams, seldom anything wicked or terrifying”

    The dreams ceased after a course of medical treatment. In the next year but one Miss W. was visiting in Liverpool. “I had enjoyed two or three good dances, and was sitting out one, by the lady of the house, when not suddenly, but by degrees, I felt myself turning cold and stony, and the peculiar burning in my head. If I could have spoken I would have said, ‘My dreams! my dreams!’ but I only shivered, which attracted the notice of my companion, who exclaimed, ‘You are ill, my dear. Come for some wine, or hot coffee.’ I rose, knowing what I was going to see, and as I turned, I looked straight into the eyes of the fac-simile of the being {ii-592} who had been present to my sleeping thoughts for so long, and the next moment he stepped forward from the pillar against which he was leaning behind the lace curtain, and shook hands with my companion. He accompanied us to the refreshment room, attended to my wants, and was introduced to me. I declined dancing, but could not avoid conversation. His first remark was, ‘We are not strangers to each other. Where have we met?’ I fear I shall scarcely be believed when I say, that (setting my teeth, and nerving myself to meet what I felt would conquer me, if I once submitted in even the slightest degree) I answered that I never remembered meeting him before, and to all his questionings returned the most reserved answers. He seemed much annoyed and puzzled, but on that occasion did not mention dreams.

    “I took an opportunity of asking my sister if she remembered my description of the man of my dreams, and upon her answering ‘Yes,’ asked her to look round the rooms and see if any one there resembled him, and half-an-hour later she came up, saying, ‘There is the man, he has even the mole on the left side of his mouth.’”

    Miss W. subsequently met this gentleman at almost every party she went to. “He was sometimes so gloomy and fierce at my determined avoidance of any but the most ordinary conversation, that I felt quite a terror of meeting him. He frequently asked if I believed in dreams; if I could relate any to him; if I had never seen him before; and would say, after my persistent avoidance of the subject, ‘I can do nothing, so long as you will not trust me.’”

    Miss W. says that she has several pages, in her note-book, of entries of dreams in which she seemed to be accompanying her visitor in a flight through the world.

    “When conversing with him in the flesh, he asked me if I had ‘ever travelled.’ I said ‘No.’ He showed surprise, and began to dilate on the wonders of such and such a place or scene, all of which I felt sure I had seen with him, and entered in my note-book. It was deeply interesting, and I was totally absorbed in his recitals, time after time, when he abruptly stopped, saying, ‘But have you never had scenes such as these before you?’ and I replied, ‘Yes, in my dreams I have.’ Such, or similar remarks, I know I have noted down, and his eagerness to make me admit similar experiences was at times almost fierce. I had a great longing at times to tell him everything, but an innate sense that by so doing I should be as completely his slave and tool as I had been in dreams, always stopped me.”

    The effort of these conversations was so exhausting to Miss W. that she wrote home to get herself recalled—a fact which her strange acquaintance seems to have intuitively divined, and for which he bitterly reproached her. She has never seen him since. She says, in answer to inquiries:—“You are right in your conjecture that he inferred [? implied] he had seen me in dreams. He often talked as if he were perfectly aware that I knew it, but that I would not go beyond a certain limit in admitting anything.” She adds that her sister remembers all the circumstances—the dreams, their frequency, and the correct description of the man subsequently met; but we have not been able to procure the sister’s written confirmation. Miss W. says that she cannot spare the time to make extracts from her diary for publication.

    {ii-593}

    [If the details here are quite accurate, it would be reasonable to explain the case telepathically. But it is possible to

    suppose that the dream-figure assumed the distinctness which made it seem the counterpart of the real figure, only after the real one was seen; and that Miss W. herself led the conversations in the directions where they seemed to confirm her dream-experiences. Without an independent account from the gentleman himself, the interpretation of the case must remain dubious; and as Miss W. is unwilling to mention his name, no more can be done. Should the account ever meet his eye, it is to be hoped that he will communicate with us.]

    In the next case it is impossible to tell how closely the two experiences coincided.

    (643) From Mr. Hensleigh Wedgwood, 31, Queen Anne Street, W.

    “February 10th, 1886.

    “I send you a well-authenticated dream of my daughter-in-law, Mrs. Alfred Wedgwood, with the vouchers. You will see that she told it immediately after the occurrence to Mrs. K., and to me a day or two afterwards, on her return to Queen Anne Street. I have a strong recollection that it was on that occasion that she explained her noticing the ring, by saying that in her dream the stranger leant his hand on the bedside as he stooped over her. She expressed great confidence that she should know him again if ever she saw him, and I told her to let me know if ever she did. However, she never mentioned to me the fact of her having fallen in with him that autumn, and she only mentioned it incidentally, when she was with me last Christmas, as a matter well-known to me.

    “If I had known it at the time, we might perhaps have been able to ascertain how far the dreams were synchronous. It is not likely that they were absolutely so, as hers was in the afternoon.

    “H. WEDGWOOD.”

    “In June, ’84, I went to Folkestone to look out for a house, and slept for a night or two at the West Cliff Hotel. The second day I was there, being a good deal tired, I went up in the afternoon to my room, locked the door and fell asleep upon my bed, having undressed myself and merely covered myself with the sheet, it being a warm day. After a while, I was startled out of sleep by dreaming in a very lively way that a gentleman, whom I had never seen before, was stooping over me. He was dressed in a dark grey tweed suit; he wore on his little finger a cornelian ring, and a small cameo pin which was a veiled figure. I observed that one of his eyes drooped a little. There were a number of Zulus standing behind him. When he bent down towards me he put out his hand and said, ‘Poor thing, you seem tired.’

    “The impression was so vivid that I jumped off the bed to see whether the door could have come open, but I found that it was locked as I had left it. I got up and dressed, and went to tea with Mrs. K.; I told her my dream, saying I was sure I should recognise the man if ever I saw him. Having found a suitable house, I returned to my father-in-law’s in Queen Anne Street, and told him my dream, as I had done to Mrs. K. In the middle {ii-594} of August we moved to Folkestone, and not many weeks afterwards, as I was going down the Military Hill leading from the camp to Sandgate, I met the gentleman whom I had seen in my dream, wearing the same clothes. He stopped, and looked at me, and said, ‘I think we must have met before.’ I said, ‘Yes’; then introduced myself, and told him of my dream. He wore the same pin, but not the ring. I called his attention to it. He said he had not worn the cornelian ring for some years, as he preferred his brother’s, but that he had been looking at his old ring. He had dreamt of seeing me lying down in a white gown. The day he met me, I had on a white dress. He also told me he had been at the Cape, and once belonged to the Mounted Rifles when first established.

    “M. R. WEDGWOOD.”

    “I believe I did not hear of my wife’s dream until after she had met with the gentleman she had seen in her dream. Very soon after that meeting I was told the story.

    “A. A WEDGWOOD.”

    Thinking it possible that Major M. had unconsciously noticed Mrs. A. Wedgwood’s appearance during the days when she was in Folkestone in June, I asked her how she was dressed during that short stay. She replied:—

    “At the time I was down here for the two days, I wore a black silk gown, as I well remember my friend Mrs. K. admiring it when I went and drank tea with her. I told her of my dream at the same time.”

    Mrs. K. writes:—

    “December 28th, 1885.

    “I remember quite well the circumstance you allude to. Mrs. Alfred Wedgwood told me about it the same evening, when she was sitting with me at Meadowbank, but I think she said she saw this vision of a man looking at her, not in a dream, but on suddenly awaking from sleep, and that he vanished as she looked at him. She told me that she particularly noticed a stud or breast-pin he was wearing, and that during the short time the figure was visible she saw other figures in the background, like Zulus with their spears passing behind him. This, at the time, made us wonder if the room at the West Cliff Hotel she was then using had been at any time occupied by someone who had died in the Zulu War. Sometime after this, Mrs. Alfred told me she had seen an officer at Shorncliffe who resembled the man of her vision, and that he was wearing a pin just like the one she had observed, and she wondered who he was. I do not remember that after this we ever spoke of the matter again; and I never heard that she had afterwards met him to speak to, or that he had told her that he had had a corresponding vision or dream of her.

    “M. A. K.”

    The following account is from Major F. F. M.:—

    “February, 1886.

    “As nearly as I can recollect, some time in June, 1884,1 1 Mr. Wedgwood says, “It must have been in August or September. I met Mrs. Wedgwood coming down the Military Road from Shorncliffe Camp. I had {ii-595} a confused idea that I had met the lady before, and therefore turned to look at her. Mrs. Wedgwood asked me some question, and introduced herself, when, in conversation, I remarked that some time previously I had dreamed I had seen her, and that she was dressed in a white gown.

    “Mrs. Wedgwood replied that she also had dreamed she had seen myself, and described the dress I wore, and also a scarf-pin and ring that I possess. The latter she could not possibly have seen, as I had not worn it for some years, and consequently it was locked up in a secret drawer in my chest. The accurate description of the ring and pin seemed to me to be very remarkable.

    “F. F M.”

    In answer to inquiries, Major M. writes, on Feb. 18, 1886:—

    (1) “I feel sure I had never seen Mrs. Alfred Wedgwood before I met her coming from Shorncliffe Camp, after the dream you refer to, and I had no reason for connecting the dream with her [i.e., at the time that it was dreamt].

    (2) “I do not think my dream was sufficiently vivid to enable me to recognise the features of the lady.

    (3) “The dream occurred, I believe, in the second week in June, 1884. “I may say that I did not look upon my dream as at all peculiar, and should have thought no more of the circumstance had not Mrs. Wedgwood informed me of her dream, which I thought very remarkable, inasmuch as she described accurately some articles of jewellery belonging to me, which she could not possibly have previously seen.”

    He adds that Mrs. A. Wedgwood was correct in saying that he had served for many years in South Africa; but that he had not recently returned from that country.

    Mr. Hensleigh Wedgwood writes on Feb. 2, 1886:—

    “Major M. says that when he saw Mrs. A. Wedgwood in her white gown, he instantly recognised her by her figure. The date of her dream was the 13th June, which she fixes by something about a photograph.”

    [It is impossible here to be sure that Major M.’s sense of having seen Mrs. A. Wedgwood before he met her was really due to his dream. But if the case is not reciprocal, it is at any rate strongly suggestive of telepathic clairvoyance on Mrs. A. Wedgwood’s part.]

    The next example may, no doubt, have been an accidental coincidence; but both experiences seem to have been of an unusual kind, unlike ordinary dreams. If telepathic in character, the case may not improbably have been reciprocal, without—it will be observed—suggesting anything of the nature of clairvoyance. Each percipient has the impression of the other as present in the percipient’s own environment.

    (644) From Mrs. White, 10, Hope Terrace, Walham Green, S.W.

    “1883.

    “On one occasion my husband [since deceased—for many years conductor {ii-596} of the Ballymena Observer] complained of a slight indisposition; but being very averse always to the attendance of a doctor, he desired me to see that some cooling drink was left in his bedroom, and that we should all retire as usual. I occupied a room on the floor above him, and after seeing that everything necessary was

    left on his dressing-table, and everything comfortable and as he wished, I, at his urgent request, went to bed, and being particularly fatigued fell into a deep sleep; in which state I became acutely conscious of the condition I had left my husband in, and mindful of my own secret resolve to visit him during the night and see if he had taken his drink or if he slept, &c., though I had studiously avoided telling him so, lest he should think I was making a fuss. I was quite conscious of all this in that peculiar way we see and know during sleep. I also seemed to know I was in a deep sleep, and I longed to burst my bonds and carry out my intention. Simultaneously with this wish, I now became aware of my husband’s presence at the door of my room, then of his presence filling the chamber and slowly and solemnly crossing to the bed where I lay. In that flash of conscious thought which made me aware of this, I thought he must be very ill and come to reprove me for this torpor of sleep that still so enchained me that I couldn’t speak to him, though longing with all my heart and soul to do so. This all, swift as thought, passed while he seemed to bend over me as if to find did I sleep; then with the same slow, solemn presence filling the room, again he passed away. Then, with one shrill cry, I burst the suffocating bonds that held me, and my maid, who slept in the next room, was beside me at once. She asked, was I frightened? I said not at all, but to follow me to her master’s room; that I had intended seeing to him through the night, but had fallen fast asleep and neglected to do so.

    “When I cautiously entered his room, the maid behind me, I found him awake and a keen, almost reproachful look on his face. I dismissed the maid, and then explained what a heavy sleep I had just awoke from, which had prevented me coming sooner, &c. ‘Will you tell me,’ he now inquired, ‘what object you have in trying to conceal from me that you were here a few moments ago?’ I then fell on my knees, and assured him that I had not risen from my bed until this present moment, and that it was owing to a strange, silent, and secret visit from him that so disturbed and alarmed me, that I was there now. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘something like this happened to me before, but this is the most remarkable experience of all—because happening to each of us at the same time.’ He then narrated how, a few minutes before, I had stolen, as it were, up to his side, arranged the clothes, kissed him on brow and cheek, and then glided away; that my visit had a soothing effect, and that he was consequently irritated at my appearing to forget it, when I came the second time.”

    [In conversation, Mrs. White particularly described to me the sense of entrance and of the movement of the presence. There was light enough for her to have seen any visible figure, but she saw nothing. She also described the effect upon herself, before she reached his room, as very overpowering, depriving her of the power of speech. Her vivâ voce account agreed in every detail with the above account which had been written about a year previously; and she gave me an impression of accuracy. As an instance of her unwillingness to believe marvels, she told me how incredulous she {ii-597} had been as to the genuineness of experiments in hypnotism which her husband used sometimes to carry out.]

    I will conclude this chapter with two cases which, as reported, seem to have been collective as well as reciprocal.

    (645) From Mrs. T., who does not wish her name to be published. The account was written in January, 1879.

    “I have myself had an exceedingly interesting experience of the apparition of the living, viz., my own appearance at the supposed deathbed of my sister, when we were 3,000 miles apart. She was attended on this particular night by another sister, who distinctly saw me go into the room, and lean over my darling young sister. The latter was too ill to speak, but she whispered, ‘Mary is here; now I am happy.’ I ought to mention that my elder sister is not given to vision, and is, indeed, a very practical, matter-of-fact person; but she has always declared that she saw me from my knees up,1 1 See p. 33, note. and that the very dress was plain to her, too.

    “At this time I was just recovering from my confinement with my son, who is nearly 17. He was between four and five weeks old, when, one night, I fell asleep thinking how much I should like to see this sister. I knew of her illness, and that she was not likely to recover, and of her intense desire to see me. Between us the most tender attachment had always existed, and it was thought that her illness was much increased through her grief at our separation.

    “On the night referred to, I had a most vivid dream of seeing her, in a bed not in her own room, and of seeing my other sister in attendance. I leaned over her and said, as I thought, ‘Emma, you will recover.’ I told my husband that I had been home when I woke, and my impression that she would recover. This dream comforted me very much, and from this night there was a change for the better in my sister, and she gradually recovered from what was supposed to be an incurable illness. When we came to compare dates, we found that my dream, and my appearance to my two sisters, occurred at as nearly as possible the same time. I was so life-like to my younger sister that she thought I had really arrived on a visit; but, as I said before, to my eldest sister I was shadowy below my knees, but perfectly natural in appearance. She afterwards remembered that I did not notice her as I passed into the inner room, although in my dream I saw her, nor did I seem to see anything but the one object of my love.”

    Mrs. T. wrote to us, on Oct. 3, 1883:—

    “Neither of my sisters wrote me, but a member of the family to whom the occurrence was told on the following morning. Unfortunately I have not kept this letter, and cannot date the time, except from my son’s birth, which took place on the 4th March, 1862. I changed my bed, still keeping the same room, when he was a month old, and it was within a night or two of making this change that I had my dream. When the letter came, which was like a repetition of my dream, I went back in my mind to the time (not more than three weeks before), and was myself satisfied that the times were coincident. It was nearly 10 years after, {ii-598} before I had an opportunity of talking with my sister of the occurrence, which was only one of several very startling things connected with my younger sister’s illness, and I found we agreed in all substantial things. I found them both disinclined to talk of what had happened during Emma’s illness, and, indeed, their memory of all the circumstances of my manifestation was less clear than mine.”

    Mrs. T. is unable to communicate with her family respecting this case, as they all have an extreme dislike to the subject. In conversation, she explained that she had left America about nine months at the time of this vision, and that her sister recognised her as wearing a print dress of a very decided blue, which she had left behind her in America.

    She has further answered the following questions:—

    Did Mrs. T. dream of herself as in the blue dress?

    “I cannot now remember. My impression is that I did not recollect my dress on waking.”

    Had the sisters ever seen the blue dress?

    “Yes. I had worn the dress in the morning during the previous early summer time.”1 1 See Vol. i., pp. 540–6, and 569–70. The dress, it will be seen, was one which the sisters in America would be specially likely to associate with Mrs. T.’s aspect, since she had worn it a good deal when she was last with them; while there is no reason to suppose that it had any prominence in her memory.

    Was the invalid sister really in a room not her own? And if so was its arrangement, “inner room,” &c., really represented in the dream?

    “My sister was not in her own room, but in a room on the ground floor (an inner room), exactly as I had seen her in my dream.”2 2 Compare case 465.

    Had Mrs. T. ever seen the room before?

    “Yes.”

    Mr. T. cannot remember any of his wife’s experiences in detail; he says:—

    “I am unable to recall the particular circumstance to which you refer. This may be due to the fact that for several years previous to, and since, the date referred to, my wife has related to me numerous remarkable incidents in her experiences, together with their subsequent verification.

    “W. T.”

    [It is unfortunate that the evidence here is second-hand from the side on which the more striking experience occurred. If that experience is correctly recorded, the fact that two percipients shared in it is a strong indication that it was telepathically produced. The proof of the reciprocality of the case depends greatly on the detail in the dream as to the changed room, on which it is impossible entirely to rely, in the absence of a written note made before the actual fact was known.]

    (646) From Mr. J. Cotter Morison, 30, Fitzjohn’s Avenue, N.W.

    “June 18th, 1883.

    “My mother and grandmother were together in the dining-room of their house in the Isle of Wight, occupied on some domestic matter which made the exclusion of chance visitors desirable. A sudden knock at the door caused my grandmother to hasten to it with a view to taking the {ii-599} stranger into the drawing-room. The knock was heard by both mother and daughter. On opening the door with the least loss of time possible, my grandmother was surprised to find not only no one there but no one even in the long corridor which led to the dining-room. My mother distinctly remembered the look of astonishment in her mother’s face as she returned from the door. Nothing more was said on the subject, but in a short time afterwards a letter was received from London from my grandmother’s sister, or rather her family, saying that she (the sister) had been most seriously ill, at death’s door indeed, but was now a little better, and wished my grandmother to come and see her. The latter went up to town and found her sister still very ill, but slowly recovering. After the mutual endearments natural to such an occasion, my grandmother said:—

    “Do you know, such a strange thing occurred, exactly at the time, it seems, when you were supposed to be dead or dying.’

    “‘I know what you are going to say,’ said the other. ‘When I was in the trance which was mistaken for death, I thought I went to your house in the Isle of Wight and knocked at your dining-room door. You opened it instantly and looked much affrighted at not seeing me or any one, though I saw you.’

    “The singular point in the story is the anticipation by the one sister of what the other sister was going to say.

    “No theory or inference was ever deduced by my relations from the circumstance, and it was only mentioned as an odd coincidence by them and their friends, who, as well as my mother, have often told me the story.

    “JAS. COTTER MORISON.”

    Mr. Morison writes of his grandmother:—

    “She was a person of a strong understanding, as I have often heard from people who knew her personally. She had an aversion to what she called superstition, belief in ghosts, &c.; so the facts of the story were unwelcome to her rather than otherwise.”

    Though the sound here seems to have corresponded with a distinct impression of the agent’s, there is no conclusive proof of reciprocality, as her sense of visiting her relatives’ house may have been purely subjective. At the same time, the idea of knocking at a door and having it opened, yet being oneself invisible to the person who opens it, appears so unlikely a one to occur even to a dreaming mind, that the hypothesis of telepathic clairvoyance on the agent’s part seems (as the facts stand) eminently defensible. It must be noted, however, that the description of this side of the occurrence comes to us at third hand.

    {ii-600}

    CHAPTER IX.

    COLLECTIVE CASES.

    § 1. OF the collective crises which remain to be presented, the large majority, like the cases in Chap. XVIII. above, are waking affections of sight and hearing. I will begin, however, with three outlying instances, of which the first had no sensory element at all, the second is a dream-case, and the third concerned the sense of touch only. They agree in the fact that the two percipients were not in each other’s company at the time of the experience (see Chap. XVIII., § 2).

    (647) From Mr. Charles Ede, Wonersh Lodge, Guildford, a medical man, to whom the incident was related by both the percipients. The account was sent to Professor Barrett on Aug. 29, 1877.

    “Lady G. and her sister had been spending the evening with their mother, who was in her usual health and spirits when they left her. In the middle of the night the sister awoke in a fright, and said to her husband, ‘I must go to my mother at once; do order the carriage. I am sure she is taken ill.’ The husband, after trying in vain to convince his wife that it was only a fancy, ordered the carriage. As she was approaching her mother’s house, where two roads meet, she saw Lady G.’s carriage. When they met, each asked the other why she was there. The same reply was made by both. ‘I could not sleep, feeling sure my mother was ill, and so I came to see.’ As they came in sight of the house, they saw their mother’s confidential maid at the door, who told them, when they arrived, that their mother had been taken suddenly ill, and was dying, and had expressed an earnest wish to see her daughters.

    “The foregoing incident was told me as a simple narrative of what happened, both by Lady G. and her sister. The mother was a lady of strong will, and always had great influence over her daughters.

    “CHARLES EDE.”

    Writing on June 25, 1884, Mr. Ede says, “Both Lady G. and her sister are dead, although at the time of my writing the account the former was living.” He cannot fix the date of the occurrence. He communicated the names in confidence.

    (648) From Mr. R. S. Pengelly, 33, Ingestre Road, Stafford, who first published the narrative in a magazine. On Feb. 26, 1884, he wrote to us to confirm it, and to supply the names of the parties.

    {ii-601}

    Mr. Pengelly narrates that, some time in the years 1863–1866, his father, then unmarried, went on a voyage to Colombo as mate of the ‘Adela,’ belonging to Messrs. Cobbold and Co., of Ipswich. Some weeks after his departure, his fiancée, Anne Symons, who had been looking out for a letter from him, had a vivid dream of an Eastern seaport. Lying to the left of the picture she was startled to see a vessel, which she instantly recognised as the ‘Adela,’ of which her father was captain, and which she knew well. There on deck were several Orientals, lightly clad, at work, and by their side was James Pengelly. Suddenly she saw him walk a step forward, and the next moment he was struggling in the waters. She was in agony, but strange to say, the excitement did not at once awake her, and she saw him throw up his hands and sink, and he appeared no more. At this point she awoke, deeply impressed with the realistic nature of her vision. Strange to relate, however, the next night she went through the same series of mental tortures, her lover fell, struggled wildly, but was drowned. When she arose that morning, she confided her dreams, and the anxieties they had aroused in her breast, to her aunt.

    “Several days later, Anne received a letter from her lover’s mother, who, it happened, was also her aunt, and who, with her husband, lived about 130 miles away, in another part of the country. The letter, to her intense surprise, asked whether any news had been received of the arrival of the ‘Adela’ at Colombo, the writer giving as a reason for her solicitude for her son a dream which she had had a few days before (giving the date). She also had dreamed on two consecutive nights that she had seen her son fall overboard and rise no more, and so powerfully had she been affected by the visions that after the repetition she had the next morning written the letter received. The days upon which Mrs. Pengelly had dreamt of her son’s death were the very ones upon which Anne herself had been so agitated. They could only wait and pray, and after some weeks their anxiety was relieved, and their prayers rewarded, by the receipt of a letter from James, announcing his arrival at Colombo a few days before the date of the letter, after a long and tempestuous passage. He went on to tell, to Anne’s great astonishment, how narrow an escape he had recently had from drowning. ‘The day after our arrival,’ he wrote, ‘I was standing on a plank from the hatchway to the bulwarks, watching the coolies discharging her. While so standing I almost unconsciously stepped forward, and the plank, one end of which was resting on the bulwarks, at once tipped up, and I was in the water. Being unable to swim, my danger was great, and I had sunk once before the boatswain with a boathook caught me, and held me up till they brought the boat around.’ Most

    wonderful to relate, a comparison of dates showed Anne that it was on the very day of her first dream that her lover’s life was so nearly lost, and his mother was no less surprised than Anne. However, ‘all’s well that ends well.’ James came home, and he and his cousin were married.”

    Mrs. Pengelly, the mother of James Pengelly, writes:—

    “10, Gloucester Place, Littlehampton.

    “April 19th, 1886.

    “I am sorry to say I cannot remember the exact date of the dream, only that, as near as I can recollect, it was in or near 1864. My son was {ii-602} then mate in the ‘Adela,’ the ship of his uncle, whose daughter he afterwards married. She dreamt, one night, that her cousin was climbing from a boat into the ship, when he slipped his foot and fell in under the ship; when they took him up, he was nearly dead. She wrote to tell me her dream, and by that I found she had dreamt the same dream the same night as I had. When my son came home, upon questioning him, I found that he had fallen into the water at Colombo, and, as near as he could tell, the same day as I dreamt he did. My daughter-in-law, I am sorry to say, is now dead; if she were living she would be able to tell you more particulars.

    “E. PENGELLY.”

    [Mr. Pengelly justly draws attention to the fact that a dream due to apprehensions of danger and disaster would not be very likely to take the form of “drowning in a quiet harbour”; but the amount of detail in his narrative is more than can be safely relied on, in the absence of written notes. It will be seen that Mrs. Pengelly senior’s account of her daughter-in-law’s dream does not exactly agree with Mr. Pengelly’s. Mr. Pengelly kindly tried to obtain for us an account of the accident from his father, but found that “he, a plain sea-captain, had little recollection of what happened 20 years ago, during his absence.”]

    (649) From the papers of the late Psychological Society. The original document is in the handwriting of the late Mr. Serjeant Cox. No names are given, and the MS. bears no date.

    “The following remarkable case is taken from the lips of the parties to whom it occurred, and for whose veracity I can vouch.

    “J. P., wife of Colonel P., says: ‘In July, 1871, I was at Weymouth, sleeping with my daughter. I was wakened in the night by a cold kiss upon my lips. I concluded that my daughter had kissed me, and wondered much why her lips were so corpse-like. I fell asleep again, and on the following morning, on awaking, I asked my daughter why she had kissed me, and what made her lips so cold. She said that she had not done so. Soon after this conversation a messenger arrived to say that my mother, who was in another house in Weymouth, was very ill, and requested my immediate attendance. I had left her on the previous evening in perfect health, so that I had no sense of alarm for her to account for a mental impression. I found her seriously ill, and she died in three weeks.

    “‘Two days before her death, I received a letter from my sister, Mrs. C., who was on a voyage to America, written from the ship, then off Halifax, dated the day after the night on which I had felt the cold kiss, in which she said, “I am sure there is something wrong with mother; she is either dead or ill; for last night I felt a cold kiss on my lips, as I lay in my berth.” As far as we could afterwards trace, this had occurred to both of us almost at the same moment. My mother and sister had been extremely attached. They were then parted for the first time.’

    “This narrative of Mrs. P. was confirmed to me by her daughter, who was sleeping with her on the night in question, to whom she had made the inquiry why she had kissed her, and what had made her lips so cold.

    “EDW. W. COX.”

    [If this record is accurate, and the coincidence was more than a very curious accident, there still would be a doubt as to the agency. It seems so improbable that hallucinations, originating in a telepathic impulse {ii-603} from the mother, should independently take the same very rare form in each daughter’s experience, that I should certainly prefer to suppose one of these experiences to have been in some measure the source of the other. It is eminently a case where it is difficult to derive the form of the impression from the original agent’s (the mother’s) mind, as even if she thought of kissing her daughters, she would not think of the kisses as cold or corpse-like. See Vol. I., pp. 539–40.]

    § 2. To pass now to the visual examples—I will first cite cases where there is ground for supposing the hallucination, in its inception, to have been more than subjective, and due to the unusual condition of an absent person. And in accordance with the order adopted before, in Chap. XVIII., I will begin with the few remaining cases where the percipients were not in each other’s company at the time of their experience.

    (650) From Mrs. Forsyth Hunter, the narrator of cases 553 and 554.

    “1882.

    Mrs. Hunter’s husband had had a Scotch wet-nurse of the old-fashioned sort, more devoted to him than even to her own children. Soon after her marriage, Mrs. Hunter made acquaintance with this nurse, Mrs. Macfarlane, who paid her several visits during Mr. Hunter’s absence in India. In June, 1857, Mrs. Hunter, who was travelling to a health-resort, confided to Mrs. Macfarlane’s keeping a box of valuables. One evening in the following August, Mrs. Hunter was entertaining some friends; but having occasion to return to the dining-room for a moment, she passed the open door of her bedroom, and felt irresistibly impelled to look in; and there on the bed was a large coffin,11 As usual, the form of the hallucination can be paralleled in the purely subjective class; see Vol. i., p. 503. and sitting at the foot of it was a tall old woman steadfastly regarding it. “Returning to my friends, I announced the vision, which was received with shouts of laughter, in which, after a time, I joined. However, I had seen what I have described, and, moreover, could have told the very dress the old woman wore.

    “When my friends left, and I had paid my usual last visit to the nursery, my nurse looked odd and distraite,distressed and to my astonishment followed me on to the landing. ‘O ma’am,’ she began, ‘I feel so queer, such a strange thing happened. At 7 o’clock I went to the kitchen for hot water, and when I came out I saw a tall old woman coming downstairs, and I stopped to let her pass, but, ma’am, there was something strange about her, so I turned to look after her. The hall door was wide open, and she was making for it, when in a moment she melted away. I can swear I saw her, and can tell you her very dress, a big, black poke bonnet and a checked black-and-white shawl.’” This description of the dress exactly corresponded with what Mrs. Hunter had herself seen.

    Mrs. Hunter laughed the matter off, and did not even think of connecting her own vision with the nurse’s. About half an hour afterwards, when in bed, she heard a piercing scream from her little daughter, aged 5, followed by loud, frightened tones, and she then heard the nurse {ii-604} soothing the child, “Next morning little E. was full of her wrongs. She said that ‘a naughty old woman was sitting at the table and staring at her, and that made her scream.’ Nurse told me that she found the child wide awake, sitting up in bed, pointing to the table, and crying out, ‘Go away, go away, naughty old woman!’ There was no one there. Nurse had been in bed some time, and the door was locked.

    “My child’s vision I treated as I did her nurse’s, and dosed both. However, a day or two afterwards, I received a letter from Mrs. Macfarlane’s son, announcing her death, and telling me how her last hours were disturbed by anxiety for my husband and his family. My nurse, on being told the news, exclaimed, ‘Good Lord, it was her I saw that night, and her very dress!’ I never ascertained the exact hour of her death. My letter of inquiry and condolence was never answered, though my box was duly sent to me.”

    Mrs. Hunter writes to us that, after reading this account in the Fortnightly Review (where it was first published), the “little E.” of the story wrote to her, “I well remember my part of that story.” Mrs. Hunter adds, “I can truly say that she had never been spoken to about it all these years.”

    We find from the obituary of the Glasgow Herald that Mrs. Macfarlane died on August 31, 1857.

    (651) From the late Mr. B. Coleman, who wrote as follows to the Editor of the Spiritual Magazine:

    “48, Pembridge Villas, Bayswater.

    “January 14th, 1861.

    “I was recently staying at the Victoria Hotel, Southport, kept by Mr. Salthouse, an old and respectable inhabitant of that town. [I learnt that] Mr. Salthouse was a firm believer in apparitions, founded on an incident which occurred in his own family. I accordingly asked Mr. Salthouse to tell me the particulars, and he related the following story:—

    “‘Some years ago my eldest son, Thomas, shipped as a sailor on a voyage to India. After he had been absent a month or two, I was surprised one summer morning to see him standing by my bedside in his sailor’s dress. I extended my hand to greet him, and inquired the cause of his unexpected return. The figure remained for an instant mute and immoveable, and vanished from my sight.

    “‘Excited and perplexed by this unlooked-for incident, I rose and prepared to make my usual visit to my farm, which is two miles distant from Southport, reasoning myself into the belief that I had been under a delusion. On reaching the farm my servant, William Ball, who still resides there, asked me if Master Tom had returned home. I said, “No; why do you ask?” “Well,” he said, “I certainly saw him cross the farmyard early this morning. I ran to open the gate and could not see where he had gone, but I am as sure as I live that I saw him in his sailor’s dress.” This statement corroborating my own experience of the morning, I made sure that some disaster had befallen my son, and in due time this proved to be the case. He had died that very day and hour, of dysentery, on board ship, before reaching Bombay.’

    “BENJAMIN COLEMAN.”

    {ii-605}

    A son of Mr. Salthouse, to whom we sent the account, writes to us as follows:—

    “91, Railway Street, Southport.

    “June 12th, 1884.

    “From what I can remember I believe the account is correct. I showed this paper to my brother-in-law, and he told me that my father always said so.11The form of expression here would convey the idea that Mr. J. Salthouse had not himself heard of the incident from his father. But in conversation I learnt from him that he had heard his father mention it several times, in a manner which showed him to have been much impressed by it. I have heard Ball [now deceased] tell the tale many times.

    “JOHN SALTHOUSE.”

    Later, Mr. Salthouse writes to us that he finds that Mr. Thomas Salthouse’s ship left Liverpool on June 3, 1846, and that he was taken ill between Bombay and Hong Kong, on Nov. 23. We learn from the General Register of Shipping and Seamen that he served as third mate on the ship “Inglewood,” of Liverpool, from June 3 to Dec. 13, 1846, on which latter date he died at sea. The words “summer morning” and “before reaching Bombay” in the above account are therefore incorrect.

    The following case is a sort of comedy of errors. Only two of the four hallucinations which it includes represented the absent agent; as to the two which did not, I shall hazard no further supposition than that their coincidence with the others was not accidental.

    (652) From Mrs. Fagan, Bovey Tracey, Newton Abbot, the narrator of case 617.

    “1883.

    “Captain Robert Fagan, late of the Bengal Artillery, while in charge of the bridge of boats at Lahore, was in the district on the river collecting boats. One morning, during his absence from home, his eldest boy, of about 6 years old, seeing his mother just dressed for breakfast in a coloured muslin, begged her to take it off and put on a black dress, saying, ‘Because papa is dead.’ The mother, after diverting his thoughts for a short time, said, ‘Shall I put on a black dress now, Charlie?’ ‘Oh, no,’ he answered, ‘papa is not dead now,’ and ran away.

    “On leaving her room, she was met by the head nurse, a Scotch-woman, with the inquiry if she had heard from the master that morning. When told his usual letter had not come, she said, ‘something very uncanny has happened to him, for looking out of the window just now, I saw Annie, the under-nurse, and the gardener go up to master’s favourite rosetree and gather a flower, and before she could have got in from the garden, I found her in the night nursery, which she had never left, finishing bathing the children.’

    “Not thinking much of this, Mrs. Fagan passed on to the breakfast-room, where she expected to find her visitors, Captain and Mrs. Reveley. Not doing so, she went to Mrs. R.’s room, whom she found still at her toilet, for which unpunctuality Mrs. R. apologised, saying she had had a dreadful fright, having seen Mrs. Fagan standing in front of the chest of drawers, who, when asked how she had come unobserved into the room, turned round and then deliberately vanished through the chest of drawers and the door behind it.22 See Vol. i., p. 432, note. The present case is not one of those there referred to.

    {ii-606}

    “This third strange remark led Mrs. Fagan to relate all three at the breakfast-table to Captain Reveley. She could not help observing how unlike his usual manner was his brusqueness in cutting short the conversation, as soon as he had heard all particulars. Five days passed without any information—private or official—from Captain Fagan; but at the end of that time he arrived home looking ill, and saying that, on the morning of which we have been speaking, he was with difficulty resuscitated from drowning, the boat in which he was having capsized. This was naturally taken as the solution of the mystery. Captain Reveley, turning to Mrs. Fagan, said, ‘I must apologise for my brusqueness of manner that morning, but I feared to alarm you by seeming to attach any importance to what had happened, and lest I should be induced to tell you of the greater fright I had myself had than any of you. For, Fagan,’ addressing the Captain, ‘as I passed from your office, where I had been reading with the Moonshee, and going through the drawing-room, I distinctly saw you sitting in your usual chair.’”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Fagan adds:—

    “As to the story of those who saw my husband and me and had impressions that he was in danger, it is now so long ago that my son could hardly remember it. Captain Reveley, of the Bengal Infantry, who saw him, his wife, who saw me, and the two women, the Scotchwoman, by name Ann Kenny, and the Irishwoman, by name Annie Robertson, both then wives of privates in the Bengal Artillery, I fear, could hardly be traced as witnesses; but I give you their names.

    “It occurred at Anarkullie, Lahore, Punjaub, about the year 1850.” In conversation with Mrs. Fagan, Professor Sidgwick learnt that Mrs. Reveley did not connect the apparition of Mrs. Fagan with Captain Fagan. Mrs. Reveley, who is now living near Montreal, has been lately applied to for an independent account; but no answer has been received up to the time of going to press.

    (653) From Mrs. Heckford, 6, The Crescent, Minories, E.

    “1884.

    “When I was a child 6 years old, my mother died after a short illness, in Germany, and one of her two unmarried sisters came from Ireland to take charge of my two elder sisters and of me, leaving my other aunt in the country house which had for years been their home. Within a few days of a year from the death of my mother, my eldest sister, a remarkably healthy child, died of scarlatina, also in Germany. When I was a girl in my teens, my surviving sister and I were one day talking about apparitions, in the spirit of absolute disbelief in such appearances which had been carefully fostered by those who educated us, including my aunt; when, somewhat to my astonishment, she recounted to us the following story.

    “One night, she said, about the time of my mother’s death, she had retired to rest, but was not asleep, when suddenly she saw the figure of my mother, attired in her usual white dressing-gown, sitting at the foot of her bed and gazing steadfastly at her. My aunt said that she was aware that, owing to the fact of my mother being delicate, and no letter having arrived very lately from Germany, she was anxious about her, and {ii-607} that hence, on seeing the figure, she decided that it was the result of some mental disorder, and resolutely closed her eyes so as to avoid any further delusion. After keeping them shut for some time, she re-opened them, and found that the figure had disappeared. She said that having a horror of encouraging superstitious fancies, she took no note of the day or hour, and having resolved not to tell the sister who then lived with her, so as not to excite or frighten her, had never broken her resolution. She admitted, however, that when she heard of my mother’s death a short time after, it struck her that the coincidence was remarkable.

    “Many years after this conversation, when my aunt had passed away, and we two girls were living with her sister, the conversation turned upon ‘ghosts.’ The company consisted of my Aunt S., her adopted daughter (a cousin of ours), and myself. After remarking that she did not believe in ghosts, my Aunt S. told us she would recount to us a very remarkable experience she had once had. She said that one night, about the time of my mother’s death, she had retired to rest, but was not asleep, when suddenly she saw my mother, in her usual white dressing-gown, sitting at the foot of her bed; that she said to the figure, ‘Oh, M., how are you?’ (or words to that effect) and that the figure replied, ‘Quite well, but I shall come back for Jane.’11 As to the interchange of remarks, see p. 460, second note. The figure then disappeared. My Aunt S. said that she resolved not to tell her sister, for fear of exciting her, and that she had taken no note of the day or hour, not wishing to encourage a superstitious feeling; but that on hearing of my mother’s death, she had been struck by the strangeness of the coincidence. Even then, she said, the words regarding my sister Jane appeared unmeaning, but were startlingly explained when the child soon followed her mother.

    “My Aunt S. never recounted this experience to her sister, who thus passed away in ignorance of the phenomenon of a double apparition. Years passed without any allusion to these singular recitals between my sister, my cousin, and myself; we were thoroughly incredulous of the possibility of ‘ghosts’ in general when we heard them, and Spiritualism was to us, for long afterwards, a subject merely for mirth; neither does either my sister or my cousin profess a belief in Spiritualism now; yet they are both ready to attest the truth of my version of a story, the principal witnesses to the veracity of which have passed beyond the reach of inquiry.

    “SARAH HECKFORD.

    “A. GOFF [her sister, of 22, Palace Road, Upper Norwood].

    “S. C. ELAND [her cousin].”

    Mrs. Goff tells us that the occurrence took place at Christmas, 1845. Her impression had been that the words heard were in answer to a direct question of her aunt about the children.

    § 3. In the following far larger group the percipients were together.

    (654) From Professor J. E. Carpenter, Leathes House, Fitzjohn’s Avenue, N.W., an Associate of the S.P.R.

    “April 6th 1884.

    “I do not know that my story is likely to be very satisfactory to you {ii-608} because I am unable to give precise dates, and have no means of access to any memorandum made at the time. It is possible that an account which I wrote soon after the occurrence may be preserved [see below], and if you should desire further particulars I may be able to procure them for you.

    “The manifestation took place in the early summer of 1868 or 1869, but I cannot now recall which. I lived then in lodgings in Clifton. The mistress of the house was a nervous, highly excitable woman, lame, having one leg shorter than the other. One morning, after breakfast, she appeared much excited, and then informed me that the evening before she had seen a ghost. The circumstances, as far as I recollect, were these. Miss Reed (the landlady) was standing about 7.30 in the kitchen (lighted by a window opening into a small area), in front of the kitchen fire. The maidservant was standing at the table with her back to the window, peeling some onions for my fellow-lodger’s supper. Suddenly, Miss Reed said to the girl, ‘Oh, Eliza, what’s that? The girl replied, ‘Please’m, I saw a man go round the table and out through the door.’ Just then the street-door bell rang. The kitchen door was closed, and had not been opened. The girl’s statement expressed exactly what Miss Reed herself had seen. When the bell rang the girl exclaimed, ‘Please, miss, I’m so frightened, I daren’t go upstairs.’ The landlady went up, and on coming down again questioned the girl about the figure. They had both seen only the upper part, above the edge of the table, and it was naked. I asked Miss Reed if it resembled anyone she knew. ‘I should have said it was like my uncle,’ she answered, ‘but he is a very stout man, and this was very thin.’ She then detailed to me another curious incident in her own life, of which I have now forgotten the particulars; but I got the impression that she was too excited to give me precise facts about remote events, though her story about the night before was quite coherent and distinct.

    “The sequel was curious. Either that day, or very shortly afterwards, she was telegraphed for to go to her uncle, who was dangerously ill and had been repeatedly calling for her. At the time of the manifestation she had no idea that he was in any but his usual health. He lived, I think, at Berkeley, in Gloucestershire. She went immediately, and on her return a few days after told me what a shock she had felt, on going into the sick room, at seeing her uncle reduced to the attenuated form of the man who had presented himself in the kitchen.1 1 See Vol. i., pp. 554–6.

    “I have been sorry since that I did not separately question the servant, but I had reason to think her so little sensible that it did not seem worth while. It was only after Miss Reed’s return from her uncle’s sick bed that the incident seemed to have any importance.

    “J. ESTLIN CARPENTER.”

    In a subsequent letter, Professor Carpenter says:—

    “Unfortunately no letter can be found with any account of the actual incident. All that has been discovered I have transcribed on the opposite page. The details I had quite forgotten. The passage does not say that Miss Reed went to her uncle’s house, but I feel sure that she was summoned {ii-609} thither; indeed, the particulars here recorded could hardly have been learned by her anywhere else. I fear this is a lame and impotent conclusion.

    [Copy.]

    “’Clifton, March 12th, 1869.

    … “‘I send you the sequel of my ghost story—if it is to be considered as a sequel at all. I don’t know whether I told you that I asked Miss R. if her ghostly visitor resembled anyone she knew, and she said the only one she could think of whom he was like was her uncle, but he was stout and the appearance was thin. At the end of last week she heard, unexpectedly, that her uncle a few weeks before had been taken seriously ill, that he had been exceedingly reduced, and that he was then lying at death’s door. (To-day I hear that he is dead.) Further, some small property that he had he had formerly left to Miss Reed. Some little while ago, however, an aunt of Miss R.’s came to ‘take care of him,’ and induced him to alter his will in her favour, at any rate so far as life interest was concerned. When he fell ill, he became much agitated at the injustice he thought he had done Miss R., and expressed himself with strong self-accusation, though, like many weak people, he put off a second alteration from day to day. Whether one of these fits of distress took place at the time of the so-called appearance, and there was really any connection between them, cannot now be traced, and the story must be left with its possibilities unsolved.’

    “P.S.—Miss Reed gave up her house some 10 years ago or more. She was afterwards reduced to considerable distress by sickness, &c. I have certainly heard nothing of her for 8 years, and have quite lost all trace of her.”

    (655) From Mrs. Mainwaring, of Knowles, Ardingly, Hayward’s Heath, (the narrator of case 370,) who sent us a less detailed account in August, 1884.

    “March 14th, 1885.

    “My aunt, Margaret Saulez, and my mother, then Mary Saulez, slept together; and the rules of the house were strict. One most forbidden thing was noise in bedrooms, or talking after going to bed. But the two young girls one night went on chattering and laughing after they were in bed, and suddenly the door opened and my grandmother came in. She just came and looked at them sorrowfully, as if she was vexed, and without speaking left the room. I do not remember, at this moment, whether they spoke to her then; however, they felt so grieved at her look and silence that they both jumped out of bed and followed her quickly to her door, but found it locked, and she would not answer—as they thought—when they begged her to forgive them. My grandfather woke, and found her by his side in a deep swoon.11 See Vol. i., pp. 230–1 and 563, note. They sent for the doctor,

    and he said that he was only just in time to save her life, as she had evidently been in that state some time; and a few hours after a child was born.

    “This is the story familiar to me from my mother’s lips since my childhood, and I am as sure of its truth as one can be of anything one does not know oneself. The elder sister, my aunt, died soon after.

    “E. L. MAINWARING.”

    {ii-610}

    [Special circumstances, which Mrs. Mainwaring has explained to us, prevent our applying to her mother for a first-hand account.]

    (656) Received through the kindness of the Rev. Prebendary Sadler, Rector of Honiton. The ladies concerned in the case were his great-aunt and her daughter (who died in April, 1885). Writing in 1883, Mr. Sadler says, “I took the story from Miss F——n’s own lips, questioning her closely upon it. She is as clear and fresh in mind as myself. She has a very accurate and retentive memory. I cannot say when I first heard the account—very many years ago.” In April, 1884, he added that the account was taken down in writing “several years since.”

    “In the year 1819, Mrs. S——r and [her daughter] Miss F——n were going into Leeds, down St. Peter’s Hill, when Mrs. S——r suddenly stopped, and pointed out to Miss F——n a man on horseback, riding quickly, a little way before them, up the hill. She exclaimed, ‘There is Jonah S.! How strange he looks! He looks like a corpse. Ah, to think of his riding out now, when we heard yesterday that he was dying of fever!’ The man then passed them on horseback without noticing them, though he was well acquainted with them. They stood still, and looked at him as he passed. His eyes looked fixed, as if, though open, they were not looking at anything. He was riding quickly. They followed him with their eyes, till they lost him at the turn of the hill some little way behind them. He had on a light-coloured drab greatcoat, which he usually wore. Miss F——n thinks that he had no hat on, but is not perfectly sure about that. They did not see him till he was nearly up to them.

    “They went into the town to Mr. S——r’s warehouse. Mr. S——r met them at the door, and before they could say anything to him, said,’ I have just heard that Jonah S. died at 2 o’clock to-day.’ Mrs. S——r looked at her watch, and calculated that it was just at that time they saw him pass.”

    We requested the parish clerk at Leeds to search for the date of the death; he wrote back implying that he had done so, but refused to send the result except in combination with other information, offered on terms which, though not unreasonable from his point of view, we could not accept.

    [The case is too remote for reliance to be placed on details; but the fact (if correctly remembered) that the ladies were astonished at seeing this particular person out riding, tells against the hypothesis of mistaken identity, in so far as it implies that they gave him more than a hasty glance.]

    (657) From Mr. Leonard E. Thomas, Derrie Downs, St. Mary Cray.

    “December 17th, 1883.

    “A landlady of mine, Mrs. R., with whom I lived for years, and who was one of the kindest of women—a thoroughly God-fearing woman, who, I firmly believe, would scorn to invent or concoct any tale—related to me, among other very peculiar experiences, the following:—

    “She was a little girl of about 11 years, when her grandfather, who lived a few streets away from them, was taken ill (I believe she said with scarlet fever), and she was not allowed to go near the house. One afternoon her grandfather (who was very fond of the child) wished to see her {ii-611} very much, and she was taken to him. That night she was lying by her mother’s side in bed, and the door stood ajar with a light on the landing. She was lying awake, when she heard the pat, pat, peculiar to a naked foot, ascending the stairs. The form of her grandfather entered the room, advanced to the bed, drew the curtain, and looked at them, and was gone. She was trembling violently, and clung to her mother, who had seen it too, and who said, ‘Hush, child! it is only your grandfather.’ Her mother then got up and struck a light, and dressed, saying, ‘I fear something must have happened to your grandfather; I had better go round and see.’ But the child begged her not to, as she would be frightened to death. They waited, and about three-quarters of an hour afterwards a messenger came round to bear the news of her grandfather’s death, which had taken place at that precise time.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Thomas adds:—

    “I found out the present address of Mrs. R., and wrote to her, asking her to be good enough to write me out an account of what she had once related to me, at the same time stating for what purpose I wished it. I extract from her reply that part of it which refers to the subject, and which runs as follows:—

    “‘I do not care in any way to enter into such matters. What I told you, to the best of my knowledge, is true, but undoubtedly the impression then made has been deepened by hearing mother speak of it; and I always think such things that we cannot account for in any way or understand are best let alone.’”

    [Details again cannot be relied on, the narrator having been so young at the time. But the fact of the mother’s subsequent references to the incident favours the supposition that she herself shared the experience, and that it was not a mere frightened dream of the child’s.]

    (658) From Mrs. Spenser (mentioned above, p. 575). The account was copied for us by Mrs. Saxby, of Mount Elton, Clevedon, from a private letter.

    “97, Railway Street, Southport.

    “September 1st, 1871.

    “My sister Elizabeth had a young friend staying with her, who shared the same bed. They had ceased chatting, and were preparing for sleep, when Elizabeth touched Henriette, saying, ‘Look at that beautiful light!’ Henriette exclaimed, ‘Very beautiful, but what is it?’ Elizabeth replied, ‘Oh, it is little Mary Stanger! How exquisitely beautiful. She is floating away,’ and the vision passed.

    “Early the next morning, she sent to Mr. Stanger’s house, and learnt that the dear child had died at the exact time she had seen the vision, about 11 o’clock the previous night.

    “The appearance was of the perfect child, enveloped in a soft cloud of the faintest bluish light;11 Compare cases 210, 311, 315, and see Vol. i., p. 526, first note. so clear, and emitting or reflecting a light which illuminated the whole exquisitely beautiful little vision; but Elizabeth did not seem to know whether the light originated in the cloud or in the lovely little figure. Henriette saw the light clearly, as well as Elizabeth.

    “LUCY SPENSER.”

    {ii-612}

    An inscription on a tombstone at Keswick shows that Mary Stanger died on May 24, 1829, aged 3 years and 8 months.

    Mrs. Saxby tells us that the two percipients were the most intimate friends of the child’s mother. The child was a cousin of the lady—Mrs. Browne, of Tallantire Hall, near Cockermouth—to whom Mrs. Spenser’s letter was written. In conversation with Mrs. Spenser, I learnt that she herself heard of the vision on the morning after its occurrence; also that the child had been playing about the day before, and that its death was due to loss of blood after an incision necessitated by a sudden attack of croup.

    [We might suppose Henriette’s experience to have been due simply to Elizabeth’s suggestion—which may have been the reason why Henriette saw the light and not the figure. But if she really ‘saw the light clearly,’ we should thus be crediting verbal suggestion with a larger power of evoking sensory hallucination in non-hypnotised persons than the evidence on the subject seems at all to warrant (see p. 188, and Vol. I., pp. 512–3).]

    (659) From the Theory of Pneumatology, by Dr. Johann H. Jung Stilling (translated by S. Jackson, 1851), pp. 271–272. Stilling knew the family of the narrator well, and vouches in strong terms for their truthfulness and probity.

    “My brother J. H. C. was placed by a certain reigning prince as doctor of medicine in A., and, on account of his peculiar abilities, the title of Aulic Councillor was conferred on him. He resided there about four years, towards the close of which he resolved, at the request of my late father, to return to H. … We ardently looked for his arrival. … I dreamt one night that I saw my brother on horseback, who said to me that he was on a journey; he would therefore give me several commissions to my parents. I observed that his expression of countenance appeared

    very strange, and asked him why he looked so blue-black in his face? on which he made answer that it was occasioned by the new cloak he had put on, which was dyed with indigo. On this he reached me his hand, but whilst giving him mine, his horse began to plunge, which terrified me, and I awoke. Not long after awaking, the door of my room opened, someone came to my bedside, and drew aside the curtains, when I perceived the natural figure of my brother in his night-gown. After standing there a few minutes, he went to the table, took up the snuffers, and let them fall, and then shut the room door again.1[☼]1 There is, of course, no reason to suppose the impression that the door and the snuffers were moved to have been anything but part of the hallucination. Cf. cases 659, 670, 676, 696, 698. Fear, apprehension, and terror overpowered me to such a degree that I could not stay in bed any longer. I begged my eldest sister, who also witnessed this scene, to accompany me to my parents. On entering the chamber of the latter, my father was astonished, and asked me the reason of my nocturnal coming. I besought him to spare me the answer till the morrow, and only permit me to pass the night in his room, to which he assented.

    “As soon as I awoke in the morning, I was called upon by my parents to relate what had happened, which my eldest sister confirmed. The circumstance seemed so remarkable to my father that he noted down the night and the hour. About three weeks afterwards my father received the melancholy intelligence of my brother’s decease; when it appeared {ii-613} that he had died the same night, and the same hour, of an epidemic disorder, in which he had been suffocated, and his face had become quite black. In the last days of his illness he had spoken continually of his family, and had wished for nothing more ardently than to be able to speak once more with me.”

    [If the singular blue-black appearance of the face was really a feature of the dream, and was not “read back” into it after the truth was known, the details about the dyed cloak well illustrate the subjective and fallacious embodiment which a percipient may supply to a telepathic impression. Another instance of a waking hallucination following at some interval after a dream is case 701.]

    (660) From Mr. Alfred W. Hobson, who sent the account from Cambridge, under date March 22, 1864, to the Editor of the Spiritual Magazine. Dr. Parkinson, of St. John’s College, Cambridge, told us that he remembered Mr. Hobson, a graduate of that College, as a sensible man. The incident was related, in Mr. Hobson’s presence, to the late Dr. Elliotson, by Mr. Joseph C. Robertson, Editor of the Mechanics’ Magazine, who died, we find, in 1852. We have not been able to trace his family.

    “The two brothers [i.e., Mr. Robertson and a brother], both very young at the time—I forget their exact ages—were in bed together at their father’s house, when they both saw the apparition of a lady to whom their father (a widower) was engaged to be married. She died suddenly that same night. The father was away from home, and not with the boys. In this case it seems as if the dying lady had been desirous of appearing to the father, and had come to his usual dwelling in the expectation of seeing him; but was disappointed, finding only his sons instead.11 See p. 268.

    “It so happened that Mr. Robertson himself died a few months after the above dialogue, and the brother referred to in it was with me in the same mourning coach at the funeral, and confirmed the story as told by his deceased brother. The elder brother was, I believe, more alarmed at the apparition than the younger.”

    (661) From a relative of our energetic friend and helper, Miss Frances M. Peard, of Torquay, who procured us the account. She says that the narrator (whose name we are not at liberty to publish) “is a remarkably shrewd, sensible person.”

    “1883.

    “In the decade of 184—, one of Her Majesty’s Regiments was lying in a small town, well up in Upper Canada then, now Ontario. An officer in that regiment, a captain, had from the first shown a great regard for me, and had always been very devoted in his attentions; but though I liked him much, I could not say that I would accept him. In the spring of 184—, April, there were steeplechases got up by the garrison. Captain ——, who was a splendid horseman in every way, entered his horse. I must mention that three or four years before, he had met with an accident whilst riding a race, and winning. A man rode across the course. Captain —— with his horse ran against him, was thrown, his horse injured, and his own leg broken, which caused him to have a limp or halt in his walk; but it did not prevent him being a beautiful waltzer, and a perfect rider. He and I rode together continually, and he made me the good horsewoman I was.

    {ii-614}

    “The day before the steeplechases above mentioned, Captain —— again spoke to me about my coldness, and told me he put his fate on this race. If he won, would I say ‘yes’; and if I decided thus, would I give him a rose I had been nursing for this occasion? I had not answered then; but if I wore my rose, and afterwards gave it to him whether he won the race or not, it would be a reply to him. Well, I wore my rose. The day was lovely. He won his race and rose and my acceptance; for I was one of a large family of daughters and my father not young, and I really liked no one better. Of course he was delighted. My mother gave a dance that evening to all our world. Captain —— engaged me for the first three waltzes, in fact for several dances, and he was to be there early. The dance began, and the dances, but my partner did not appear. I began to feel annoyed; and several of his brother officers looked at each other smiling and began making jokes, &c. I said to mamma, ‘How odd it is; he has never done such a thing before,’ when I saw him walk into the drawing-room, which was the ball-room, in his shell-jacket. The other officers were in full dress as usual for balls, but he appeared in his usual shell-jacket, mess-dress, with my rose in his buttonhole. He walked across the room. I looking at him, he gave me a serious, earnest, yet devoted and constant regard. He walked across the room in front of me, went towards the window, and turned and went back out of the door, always the limp, and the earnest steady regard. A waltz then began. I waited for him; he never came. Mamma said, ‘How strange.’ I went to the other rooms. No partner there; he was not to be seen anywhere. One or two others saw, Colonel W., Colonel T.,11 These gentlemen are now dead. Their names were communicated to us, and we have traced them in the Army List. The former was Deputy-Adjutant General in Canada from 1843 onwards. and one or two of his brother officers. It spoiled my evening. Somehow I cared not to dance, and felt low and depressed and hurt.

    “Next morning, whilst we were at breakfast, papa came rushing in, looking anxious and alarmed. He turned to me and said, ‘S., did you not say Captain —— was here last night? You saw him.’ Mamma and I both said, ‘Yes, certainly. He came into the drawing-room, walked across to the window, his usual limp, and gave me such a serious look.’ We sprang up and said, ‘Why do you ask?’ I knew something had happened. Papa said, ‘He has not been in barracks all night. He rode out towards B—— bridge to a farm about 5 p.m. His horse came back about 12 p.m., saddle soaked, and horse terrified.’ Of course the whole garrison turned out, and a general search was made. He was not found until the second day, in the river. The flap of an overcoat showed where the body was. He had put on his shell-jacket before starting, intending to return late for mess. My rose was still in his buttonhole, and it was buried with him. He came home, or intended doing so, by a deep ford, but the river had risen suddenly, as it sometimes did. He was very late, and he tried no doubt to swim the river, but did not succeed. It was supposed the horse became frightened and knocked him on the forehead, as there was a mark. His watch had stopped at about 10.15 p.m. Our parties began always at 9 p.m., and closed at 1.30 a.m. He came, I seriously believe, to keep his engagement to me, and to have his last long look of one he so loved; for he did so far more than I deserved.

    {ii-615}

    “This is, I am glad to say, the only ghostly adventure I have ever had. I am most matter-of-fact, and by no means subject to hallucinations of any kind. On the contrary, I do not easily believe anything. That was the only time in all my

    life that I ever had such a vision; and nothing on earth will ever make me believe that his spirit11 See p. 48, note. did not come to see me that evening and to keep his engagement with me—the peculiar limp, the sad expression he rather had at all times, and the little crimson monthly rose.

    “My sister A. remembers it. My mother always said how odd and unaccountable it was. Colonel T., who is dead, never got over it. It gave him a shudder even to speak of it. ‘Bedad! I don’t like ghosts!’ he often said.”

    We have obtained from the Chief Librarian of the Toronto Public Library a certified extract from the Toronto Examiner of May 26, 1841, giving an account of Lieut. (not Capt.)22 The Chief Librarian writes (Aug. 26, 1886), “Captain is so common an appellation in the country parts that the officer would most likely be addressed and known as such among the ordinary people.” W.’s death which differs from the above in stating that his horse and dog returned to a farm-house near the river “about 20 minutes after” 5 o’clock, when he had been last seen, and “were brought into the town next day.” He must therefore have been drowned soon after 5. The detail about his watch stopping at 10.15 is thus probably incorrect, and the closeness of the coincidence has been exaggerated.

    (662) From an informant who desires that her name may be suppressed, on account of the painful nature of the main incident. She is a very reasonable and respectable woman, who expresses a strong contempt for superstition, and is very sensible of the exaggeration and delusion which enter into the vulgar beliefs in “supernatural” occurrences.

    “1883.

    “When I was a young girl, I resided with my father, mother, sister (named Ellen), and brother, at Clapham. My sister was in love with a man, but my father and mother disapproved of the attachment, and sent her to a friend in Brighton, to be out of the way. One evening during her absence, between 6 and 7 o’clock, my mother and brother were talking in the garden, at the back of the house. There was a wall at the bottom of the garden, and a gate, leading into a large enclosed space used for drilling, &c.; this enclosure was locked in the evening, and was certainly locked at the time in question. It was dusk, but not dark. My brother John (a very active boy, but who happened to have just sprained his ankle) looked over the wall, and suddenly exclaimed, ‘Mother, there’s Ellen!’ My mother looked, saw, and recognised the figure of my sister, and said, ‘John, go quick, and tell her to come in. Don’t say anything to your father.’ John replied, ‘I can’t because of my foot; call Mary.’ Mother then called me, and whispered, ‘There’s Ellen; go and tell her to come in; her father shall not know anything about her coming back.’ My mother’s idea was to get her quietly into the house, and send her away again next day. I at once went through the garden-gate, and gave her the message. I particularly noticed her dress, a dark blue pelisse, buttoned, and the ribbon on her bonnet. A path led through the enclosure to the outside gate, and she kept receding from me along this path, while {ii-616} I followed more and more quickly, my mother and John watching us. There was a deep dip in the path, and here I overtook her and tried to catch hold of her, but seemed to catch nothing. She still receded, and at last stood by the watch-box, close to the gate; and here I repeated the message to her, but as she made no answer, I went back.1 1 This long pursuit of the phantasmal figure has occasional parallels in cases of purely subjective hallucination. See, e.g., Vol. i., p. 499, note; and compare the case on p. 630. My mother said, ‘Why, where’s Ellen?’ I said, ‘I left her by the gate.’ My mother replied, ‘But you caught hold of her.’ ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but I did not seem to feel anything in my hand.’

    “My mother turned very pale, and went into the house and told my father, and both of them felt a conviction that some calamity had happened. The next day the news came that my sister had thrown herself into the sea and been drowned a little before 7 o’clock on the preceding evening. This is the only occasion on which I have ever seen an apparition.”

    [This is a case where it is specially important to distinguish the central fact of a coincidence, which may be regarded as probably telepathic, from the details which may have been subsequently imagined or exaggerated. Even if the report is substantially correct, we have no proof that the hallucination was spontaneously collective; in the uncertain light, it may possibly have been produced in the second and third percipients by the suggestion of the first.]

    (663) From Mr. C. Colchester, Bushey Heath, Herts.

    “1882.

    “Forty-two or three years ago, my father was with a detachment of his regiment, the Royal Artillery, stationed at Montreal, Canada. He had left his mother some months before in England, in an indifferent state of health. One evening he was sitting at his desk, writing to her, when my mother, looking up from her work, was startled to see his mother looking over his shoulder, seemingly intent on the letter. My mother gave a cry of alarm, and on my father turning round the apparition vanished.2 2 See p. 91, second note. Mr. Colchester believes, however, that his father saw the apparition. On the same evening I and my brother (aged about 6 and 5 years) were in bed, watching the bright moonlight, when suddenly we saw a figure, a lady with her hands folded on her breast—neither looking to right nor left, but with her eyes cast down in meditation, the head slightly bent forward—walking slowly between the bed and the window, backwards and forwards. She wore a cap with a frill tied under her chin, and a dressing-gown of the appearance of white flannel, her white hair being neatly arranged. She continued to walk, it seemed to me, fully 5 minutes, and then was gone. We did not cry out, and were not even alarmed, but after her disappearance we said to each other, ‘What a nice kind lady!’ and then went to sleep.”

    The children mentioned what they had seen to their mother next morning, but were told not to talk about it. The news of their grandmother’s death on that same evening arrived a few weeks afterwards.

    “I may add,” Mr. Colchester concludes, “that neither I nor my {ii-617} brother had ever seen our grandmother until that evening, nor knew of what my mother had seen till years after. The apparition I saw is as palpably before me now as it was 40 years since.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that the death occurred on March 31, 1840.

    [Mr. Colchester tells us, in answer to the question whether he believes his own remembrance to have been unbroken, that “the occurrence was not wholly or even partially revived by my mother”; and that the vision is unique in his experience. But his extreme youth at the time makes his first-hand recollection extremely doubtful. This objection does not apply to his evidence as to his parents’ share in the affair. If the facts are correctly reported, this case belongs to the former group, of cases where the percipients were apart, as much as to the present one.]

    (664) From Mr. E. Butler, 7, Park Square, Leeds.

    “October, 1884.

    “During my clerkship I resided in lodgings, with a kind-hearted Christian woman of great simplicity of character and reliable veracity. I heard from her this story.

    “Her brother was engaged in the wine trade, and spent a great part of his time in Portugal and Spain. His two children were left in Leeds. I am not sure whether their mother was living, but they were frequently, if not altogether, at their aunt’s. One day the two children were in the back sitting-room along with their aunt, and one or two besides (I believe their cousins). It is the room I very shortly afterwards lived in. The children simultaneously cried out, ‘Oh! there’s papa! gone upstairs.’ They were laughed at, and chidden, but persisted, and the search had to be made. Nothing was discovered. It was afterwards found by the testimony of the papa himself, that exactly at that time when the children saw him he had fallen into the Douro, and was in that stage of singular experience before death by drowning when ‘all the life seems mapped out before the spirit,’ and the soul is just on the point of parting from the body. I do not recollect whether he said that he had specially thought of his children in that supreme moment.

    Insensibility followed; but he was rescued, not too late for restoration.

    “EDWARD BUTLER

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Butler says:—

    “With regard to your inquiry, I fear I should have some difficulty now in getting any corroboration of my communication respecting my old landlady, though my own remembrance of her communication is too vivid to admit of the possibility of mistake. It was told me in the room, my own room, where it occurred, with finger pointing to the passage and staircase. Her name was Mrs. Booth; the house, No. 7, Grove Terrace, Leeds: the absentee in Spain, her own brother, William Wild; of the children, his daughters, every one I believe is dead. The daughters left Leeds many years ago, and I believe I am right that they are neither of them living.”

    (665) From Mr. Beresford Christmas, Carrara, Italy.

    “November 30th, 1885.

    “My father, George Beresford Christmas, was a cavalry officer in the Danish service; his elder and only brother, John Christmas, an admiral {ii-618} in the same service. The latter’s only son, Walter Christmas, was, and is still for aught I know to the contrary, one of the gentlemen of the bed-chamber to the King of Denmark. The circumstance I am about to relate took place before my father’s marriage, when he was yet a young man and living with my grandfather in Copenhagen—it must have been somewhere about 1825. Admiral C. had sailed for St. Thomas, and my father accompanied him, leaving my grandfather in his usual health in Denmark. The two brothers occupied the same cabin, across which, for the sake of coolness on entering the tropics, a couple of cots had been slung parallel to each other. They were within a few days’ sail of the island; the sea calm, the sky clear, and, on the night in question, a bright moonlight pouring in through the widely-opened cabin windows, lighting up all within with almost the distinctness of daylight. Both brothers must have been awaked suddenly and simultaneously—by what, they never knew—by some irresistible and unknown power—waked to see standing between their cots the figure of their father. Both gazed in mute amazement: there it stood, motionless for a moment, which seemed a century; then it raised one hand and pointed to its own eyes. They were closed. My father started up in bed, and as he did so the form vanished. So much was my uncle impressed with the fact that he at once entered it, with date and moment of appearance, in the log-book; while naturally the circumstance became the all-absorbing topic of conversation and speculation to all on board.

    “When later letters reached them in the West Indies, the hour and minute, allowing of course for difference of time, were found to coincide exactly with those in which my grandfather had died.

    “In due time the circumstance was known to all Copenhagen. Neither my uncle nor father ever liked to speak about it. I have had the fact from the lips of both. Both firmly believed in the reality of the vision, and neither of them was the man to give heed or credence to an idle delusion. I remember both, in answer to a question of mine, declaring to having felt no fear, or even awe: sudden wonder and an unaccountable chill, as of an icy atmosphere,1 1 See p. 37, note. was the predominating impression. It was only when the figure pointed to its own closed eyes, that a dumb dread of impending bereavement awoke. My father, as also my uncle, used to affirm that neither on the evening in question nor upon any of the previous days had their father been particularly the subject of either their conversation or thoughts. There was no preparation, so to say, on their part for the apparition; at the same instant both were suddenly awoke from sleep by some mysterious and irresistible will, when both beheld the identical form standing within arm’s length of them.

    “I have no doubt, if you have among your correspondents or members anyone in Copenhagen willing to take the trouble, you might be able to get at the entry made in the log-book.2 2 Unfortunately we have no Danish members. I have mentioned (in Vol. i., p. 161) the great tendency of log-looks to creep unauthorised into second-hand narratives of this sort; but the essential trustworthiness of the account does not, of course, depend on that detail. My uncle was on active service till his death almost, which took place only a few years ago, and there could be no difficulty in tracing back the vessels he commanded.

    “BERESFORD CHRISTMAS.”

    {ii-619}

    The next case, if telepathically originated, is an interesting instance of the appearance of a phantasm to certain percipients on local, not personal, grounds (p. 268).

    (666) From Miss Edith Farquharson, sent to us by her relative, Mrs. Murray Aynsley, of Great Brampton, near Hereford.

    “June, 1885.

    “In the year 1868, No. 9, Drummond Place, Edinburgh, was in the occupation of Mr. Farquharson, formerly a Judge of the High Court in Jamaica. On the night of Good Friday in that year, two of his daughters, Miss Edith Farquharson, her sister Marianne [now Mrs. Henry Murray], and a little cousin, Agnes Spalding, aged 6 years, were sleeping in a room at the top of the house. About 11.45 p.m., the two sisters were awakened by hearing loud screams from the child, who was sleeping on a mattress placed on the floor beside their bed. The mattress was against the door leading into a dressing-room; this door was locked and sealed with white tapes and black wax; it had been thus closed by a member of the family to whom the house belonged before Mr. Farquharson entered upon his tenancy. The death of the head of the family, and the delicacy of health of one of the daughters, had caused them to wish to leave Edinburgh, and spend the winter in Torquay.

    “On hearing the child’s screams of terror, Miss M. F. touched her sister and said, ‘Do you hear the child screaming?’ Miss E. F. replied that she did, and turned her head round to listen better. When the child was asked what she was screaming about, she said, ‘I am wide awake, and I have seen a figure which was leaning over me,’ and when further questioned where the figure went to, said, ‘Round the side of your bed.’

    “Miss E. F., when she turned round, saw a figure slide from near the child’s bed and pass along the foot of the bed whereon she and her sister were. (At the first moment she thought it was a thief.) The latter, on hearing her say in French ‘II y a quelqu’un,’Somebody’s there was so terrified that she hid her head under the bedclothes.

    “Miss E. F. describes the figure as being dressed in a rough brown shawl held tightly round the bust, a wide brimmed hat, and a veil. When the child was questioned afterwards she gave the same account of the costume.

    “Miss E. F. says that after passing along the foot of the bed with a noiseless gliding motion, the figure disappeared into the darkness.

    “Except the door which was locked and sealed, the only door of exit to the room was one which was quite close to the bed; at right angles with the door and with the head of the bed was a large hanging cupboard.

    “Both the ladies got up instantly. They found the door of their room closed, as they had left it. Their brother’s room was next to theirs; they knocked at his door to rouse him, at the same time keeping a sharp lookout on the door of their own room to see that no one escaped. The whole party then made a thorough search in the room and cupboard, found nothing disturbed, and once more retired to rest. The next morning the page-boy said that he had been unable to sleep all night on account of the sounds he heard of someone scratching at his window. He declared that he had shied all his boots and everything he could lay hold of in the direction whence the noise came, but without effect. He could stand it {ii-620} no longer, and went to the room where some of the women-servants slept, begging to be let in. They had heard nothing, however, though they, like himself, slept in the basement of the house.

    “The whole family were hardly assembled on the Saturday morning, when the son-in-law of the late owner of the house arrived, and asked to see Mr. Farquharson. He wished particularly to know exactly what day this gentleman and his family intended leaving the house, (their term would expire the following week,) for he had just received a telegram informing him that his sister-in-law had died that night, and they were anxious to bring her body there immediately for burial.”

    (With respect to this last paragraph, the narrator’s father writes:—

    “The above is a correct statement of the occurrence.

    “C. M. FARQUHARSON.”)

    Miss Farquharson continues:—

    “The possible solution of what we presume to have been an apparition of this lady is, that the bedroom occupied by the Misses Farquharson being the one she habitually used, in her dying moments she desired to visit it once more, or else that there was something in the dressing-room which she particularly wished for.

    “EDITH A. FARQUHARSON.”

    The following independent account is from Mrs. Murray:—

    “Cobo, Guernsey.

    “June 24th, 1885.

    “Our home was in Perthshire; but in the winter of 1868 my father took a house for four months in Drummond Place, No. 8, [? 9] in Edinburgh, in order to give us a change. The house belonged to General Stewart, who had a delicate daughter, and he let it, to take the daughter to Torquay for the winter. We did not know the Stewarts, so our imagination could not have assisted in any way to account for the curious apparition that was seen. I myself did not see it,11 Compare case 684, and see p. 105, second note. but I was in the room with my sister and little cousin, who both did. My belief is that Providence prevented my seeing it, as I am of a very nervous temperament, and it might have had a very bad effect on me if I had. Well, the apparition took place on Good Friday night, at about 12 o’clock. This little cousin, who was only about 6 years old, had come into town from the country, and as our house was very full she had a shake-down beside our bed on my side. I was the first to be awakened by hearing her calling out in a frightened way. So I said, ‘What is the matter, Addie?’ ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘Cousin Marianne, I am so frightened. A figure has been leaning over me, and whenever I put out my hands to push it off it leant back on your bed!’ At this I was alarmed and awoke my sister, who lifted her head from her pillow and looked up, when she saw a figure gliding across the foot of our bed wrapped in a shawl, with a hat and veil on. She whispered to me in French ‘Il y a quelqu’un,’Somebody’s there thinking it was a thief, whereat we both jumped out of bed together and went to the next room to get our brother, Captain Farquharson. His bedroom door had a shaky lock which made a noise, so he had barricaded it with a portmanteau. While he was coming to our help, we kept our eyes fixed on our door in case anyone should have escaped, but we saw nothing, and after our all {ii-621} searching every corner of the bedroom we came to the conclusion that no one had been there, for everything was intact. We then questioned little Addie as to what she had seen and what the figure was like. She described it as that of a lady with a shawl on and a hat, and a veil over her face, and said that as I spoke she had gone across the foot of the bed in the same direction that my sister had seen her go. This child, I must tell you, had been most carefully brought up by her mother, and was not allowed to read even fairy tales for fear of having foolish ideas in her head, which makes the thing more remarkable, for she had certainly never heard of a ghost. I don’t know even now whether she knows anything about it, for we had to pretend that it must have been my eldest sister who had come in to play us a trick, for fear of frightening her.

    “Then the next morning we were relating our adventures, when a ring came to the door, and the servant said a gentleman wanted to speak to my father. This gentleman was a Mr. Findlay, who had married a Miss Stewart. He came to ask when we were to leave, for he knew it was about the time, as he had received a telegram that morning to say that Miss Stewart had died in Torquay during the night, and they wanted to bring her body to Edinburgh. We heard afterwards from friends of the Stewarts that the bedroom we had had been hers. I forgot to mention that the child’s bed lay across the door of a small room which had been locked up by the Stewarts, and they had put tapes across and sealed them with black wax.

    “We have none of us ever had any hallucinations either before or after this strange affair.

    ‘MARIANNE MURRAY.”

    We find from the Scotsman and the Edinburgh Courant that Miss Stewart died on April 11, 1868, the day following Good Friday. If the death took place in the course of a few hours after midnight, “during the night” would of course be the natural expression.

    Mrs. Brietzcke, of 72, Sterndale Road, W., after reading this account in the Journal of the S.P.R., wrote to us as follows, on Sept. 29, 1885:—

    “I was very intimate with two Misses Myers; and within a day or two of their cousins’, the Misses Farquharson, having the experience related, they (the Misses Myers) told me the affair, just as related in the Journal; and they also, I understood, had seen Boyd (2, York Place, Edinburgh), the house-agent, and heard that the description of the lady in the large hat and veil was exactly like the lady to whom the house belonged. The Misses Myers were much impressed. The elder is dead; the other married a Mr. Dunlop, and went to India; I have lost sight of her.

    “H. K. BRIETZCKE.”

    Mrs. Murray confirms the fact that her cousins, the Misses Myers, were informed of the vision very soon after its occurrence, and adds:—“I do not think any of us mentioned it to Mr. Boyd; he may have heard it from someone else, for it caused quite a sensation in Edinburgh. I have no reason to believe that the dress of the figure was in any way characteristic of Miss Stewart.”1 1 A narrative somewhat resembling this was given in Tinsley’s Magazine for December, 1873, in connection with a family named Fitzgerald, alleged to have resided at Ballyreina, in Ireland. We have not been able to trace the writer of this paper, or to discover any place called Ballyreina. There is a village in Ireland called Ballyraine; but we cannot find that any family of the name of Fitzgerald has been connected with it.

    {ii-622}

    [The resemblance of the figure seen to the lady who died is entirely problematic. It might almost have been foretold as certain that the resemblance would form a prominent item in any third-hand version of the occurrence.]

    (667) From the Methodist Magazine for March, 1819, p. 208,—a letter to the Editor.

    “Rochester, February 4th, 1818.

    “SIR,—At the Sheffield Conference of 1817, when examining the young men in the public congregation, I was greatly surprised by the extraordinary declaration of one of the preachers. The effect his narrative produced upon the audience induced me to request him to commit to paper what he had so distinctly detailed. As it contains a well-authenticated account of what infidelity has affected to deny, and many well-informed Christians receive with suspicion and doubt, your insertion of his letter to me will at least afford some further evidence on a question which is of such high interest and importance to the world.

    “I. GAULTER.”

    “Sheffield.

    “8th August, 1817.

    “MR. PRESIDENT,—HON. SIR,—According to your desire I take up my pen, to give you the particulars of a solemn fact, which was the first grand means of leading my mind seriously to think of those solemn realities—death, judgment, and eternity.

    “A sister being married to a gentleman in the army, we received intelligence that the regiment to which he belonged had orders for one of the Spanish Isles (Minorca). One night (16 years back) about 10 o’clock, as his wife, his child, an elder sister, and myself (a boy of nine years) were sitting in a back room, the shutters were closed, bolted, and barred, the yard-door locked, when suddenly a light shone through the window, the shutters, the bars, illumined the room we sat in.1 1 This case should be added to the list given in Vol. i., p. 551, second note, of examples where the phantasm has included a marked appearance of luminosity. We looked—started—and beheld the spirit2

    2 See p. 48, note. of a murdered brother; his eye was fixed on his wife and child alternately; he waved his hand, smiled, continued about half a minute, then vanished from our sight. The moment before the spirit disappeared, my sister cried, ‘He’s dead; he’s dead’; and fainted away. Her little boy ran to his father’s spirit, and wept because it would not stay. A short time after this, we received a letter from the colonel of the regiment sealed with black (the dark emblem of mortality), bearing the doleful but expected news, that on such a night (the same on which we saw his spirit) my brother-in-law was found weltering in his blood (in returning from the mess-room); the spark of life was not quite out. The last wish he was heard to breathe was to see his wife and child; it was granted him in a certain sense, for the very hour he died in the Island of Minorca, that same hour (according to the very little difference of clocks) his spirit appeared to his wife, his child, an elder sister, and myself, in Doncaster. …“I am, Sir, yours obediently,

    “THOS. SAVAGE.”

    {ii-623}

    “P.S.—My sister, from the night she saw the spirit of her husband, mourned him as dead, nor could my father prevent it by any argument. He endeavoured to persuade us we were all deceived, yet he acknowledged the testimony which the child gave staggered him; but when the letter arrived from the colonel of the regiment, with the awful tidings, he was struck dumb. My two sisters are yet living and can testify to the truth of this account, and at least one hundred persons beside our own family can prove our mentioning the hour the spirit appeared, several weeks before we received the melancholy letter, and that the letter mentioned the hour and night he died as the same in which we beheld his spirit.

    “T. S.”

    Mr. Savage wrote a precisely concordant account1 1 This account adds the detail that the name of the colonel of the regiment was Hebborn. We cannot verify this detail without a more extensive search than the War Office authorities will permit. The English withdrew from Minorca in 1802, having been in occupation there for a few years. This agrees with Mr. Savage’s statement. (of which we have a copy) for the Rev. R. Pilter, whose daughter writes as follows on the subject to our friend, the Rev. J. A. Macdonald:—

    “Doncaster.

    “December 17th, 1885.

    “DEAR MR. MACDONALD,—My father, the Rev. R. Pilter, heard Mr. Savage relate a curious fact at the Conference when he was received into ‘full connexion.’ Mr. Savage said that as a youth he had been sceptically inclined,22 As Mr. Savage was only 9 at the time of the occurrence, he probably did not use exactly this phrase. but that the circumstance related had led to his conversion. My father was so much interested that he requested Mr. Savage to write down the narrative for him. He did so. The paper which you have accurately copied was the result; it was carefully preserved, and fell into my hands at my father’s death.

    “The Rev. H. Hastling, who lived in Doncaster 50 years ago, remembers the tale very well. His recollection agrees exactly with the narrative you have copied. The sister’s husband was supposed to have been murdered in mistake for somebody else, or else by someone who had a grudge against him. Mr. Hastling says the scene was a house in St. George’s Gate, pulled down a few years ago.

    “Yours very truly,

    “J. M. PILTER.”

    § 4. In the following group of cases, it is more doubtful whether the experience recorded should be ascribed to the agency of the person whom the phantasm represented. If not, they are simply examples of transferred hallucinations of subjective origin, and as such their position in this book has been sufficiently explained (pp. 183, 189–92). The first three examples are (except in the fact of being collective) parallel to the “arrival cases” of Chap. XIV., § 7.

    (668) From The Journal of Mental Science, for April, 1880, p. 151. The editor writes, on Feb. 12, 1880:—

    “We have received the following letter from a physician, narrating two psychological experiences, in one of which another element enters, {ii-624} namely, an external event coincident with the subjective impression. Had our correspondent been expected by his family at the time, the explanation of ‘expectant attention’ in an abnormal condition of the nervous system might have sufficed, if it be admitted that two persons can, through this cause, have optical illusions at the same moment. Whether in such cases mere coincidence is a sufficient solution, or whether the two circumstances stand in any causal relation, must be decided by such an accumulation of evidence as would render the first hypothesis untenable.”

    “February 12th, 1880.

    “MY DEAR DR. TUKE,—Although the following circumstance is not exactly similar in kind to that related by Dr. Jessopp, you may like to make use of it. At, any rate, it is at your service, and you may rely upon its being quite accurate. One day, some years ago, two of my female relations were looking out of a window in Greenwich just opposite the hospital, and both saw, or thought they saw, me pass and look in. One of them ran immediately to the door, but to her astonishment could see no one either up or down the street. At this time I was not expected, being, as all my family supposed, in Paris. But within a quarter of an hour I arrived at Greenwich. When I did enter, I was called to account for the practical joke I was supposed to have played upon my relations, by peeping in at the window and then concealing myself, and it was with some difficulty I convinced them that I had come straight to the house.

    “Some years after this, my wife and daughter (not the relations referred to previously) were sitting in the dining-room, when they both saw an old lady enter at the gate, and walk up the steps leading to the front door of the house. My wife said to her daughter, ‘What can bring old Mrs. C. out in such a flood of rain? Run and open the door, that she may not have to wait for the servant to answer the bell.’ On opening the door, there was no one there, nor in the garden. Some other curious things of the same character have occurred; but as the illusion affected only a single person, I refrain from mentioning them, as they might arise from the physical condition of the parties concerned, which could hardly, I think, be the case with the others.—Very sincerely yours,

    “M. D.”

    In answer to inquiries, Dr. Hack Tuke writes to us:—

    “Lyndon Lodge, Hanwell, W.

    “January 29th, 1885.

    “‘M. D.’ died some while ago. His name was Dr. Boase, long respected as a physician at Falmouth. He retired to Plymouth, where he took an active part in the Irvingite Church to which he belonged.

    “He was altogether reliable, and I have no reason to doubt the correctness of the facts narrated.

    “D. H. TUKE

    [These incidents, if correctly recorded, do not look like mistakes of identity. If (as may be guessed from “M.D.’s” final sentence) either of the percipients in the second case had on other occasions experienced purely subjective hallucinations, the fact would be of interest as favouring the view that the vision of Mrs. C. originated subjectively in one of the two minds.]

    {ii-625}

    (669) From Mrs. Sturge, 2, Midland Road, Gloucester.

    “Nov. 26, 1884.

    “When residing in Montserrat, West Indies, in or about the year 1858, I was on a visit to some friends in the principal town of Antigua. One evening Mr. George Habershon, a gentleman who boarded with the family, but lodged in another part of the town, remained rather late; Mrs. Burns, the lady of the house, retired, leaving her daughters, to one of whom Mr. Habershon was engaged, and a young lady named Minnie Anderson, and myself downstairs. The evening was a beautiful moonlight one. As soon as Mr. Habershon left, a servant passed through the room in which we were sitting and fastened the outer door, leading from the verandah into the street, passing into the house after he had done so. Soon after Minnie uttered an exclamation. I looked up and saw Mr. H., or what appeared to be him, entering the room from the verandah, and I said, ‘Mr. Habershon!’ Minnie said, ‘Yes.’ None of the others in the room saw him. The apparition disappeared

    almost immediately. We were somewhat startled at his unexpected reappearance, and searched about and looked down the road (it was bright moonlight, as mentioned before), but could see no one, nor could we understand how he could have got in, as the outer door was locked.

    “When our hostess heard of the matter in the morning she was much annoyed, and on Mr. Habershon’s arrival to breakfast, she spoke to him about having come back, frightening the girls. He declared he had not done so, but said that on his way home he had thought of returning to ask for a piece of meat for the dogs, a thing which he had done more than once before, and that he stood in the road considering whether or no he should do so, deciding in the negative because he thought we should laugh at him, as he often did come back. I suppose he appeared to Minnie and myself at the time he was considering whether or no he should return.

    “I regret to say most of those who were present in that room, as well as Mr. Habershon, are now no more, but I believe I have correctly narrated the facts. The only survivor is now the wife of Justice Semper, a judge in the Supreme Court of the Leeward Isles. I may add that Mr. Habershon was a much esteemed young Englishman, whose veracity could be entirely depended upon.

    “ANNIE STURGE.”

    Mrs. Semper sends us the following independent account, from which it appears that she was not herself present at the time.

    “St. Kitts.

    “20th April, 1886.

    “The incident to which you refer took place in the house of my father, Mr. Burns. I was not present, but the strange tale was told to me, and I am very pleased to tell you all I know about it, in accordance with your request. The facts, as well as I can call them to mind, are these. Mr. George Habershon spent the evening with my family. On his leaving, all the members of it retired to rest with the exception of my sister (since dead) and her friend Mrs. Sturge; the two girls remained in the drawing-room, which was still brightly lighted. To their surprise they became aware that Mr. Habershon had come back, and was standing at one of the entrance doors, gazing at them. They pretended not to see him; but on his keeping his statue-like position, they got so curious to know why {ii-626} he had returned that one of them asked what he wanted. They received no reply, and on advancing to where he stood, he disappeared. Imagining he was playing them a trick, they searched about the verandah; they then watched the street up which he had to go to get to his lodgings—and it being a bright, moonlight night, every object would be seen distinctly. He, however, was not there.

    “Next day, on their asking Mr. Habershon how he managed to elude them, he professed perfect ignorance of what they were talking about. Later on, my mother, who thought he had mystified the girls enough, privately asked him to set the matter at rest by explaining it. Mr. Habershon assured her that he had not come back. He said he had had a strong and almost irresistible wish to do so, that he had turned and walked a few steps, and then, thinking by that time the door would be shut, he retraced his steps and went home. Mr Habershon’s denial could not be doubted by any one who knew him.

    “I may as well mention that Mr. Habershon was engaged to be married to my sister, and the reason he wished to return to the house was that he had not quite understood something she wished done.

    “MINNIE SEMPER [née BURNS].”

    [It will be seen that Mrs. Semper represents her sister, and not Minnie Anderson, as the second percipient. After a conversation with Mrs. Sturge, I feel no doubt that her version is the correct one. The discrepancies between the two accounts can scarcely be held to affect the central fact described.]

    (670) From Dr. Wyld, 41, Courtfield Road, S.W.

    “December, 1882.

    “Miss L. and her mother were for 15 years my most intimate friends; they were ladies of the highest intelligence, and perfectly truthful, and their story was confirmed by one of the servants; the other servant I could not trace.

    “Miss L., some years before I made her acquaintance, occupied much of her time in visiting the poor. One day, as she walked homewards, she felt cold and tired, and longed to be at home, warming herself at the kitchen fire. At or about the minute corresponding to this wish, the two servants being in the kitchen, the door-handle was seen to turn, the door opened,1 1 See p. 612, note. and in walked Miss L., and going up to the fire she held out her hands and warmed herself, and the servants saw she had a pair of green kid gloves on her hands. She suddenly disappeared before their eyes, and the two servants in great alarm went upstairs and told the mother what they had seen, including the green kid gloves. The mother feared something was wrong, but she attempted to quiet the servants by reminding them that Miss L. always wore black and never green gloves, and that therefore the ‘ghost’ could not have been that of her daughter.

    “In about half-an-hour the veritable Miss L. entered the house, and going into the kitchen warmed herself by the fire; and she had on a pair of green kid gloves which she had bought on her way home, not being able to get a suitable black pair.

    “G. WYLD M.D.”

    The Rev. W. Stainton Moses writes:—

    {ii-627}

    “21, Birchington Road, KW, January 31st, 1883.

    “I have heard the story of Miss L. from her mother. It is, as far as my memory serves, recounted here with perfect accuracy. Both the ladies mentioned were intimately known to me, and entirely to be trusted.

    “W. STAINTON MOSES.”

    [This case, it will be seen, does not depend on the testimony of the servants, but on that of Mrs. L., whose character for truthfulness is vouched for by two gentlemen who knew her intimately. The point as to the longing to be “warming herself at the kitchen fire” is, however, one very likely to have been imagined or exaggerated; even supposing that it was genuinely remembered, the “minute corresponding” to it is not likely to have been afterwards ascertainable, though very likely indeed to be inferred as that of the apparition; and it is impossible to be sure that the green gloves were mentioned before the reality of their existence was known; so that Miss L.’s agency cannot be confidently assumed.]

    The next two cases resemble Nos. 328 and 329, the state of the person whose phantasm appeared presenting nothing which could be supposed to be a distinctive condition of telepathic agency.

    (671) From Dr. Buchanan (late H.E.I.C.S. Bengal Establishment), 12, Rutland Square, Edinburgh. All the percipients are dead, except one, who is inaccessible. Among them were Dr. Buchanan’s late wife, and her parents.

    “The following circumstance took place at a villa about one and a-half miles from Glasgow, and was told me by my wife. Of its truth I am as certain as if I had been a witness. The house had a lawn in front, of about three or four acres in extent, with a lodge at the gate very distinctly seen from the house, which was about 80 yards distant. Two of the family were going to visit a friend seven miles distant, and on the previous day it had been arranged to take a lady, Miss W., with them, who was to be in waiting at a place about a mile distant. Three of the family and a lady visitor were standing at one of the dining-room windows waiting for the carriage, when they, including my wife, saw Miss W. open the gate at the lodge. The wind had disarranged the front of a pelisse which she wore, which they distinctly saw her adjust. She wore a light greycoloured beaver hat, and had a handkerchief at her mouth; it was supposed that she was suffering from toothache, to which she was subject. She entered the lodge, to the surprise of her friends, and as she did not leave it, a servant was sent to ask her to join the family; but she was informed that Miss W. had not been there, and it was afterwards ascertained that no one, except the woman’s husband, had been in the lodge that morning.

    “The carriage arrived at the house about 10 a.m., and Miss W. was found at the place agreed upon in the dress in which she appeared at the lodge, and suffering from toothache. As she was a nervous person, nothing was said to her of her appearance at the gate. She died nine years afterwards.

    “WM. M. BUCHANAN, M.D.”

    Dr. Buchanan wrote, on 30th Oct., 1883, to say that he had just been staying with relatives of his late wife, who had often heard the story from her, and confirmed it in every detail, except that it was a white {ii-628} beaver hat. He adds that “those who witnessed the fact are quite matter-of-fact people, not in the slightest degree excitable, and most certainly not nervous.”

    [The fact of the figure’s seeming to enter the lodge, as to which Dr. Buchanan is quite positive, favours the hypothesis of hallucination, as against that of mistaken identity.]

    (672) From Mrs. Bevan, Plumpton House, Bury St. Edmunds.

    “1884.

    “In the month of July, 1855, I was spending a week with my brother, the Rector of Chedburgh, and his sweet young wife, when one evening, after the children had gone to bed, and we were all three sitting together, my brother said, ‘Cecilia and I have often wanted to ask you whether you were thinking of us in any special way on the 15th of last November?’

    “After a few minutes’ consideration, I could only say that I remembered nothing of the sort, as there was no special cause for it at that time, and begged to know why they asked.

    “My brother then said that on the morning of that day, which of course they specially noted, he awoke while the night-light was still burning, between 6 and 7 o’clock, and opening his eyes, he distinctly saw me standing at the foot of the bed, on his wife’s side of it. After watching me for a short time with some wonder, but with no sensation of fear, he reached out his hand and touched his wife, saying, ‘Cecilia, are you awake?’ ‘Yes, I have been awake some minutes.’ ‘Do you see anything?’ ‘Yes, I see Sarah standing at the foot of the bed.’ ‘How very strange!’ and while they spoke to each other, the furniture of the room was seen through my figure, which soon entirely disappeared. 1 1 See p. 38, note, and p. 97, first note.

    “We were at the time living only 14 miles off, and I was in a delicate state of health. They came down to breakfast quite expecting that the post would bring some bad news of me, and all day looked for a messenger from Sudbury, and made an early reason for driving over, to find all as usual. Thinking that such a strange circumstance might make me nervous, they kept it to themselves until time had proved that, whatever it was, no harm had come to me. They asked each other whether it could possibly have been our mother who was then living near Norwich, and who died there in February, 1855, but they were quite agreed that it was no one but me. I certainly knew nothing about it, either at the time or afterwards; nor did it make me feel the least nervous.

    “My dear brother and his wife also are passed to the other world; she in 1862, he in 1864.

    “SARAH BEVAN.”

    [I have pointed out, on p. 83, that a person whose phantasm, has appeared to others, and who has been informed of the fact, is in rather a different position from an ordinary second-hand witness.]

    In the next two cases the originating agency of an absent living person seems out of the question; and for the first of them, at any rate, there would, in my view, be no difficulty in supposing a purely subjective origin in one mind, (perhaps that of the dying woman,) and a transference thence to the other.

    {ii-629}

    (673) From Miss J. E. Walker, 48, Pembroke Road, Clifton, Bristol. She heard the account from a cousin, of whom she writes, on Feb. 6, 1883:—

    “Cousin Emmeline was old Squire Bingley’s youngest daughter; she was sincere and fearlessly true, but she had no poetic and scarcely any imaginative faculty. I should have cited her as a good specimen anywhere of the matter-of-fact and common-place woman, which perhaps gives a somewhat additional weight to her narrative which she confided to me many years ago. She died about 6 years since.” Later Miss Walker adds:—“The event narrated took place when she was about 20, and must have happened in (I think) 1844 or 1845. She told me her story very simply and vivâ voce. She also told it separately to my elder sister in precisely the same terms. It was I who threw it, for brevity’s sake, into the narrative form” [and into the first person].

    “My father and mother had many children; most of us died in infancy; Susanna survived, and Charlotte and myself. Father’s was an entailed estate, and the deaths of two sons, William, who died in boyhood, and John, who died in infancy, had been the great disappointment of his life. Susanna remembered both the boys, but William was born and died long before my time, and John died at about two years old, when I was the baby. Of William there was no likeness, but you know John’s picture well, a well-painted full-length oil picture representing a toddling babe in white frock and blue shoes, one of my father’s prize greyhounds crouching beside him, and an orange rolling at his feet.

    “I was grown up, about 20, Susanna was 40, and Charlotte about 30 years old. Father was declining, and we lived together, contented and united, in a pleasant house on the borders of Harrogate Common. On the day about which I am writing, Charlotte was unwell; she had complained of a chill, and the doctor recommended her to keep in bed. She was sleeping quietly that afternoon, and Susanna sat on one side of her bed and I sat on the other; the afternoon sun was waning, and it began to grow dusky, but not dark. I do not know how long we had been sitting there, but by chance I raised my head and I saw a golden light above Charlotte’s bed, and within the light were enfolded two cherubs’ faces gazing intently upon her. I was fascinated and did not stir, neither did the vision fade for a little while. At last I put my hand across the bed to Susanna, and I only said this word, ‘Susanna, look up!’ She did so, and at once her countenance changed, ‘Oh, Emmeline,’ she said, ‘they are William and John.’ Then both of us watched on till all faded away like a washed-out picture; and in a few hours Charlotte died of sudden inflammation.”

    In conversation, Miss Walker told me that she is certain that her cousin drew the other sister’s attention to the vision without mentioning what she herself saw; also that she was singularly precise in statement and incapable of exaggeration.

    We find from the Register of Deaths that Miss Charlotte Bingley died at Harrogate, on June 8, 1843.

    The next account is one of the puzzling carriage-cases mentioned on p. 195. Here there was a local tradition of a phantasm carriage, {ii-630} due to sounds, frequently heard, which were probably not hallucinations but illusions; and this may possibly have acted as a favourable condition to a visual hallucination of the sort described; but it will not in the least account for the correspondence and coincidence of the two hallucinations, which yet can hardly have been accidental. I do not give the case an evidential number, because the written account does not make it appear as impossible as to the witnesses on the spot it certainly did appear, that the carriage should have been a real one. The narrator is Mr. Paul Bird, Strand, Calcutta.

    “July 25th, 1884.

    “One evening, just at dusk, I was returning home from office in my buggy, with lamps lighted. It was dusk, but under the shadow of the trees which overhang the avenue it was pretty dark. I was driving pretty fast, when I heard what appeared to be a runaway gharrie coming from the house towards me. I immediately checked my horse and peered ahead to see how to avoid the coming danger, but as the noise did not appear to get any nearer, I cautiously proceeded, and when about 100 yards from the house, distinctly saw the reflection of my lamps on the panels of a carriage in front of me, proceeding the same way, viz., to Hastings House [in the suburb of Alipore]. I kept my eyes on the panels, so as not to run into them. The gharrie turned to the left to go under the portico, followed by me,1 1 See p. 616, first note. but when I arrived there, there was no gharrie; it had disappeared. I was very much puzzled at this, but should probably have thought nothing more about it, had not my wife, who was watching for my arrival from an upper window, asked me at once, ‘What gharrie was that just ahead of you?’ This, you will admit, was curious, and I offer no theory about it.

    “PAUL BIRD.”

    Mrs. Bird writes, on July 26, 1884:—

    “I cannot add anything further to my husband’s description about the gharrie at Hastings House, except that I also saw the outline of the gharrie as it came up the avenue in front of my husband’s buggy, with his lamps shining on it so as to define the outline; and I was at a window upstairs watching for my husband’s return, so that we saw the apparition from totally different points of view, and without, of course, holding any communication. I suddenly lost sight of the fictitious gharrie, and did not trace it right up to the portico. It turned off, I thought, from

    the direct road; certainly, it disappeared. I may further state that I heard no sound of a second vehicle, but only that made by my husband’s horse and buggy; but I was aware of his checking his horse, as if he saw something ahead, and this action of his may have been the cause of conjuring up in my vision the supposed gharrie. We have always spoken very sceptically of this circumstance, although feeling in our inner consciousness that there was something not utterly to be disregarded in the occurrence.

    “GERTRUDE BIRD.”

    {ii-631}

    § 5. The remaining cases are auditory. In the following group the impression was of a recognised voice.

    (674) From Mr. C. F. H. Froehnert, (Bandmaster of the Royal Marines,) 3, Victoria Place, Stonehouse, Plymouth, who wrote as follows to the Daily Telegraph, on October 15, 1881.

    “SIR,—Returning from India in 1854, I resided for a few months at Düsseldorf, and there made the acquaintance of two well-known families—Haskal and Focke. Mr. Haskal, a gentleman well known as the author of several works on Oriental botany, held a high appointment under the Dutch Government in Batavia; and his family, consisting of Mrs. Haskal, several daughters, and Miss Focke as companion, had engaged passage out in a large Dutch vessel, and sailed from Amsterdam. One evening, soon afterwards, when Mrs. Focke, with the rest of her family, were at tea, they all heard a loud cry of ‘Mother!’ outside the window. They all recognised at once the voice of the eldest daughter, Anna, who had sailed with the Haskals. They rushed to the window, but saw nothing. Scarcely had they taken their seats again, when a most agonising shriek was heard, and twice ‘Mother, mother,’ in the same voice. A few days later a report came that a large Dutch vessel had been wrecked. I had left for England, and was written to and asked to make inquiries at Lloyd’s if there was truth in this report. The answer I received was that on that particular evening this vessel was lost with every soul on board.—Yours truly,

    “C. F. H. FROEHNERT.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Froehnert wrote to us, on June 11, 1883:—

    “The Fockes were old and well-known residents of Düsseldorf; but no doubt Mr. and Mrs. Focke are dead by this time; but there was another daughter—sister of the one lost—but I dare say she has been married long since, and would go under another name. Düsseldorf being near Holland, the news of a large Dutch vessel having been lost soon reached that town, especially as it was reported that among the effects washed on shore many things were recognised as having belonged to the family, Haskal, such as some valuable pictures, &c., &c.

    “Mrs. Ifjen, a friend of mine and the Haskals, wrote to me,1 1 Unfortunately this letter has not been preserved. telling me of the hearing of the voice on that particular evening, and of the rumour of the stranding of the vessel, requesting me to ascertain at Lloyd’s if a vessel had been lost; the answer was as I stated, the ship had been lost that very night.

    “Mrs. Haskal and her children had also resided at Düsseldorf until they departed.

    “At the time when this happened I was Bandmaster of the 2nd Life Guards at London.”

    Mr. Froehnert adds, on April 1, 1885:—

    “In reply to your letter regarding the Focke case at Düsseldorf, I am sorry I cannot recollect the house they were living in at the time; it is so long ago. But I quite remember that it was in a quiet locality; and the voice came from the back of the house, which in most German houses is called ‘Der Hof,’ and which is usually not frequented in the evening by {ii-632} the occupants of the houses; the voice came distinctly through the window, which was open.”

    In the next case, the two persons affected were widely separated, and their impressions differed.

    (675) From Mr. Thomas Young, Elsinore House, Robert Road, Handsworth, Birmingham.

    “31st December, 1884.

    “One evening—ten years ago about—I was sitting at tea with my wife and children, when my wife suddenly said, ‘What a noise there is upstairs,’ asking me if I heard it. I said ‘No.’ She, however, insisted that there was, and insisted upon going upstairs to investigate. She could hear the windows rattled as if by the wind. I accompanied her upstairs, and as she went she suddenly felt a wind rush by her. I felt no rush of wind, nor were the windows rattling. The night was calm. After investigating the room from whence the wind was supposed to proceed, and finding nothing out of the common, we returned to the parlour, my wife much agitated, and I was also agitated. When next she heard from home, it was a letter conveying the sad intelligence of her father’s death by drowning, which took place about the time she felt the physical influence. But what is still more strange, her brother, who was captain of a small vessel, and at sea on the same evening of his poor father’s death, heard his name called. He was in the cabin at the time. He immediately went on deck, asking who called. ‘No one,’ was the reply. He went into his cabin, and again he heard his name, and again he went on deck, thinking a trick was being played. Once more all denied having called him. He thereupon re-entered his cabin, only to hear his name called again, and on demanding sternly who called, and receiving the same answer, ‘No one,’ he said he felt very queer.1 1 Here again we have an account of three separate calls—the favourite legendary number (p. 229, note). In the first-hand version which follows, it will be seen that there is no mention of any repetition of the call, though it is represented as having consisted of three utterances of the name.

    “THOMAS YOUNG.”

    [Mrs. Young’s experience could not be presented as telepathic evidence on its own account, the impression having been so vague. But she is not a nervous or fanciful person, and is certain that she has never had any similar experience—while the fact that her husband did not hear or feel what she heard and felt decidedly supports the view that the experience was hallucination; and if so, it is a remarkable fact that it fell on the night which was marked not only by her father’s death, but by her brother’s far more distinct hallucination of the recognised voice.]

    Captain Adams writes:—

    “62, Commercial Road, Newport, Monmouthshire.

    “November 13th, 1885.

    “In answer to your letter in reference to my father’s death, I will endeavour in a few lines to give you the information you want.

    “As the ship was lying in the port of St. Malo, in France, on the 15th December, 1871, I was lying in my berth at 4 o’clock in the afternoon. I heard a voice. I knew the voice at once to be my father’s, calling ‘Jim, Jim, Jim.’ It was not a dream, for I was awake and getting up. I asked the men on board whether they heard anyone calling.

    {ii-633}

    They said, ‘No.’ I said to them, ‘My father is dead.’ When I arrived at Jersey (Island), my wife said to me, ‘There is bad news for you.’ I said, ‘Yes, I know; my father is dead.’ This was about nine days after my father was lost in Burnham (Essex). When I read the news of his death, [I found that] it was at the same hour I heard his voice.

    “JAMES ADAMS.”

    In answer to an inquiry as to whether this was his sole experience of a hallucination, Captain Adams adds:—

    “You wish to know whether it is the only time I have heard anything of the kind. Yes, it is the only time.”

    Mrs. Adams writes for her husband, on January 19th, 1886:—

    “In reply to your letter of November 17th, in which you ask a few more questions:

    First.—You ask my husband whether he made a note of it. He did not; but he always remembered the date, for he has a very good memory.

    Secondly.—It is impossible to find any of the men who were with him at the time. Some are dead. The others, I do not know where they are.

    “S. E. ADAMS.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that the father of Mrs. Young and Captain Adams was drowned in the River Crouch on Dec. 15, 1871.

    In the next case, the agency is doubtful, as, though a near relative of one of the percipients died at the time, the voice heard was taken to be that of his brother. It is not unlikely that the two men’s voices resembled one another’s: compare the cases of mis-recognition, Nos. 170 and 171. The account

    is first-hand; but we do not know how long a period had elapsed after the occurrence, before it was recorded in writing.

    (676) From the Gentleman’s Magazine for 1752, Vol. XXII., pp. 173–4. The editor states the writer (who signs himself “A. B.”) to be “a man of great veracity,” and the communication to be “a piece of his own private history.”

    “On the 23rd August, 1736, at noon, standing at the shop door with my mistress and maid-servant and Mr. Bloxham, then rider to Mr. Oakes and Co. (who now lives and follows the haberdashery trade in Cateaton Street), we were choosing figured ribbons and other millinery goods, when I heard my father’s voice call ‘Charles,’ very audibly. As accustomed, I answered, ‘Coming, sir.’ Being intent on viewing the patterns, I stayed about four minutes, when I heard a voice a second time call ‘Charles.’ The maid heard it then as well as myself, and answered, ‘He is coming, Mr. W—m—n.’ But the pattern book not being gone through with, I was impatient to see the end, and being also unwilling to detain the gentleman, I still tarried. Then I saw the door open,11 Compare cases 659 and 670. I have mentioned that this form of hallucination is one that occurs also in purely subjective cases. heard my father call a third time, in a strong, emphatic, angry tone, and shutting the door I heard {ii-634} its sound. Both my mistress and the maid heard this last call, on which she pushed me out of the shop with, ‘Sirrah, get you gone, your father is quite angry at your stay.’ I ran over, lifted up the latch, but found the gate locked. Then going in at the back gate saw my mother-in-law in the yard. … I immediately went in, when I found no father nor any appearance of dinner. Returning, I inquired of her for my father; she said he was not come home, nor would dine at home that day. … I then went back to the company, whose consternation was as great as my own. … Whether all this was the force of imagination I cannot say, I believe it may. I will not argue to the contrary, though two senses of two persons besides myself could not, probably, be so liable to deception. My mind and disposition from that hour received a new turn. I became another creature. …

    “It is very remarkable that I had an only uncle (who was gunner of the ‘Biddeford,’ then stationed at Leith), that died there that same day and about the same hour.”

    We learn from the Admiralty that H.M.S. “Biddeford” was at Leith Road on August 23, 1736.

    The following case is an exact parallel to No. 336, and should be read in connection with the remarks on pp. 190–2.

    (677) From Mr. Emmerson, Cullercoats, near Newcastle-on-Tyne.

    “January 9th, 1885.

    “In the summer of 1849, I was sitting in my studio painting, about noon, three days after my mother was buried. (In this locality people were dying by hundreds of cholera—of which she died.) I distinctly heard her call my name, ‘Harry,’ in a very loud voice, which made me start to my feet. My father, who was in another room, rushed into my studio, terrified, and asked me if I had heard my mother calling me. My mother, who was deaf, had a very shrill voice, that there was no mistaking it.

    “This is the only experience of the kind that I have ever met with, but which made a lasting impression on my mind.

    “H. H. EMMERSON.”

    Mr. Emmerson’s father is dead. Mrs. Emmerson writes to us on January 21st, 1886:—

    “I wish to write a few lines to inform you that I frequently heard my husband and his father talking about both of them hearing the mother calling him by name. They were both most positive about it; and it left quite an impression upon their minds. I can vouch for the truth of this statement.

    “MARY EMMERSON.”

    In conversation, I learnt from Mr. Emmerson that he and his father were the only persons in the house at the time that the voice was heard; he had no sisters living at home, and the household had been disorganised owing to the cholera. Mr. Emmerson is very far from inclined to believe in marvels, and the above has simply remained in his mind as a unique and inexplicable fact, which at the time was evidently of the most startling kind. The conditions were of course favourable to subjective hallucination; but, equally of course, this will not explain the double experience.

    {ii-635}

    § 6. In the next and final group, no articulate sounds were heard; and in most of the cases the impression was of a mere noise.

    The following two cases are too remote for details to be relied on; and the nature of the sounds may very likely have become more precise in recollection after the coincident facts were known. Still it may be surmised that the experiences described were, at any rate, collective hallucinations.

    (678) From Mr. M. P. Stephenson, the narrator of case 613.

    “8, Southfield Road, Cotham, Bristol.

    “January 31st, 1884.

    “The case I am going to relate happened more than 50 years ago. Myself and wife had been to her brother’s to see their little daughter, aged about two years, who was thought to be dying. It was evident when we saw her that she could not last long. We left about 10 o’clock at night, and retired to bed, and settled quietly to go to sleep. But before we could do so we heard a startling scream—a sort of death-scream11 It is very doubtful, of course, whether this particular description would have been given but for the fact of the death, which was afterwards ascertained. —on the pillow between us. We each thought the other was taken ill, and turned in alarm, and found that the noise was not aroused by either of us. I turned the matter off as best I could, not to alarm my wife. In the morning she said to me, ‘That was a curious noise we heard last night; what could it have been?’ I said, ‘Little Mary died last night at that time, and that was the noise she made before she died,’ which proved to be the fact. I imitated the noise the same evening, and the child’s mother exclaimed, ‘How strange! that was the exact scream made by my child before she died.’

    “These things, when they occur, take a deep hold on us, and although it happened more than 52 years ago, we both of us remember it as freshly as if it were but a year ago.”

    In answer to inquiry, Mr. Stephenson adds:—

    “The death-cry of the child was heard by us at the precise time of her death, and the mother (who has been dead more than 30 years) recognised the cry I imitated as the last cry of her dear child.”

    To a request for his wife’s written corroboration, Mr. Stephenson replies:—

    “I am sorry that I cannot comply with your request. My dear wife is a confirmed invalid and cannot be persuaded to do what you wish. You are not to suppose that there is any doubt as to the truth of what I related to you.”

    (679) From the mother of a Fellow of St, John’s College, Cambridge, who desires that her name may not be published.

    “1884.

    “On the 15th of May, 1829, my mother, myself, and a servant were in the hall, when we heard a loud groan. We were somewhat startled, and a short time after we heard the groan repeated, but louder. We then looked about the garden and in the street, but could see nothing. We had just returned to the house, when a third time2 2 See p. 229, note. the groan was repeated, but still louder. We were much startled, and again looked about to find the {ii-636} cause, but to no purpose. Shortly after, my brother came in, in breathless haste, to tell his mother that his grandfather was thrown from his horse, and nearly killed. The dear old man died the same night.”

    We find from a copy of a tombstone in Loughton churchyard, that the death occurred on May 16th (not 15th), 1829. The parish-clerk tells us that the accident took place about 100 yards from his house.

    (680) From Mr. Charles H. Kallensee, Croan House, Sladesbridge, Cornwall.

    “December 30th, 1882.

    “In the year 1841, an elder brother of mine died, at Princess Street, Devonport. When I returned from school on the day of his death, I was told to go to his room, as he had inquired for me. On entering the room, I found a great change in him since the morning, and I, who had never seen death, yet knew that he was dying. In the room were my father and mother; my father standing at the side of my brother’s bed, while my dear mother sat weeping near the foot. I took a seat near my mother’s side.

    “It might have been an hour or more that we remained thus, listening to the breathing of my brother, expecting each breath to be the last. I remember it was a beautiful afternoon, and the sun shone into the room and across my brother’s bed. Suddenly there were three violent blows or concussions, so violent that I felt the room shake. My mother sprang to her feet, and with excitement exclaimed, ‘There it is again’; at the same time I saw my father stooping down and turning back the carpet that went round the bed. My own feeling was one of wonder and curiosity, and on looking at my brother, I saw he was dead. My father’s stooping down and examining the carpet was explained by him, after he had felt the third blow strike him at the bottom of his foot; while my mother’s exclamation, ‘There it is again,’ was because she had heard similar manifestations at the death of other members of her family. I know nothing of Spiritualism per se; I never attended any meeting or seances on the subject, therefore cannot say whether the knocking I heard was of that character; but of this I am quite certain, that no known power produced the noise.

    “CHARLES H. KALLENSEE.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that the death occurred on October 21, 1841.

    In answer to an inquiry whether he had ever experienced hallucinations of the senses on other occasions, Mr. Kallensee replied:—

    “I have not met with any similar manifestations. I can scarcely call it a ‘knocking,’ as it seemed to fill, and even shake, the room. The sound was as of a stick being broken, but much louder, and powerful. My father felt the last blow at the bottom of his foot, and almost the first thing I remember, after my wonder had passed, was seeing him stooping down and examining the carpet under his feet. My mother told us children afterwards, on several occasions, that she had heard similar noises at the death of her father and brother. My mother was an educated woman, and far from superstitious; and yet she could not but believe in this.”

    (681) From Mr. H. C. Hurry, C.E., 60, Lawford Road, Kentish Town, N.W.

    {ii-637}

    “January 4th, 1884.

    “Many years ago I lodged with an old lady, her son and daughter, of the name of Spencer, in Manchester. In conversation they frequently told me that on the occasion of the death of any member of their family, one or more of them invariably had some monition of it. This I treated with a considerable amount of scepticism. One morning they received a letter from Ormskirk, near Liverpool, informing them that the young people’s aunt was very ill. The son at once went off to see her. That night I had gone upstairs to bed, my room being up one flight, and immediately opposite to the front door; whilst I was undressing I heard a very loud knock, as though given with the hand, not the knocker. Miss Spencer immediately came out of the sitting-room, and called, saying, ‘Mr. Hurry, did you knock down?’ I answered, ‘No, it was at the hall-door.’ She went and opened it, and at once said, on finding no one there, ‘Good God! my aunt’s dead.’ Without saying anything to them, I wrote down the exact time, about 11 p.m., so far as I can remember. By the first post possible, they received a letter from young Spencer, informing them the aunt had died exactly at the time I had noted, allowing for the difference of mean-time, by which watches were then regulated. I should add that I was in no way related to the Spencers.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Hurry says:—

    “I do not know of any of the Spencer family; the old lady, her son and daughter, I mentioned, having long been dead. The circumstance I named occurred in the year 1841, but as I was a party to it I consider my evidence first-hand. You next ask me whether I have had ‘any auditory hallucinations.’ I cannot remember any but the one I give you.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that a Mrs. Spencer, who is probably the person mentioned in this case, died at Ormskirk in 1841.

    [This case could, of course, have no claim at all to attention, but for its analogy to others, as there is no sufficient proof that the sound was not a real knock. If it was a hallucination, Mr. Hurry’s share in the experience cannot be accounted for as the subjective effect of strain and anxiety.]

    (682) From Mr. W. Hillstead, a teacher of music, who, at the time when he gave us the account, in 1884, was acting as care-taker in a large house at Cambridge.

    “In October, 1848, I was sitting with my mother in 8, Suffolk Place, Pall Mall East. The house was empty except for ourselves. The room was mainly lighted by a large skylight. The house was quite quiet. It was rather dark on an October day. Suddenly we were both startled by a terrifying noise, as if a cartload of gravel had been shot down from a height on to the skylight. I jumped up in startled alarm, thinking that the skylight was, of course, smashed to pieces by the stones which I had actually heard falling on it. There was not the slightest trace of anything unusual. My mother, who had had many warnings of different kinds, was less alarmed. She took for granted that someone was dead, but we could neither of us think who it could be, as we knew of no one who was ill.

    “Some days afterwards, a cousin of mine called, and told us that his {ii-638} brother Richard was dead. We asked when he died, and found that it was at dusk on the very afternoon on which we heard the crash. My mother had been very fond of the young man, and so was I. Of late he had gone wrong, and we had seen less of him.

    “WILLIAM HILLSTEAD.”

    [Unfortunately the information necessary to enable us to verify the death was not asked for at the time; nor was an address obtained to which we might subsequently write. The narrative was certainly given in good faith; but its only force, again, depends on its analogy to other cases.]

    As regards the curious form of the impression in the following case, see the remarks on case 625, pp. 572–3.

    (683) From Mrs. Windridge, Sutton Villa, 99, Albert Road, Dalston, E.

    “November 9th, 1882.

    “In or about the year 1861, I, being weary and worn, first through the long illness and then the depression and inertness of my husband, complained to a lady friend, Mrs. H., whose husband had frequently remonstrated with mine for what appeared to be his laziness. My friend, having a strong sympathy for me, urged her husband to obtain a situation for him. He said, ‘I will kill him for her’; and procured my husband work which he believed would place his life in danger.

    “Three years after, Mr. H. lay dangerously ill; at his request I had gone over to see him, and found him in a most excited state; he entreated me to use all my influence to induce my husband to leave the situation he had procured, as he feared it would ultimately cause his death.

    “Some weeks afterwards my husband and I were awoke by the noise, apparently, of someone endeavouring to open our bedroom door. The noise was quite loud, as if the intruder could not open it readily, and did not care who heard him. My husband listened for a while, and then opened the door with a light in his hand. There was nothing there, but immediately there was the sound of a large dog entering, and scratching on the floor at his feet. My husband searched the house, but we could find nothing. It was just 2 a.m. A day or two afterwards I heard of his death that night. The widow, whom I went to see, told me that, in her own words, he ‘died twice.’ When, as they thought, already dead,—they began to lay him out,—he opened his eyes, and muttered something about ‘Windridge.’ ‘What time was this? I asked. ‘Just 2 a.m.,’ she said.

    “E. WINDRIDGE.”

    Mr. Windridge corroborates as follows:—

    “One night, having retired in the ordinary way, we were aroused by a shaking and scratching at the bedroom door, so distinct and impressive that we began to be alarmed, and I arose, and striking a light, went to the door, and opened it. With an exclamation I started back. Something touched my feet. Something seemed, as it were, to be grovelling at my feet, but I

    could see nothing. I then searched the house and found all undisturbed, as we left it. I looked at the time; it was 2 o’clock. I could not sleep any more that night.

    “The next day I heard that a man, who had expressed to my wife that he would do a great wrong to me, had died. I informed my wife, and she said she would visit the widow. She went, and Mrs. H., in relating the {ii-639} incidents most remarkable in her husband’s death, informed her that he had died, as it were, twice; for after he was pronounced dead, and the nurse was laying him out, he seemed to return to life, and murmured the name ‘Windridge.’ Life was not extinct for a quarter of an hour after this. Mrs. H. informed my wife that her husband died at 2 o’clock, the time I looked at my watch.

    “B. WINDRIDGE.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that the death took place on September 14, 1863.

    In conversation, Mr. Windridge informed Mr. Podmore that he had never experienced any other hallucination. Mrs. Windridge has experienced one other, which was of a singular kind, and is described in the Proceedings of the S.P.R., Vol. III., p. 89.

    Mr. Windridge could not clearly remember having been touched, as he puts it in his letter; he can only be sure that he had the impression of something grovelling at his feet. That impression may, however, have been conveyed by sound only. Mrs. Windridge states that he told her at the time that he had been touched.

    The following is a further specimen of the musical class,1 1 In a case which E. M. Arndt (Schriften für und an seine Lieben Deutschen, 1845, Vol. iii., pp. 525–6) records, with names and details, on the first-hand authority of a family whom he highly esteemed, the music of a guitar was heard, first by two daughters of the house, and then by their father and a large group of persons, at the time of the death in battle of an officer who had been staying with the family a little time before, and had delighted them by his performances on that instrument. But there is no sufficient statement of the grounds on which the hearers were convinced (as they undoubtedly were) that the sounds were not due to any objective cause in the vicinity. The house was searched; but there is no mention of inquiries in the environs. parallel to No. 388. With respect to its place in the present collection, I must again refer to pp. 190–2.

    (684) A gentleman who is a master at Eton College wrote to us, on Feb. 3, 1884:—

    “I enclose a copy of a memorandum made a few days after the event referred to. My memorandum has been copied for me by Miss H., whose name occurs in it. She is my matron; a sensible, middle-aged, active, and experienced woman. None of the people concerned were young, flighty, or fanciful. I have the doctor’s letter; his name is G., and he still resides here. Miss H. only wishes to add that it must have occurred from 20 minutes to perhaps 30 after dissolution, and she says that she has never heard anything like the extreme sweetness of the sound.

    “H. E. L.”

    The memorandum is as follows:—

    “Eton College.

    “August 6th, 1881.

    “I wish to write down, before there is time for confusion, the following fact, occurring on Thursday morning, July 28, 1881, when my dear mother died, whom God rest! After all was over, Miss E. I., Eliza W., Dr. G., and myself being in the room, Miss I. heard a sound of ‘very {ii-640} low, soft music, exceedingly sweet, as if of three girls’ voices, passing by the house.’ She described further the sound as if girls were going home singing, only strangely low and sweet; it seemed to come from the street, past the house towards the College buildings (the road ends there in a cul-de-sac), and so passed away. She looked to call my attention, and thought I perceived it. She noticed that the doctor heard it, and that he went to the window to look out. The window faces S.E. Eliza W. being in the room at the same time heard a sound of very low, sweet singing. She recognised the tune and words of the hymn. ‘The strife is o’er, the battle done.’ Miss I. recognised no tune, but felt ‘that the music sounded, as it were, familiar.’ As a very accomplished musician, especially remarkable for her quick memory of music, had words or air been those of a well-known hymn, she would almost certainly have remembered it. These two spoke to each other when alone about what they had heard. Miss I. gives the time at about 10 minutes after my dear mother expired. They were then unaware of this additional circumstance. Miss H. had left the room, and had summoned Charlotte C, with whom she had procured something required for laying out the body. As the two returned upstairs they heard a sound of music, and both stopped. Charlotte said to Miss H., ‘What is this?’ After a pause she said, ‘It must be Miss I. singing to comfort master.’ They afterwards entered the room, of which the door had been shut all along. Charlotte further described the sound as very sweet and low, seeming to pass by them. She felt as if, had she only been able to listen, she could have distinguished the words. It did not occur to her that her description was most incongruous; she could not listen attentively, but felt ‘as if rapture were all around her.’ It was not until afterwards, when she mentioned to Eliza having heard Miss I. singing, and how strangely it sounded, that they found that each had heard the sound. Miss H. described the sound as very peculiar and sweet, seeming to pass by them and pass away, as they both stopped on the stairs. All the staircase windows give north-west. I heard nothing,11 Compare case 666, and see p. 105, second note. and I should have given no weight to a sound heard or described by these women in the room after communicating with each other, or by these women out of the room respectively; but the coincidence of each party hearing it separately and independently without previous communication, as well as the matter-of-fact explanation suggested for it by one of them seeming to imply that their thoughts were not dwelling on the supernatural, added so much weight to this account that I wrote to the doctor, who answers:—’I quite remember hearing the singing you mention; it was so peculiar that I went to the window and looked out, but although quite light I could see no one, and cannot therefore account for it.’ The time must have been about 2 a.m. on July 28th, 1881.”

    Miss I. writes:—

    “13, Park Street, Windsor.

    “February 22nd, 1884.

    “I will copy the memorandum which I made in my diary just after the death of my dear friend and connection, Mrs. L.

    {ii-641}

    “July 28th, 1881.

    “Just after dear Mrs. L.’s death between 2 and 3 a.m., I heard a most sweet and singular strain of singing outside the windows; it died away after passing the house. All in the room heard it, and the medical attendant, who was still with us, went to the window as I did, and looked out, but there was nobody. It was a bright and beautiful night. It was as if several voices were singing in perfect unison a most sweet melody, which died away in the distance. Two persons had gone from the room to fetch something, and were coming upstairs at the back of the house, and heard the singing and stopped, saying, ‘What is that singing?’ They could not naturally have heard any sound outside the windows in the front of the house from where they were. I cannot think that any explanation can be given to this—as I think—supernatural singing; but it would be very interesting to me to know what is said by those who have made such matters a subject of study.

    “E. I.”

    Dr. G. writes in 1884:—

    “Eton, Windsor.

    “I remember the circumstance perfectly. Poor Mrs. L. died on July 28th, 1881. I was sent for at about midnight, and remained until her death at about 2.30 a.m. As there was no qualified nurse present, I remained and assisted the friends to ‘lay out’ the body. Four or five of us assisted, and at my request the matron of Mr. L.’s house and a servant went to the kitchen department to find a shutter or flat board upon which to place the body. Soon after their departure, and whilst we were waiting for their return, we distinctly heard a few bars of lovely music—not unlike that from an Æolian harp—which seemed to fill the air for a few seconds. I went to the window and looked out, thinking there must be someone outside, but could see no one, although it was quite light and clear. Strangely enough, those who went to the kitchen heard the same sounds as they were coming upstairs, quite at the other side of the door. These are the facts, and I think it right to tell you that I have not the slightest belief in the supernatural, Spiritualism, &c., &c.

    “J. W. G.”

    [The fact that Mr. L. did not share the experience is strong evidence that the sounds were not objectively caused by persons singing outside the house; and this is further confirmed by the slight difference which there appears to have been between the impressions received.]

    END OF THE SUPPLEMENT.

    {ii-642}

    ADDITIONAL CHAPTER

    OF CASES RECEIVED TOO LATE FOR INSERTION IN THEIR PROPER PLACES.

    § 1. The printing and revision of these volumes have occupied a considerable time; and meanwhile several items of evidence have been received too late for insertion in the chapters to which they properly belong. They fall under the three classes, already distinguished, of experimental, transitional, and spontaneous cases. I will begin with some cases of the first class, which sufficiently show that the experiments described at the opening of the treatise admit of being repeated and varied with success.

    The following results were sent to us at the close of last year, by Herr Max Dessoir, of 27, Köthener-Strasse, Berlin. He has devoted a good deal of time to experimenting with a few friends, he himself almost always acting as percipient. He began with trials of the “willing-game” type, and soon convinced himself that slight muscular hints were the full and sufficient explanation of all the ordinary “thought-reading” exhibitions. He then introduced forms of experiment which offered no opportunity for unconscious guidance on the agent’s part—such as the guessing of numbers, words, and cards, without any contact between agent and percipient. These trials, though the amount of success was above what could with probability be ascribed to chance, were not numerous enough to justify any definite conclusion. But a series of trials in the reproduction of diagrams affords an interesting parallel to those described in Vol. I., pp. 37–51. The agent was in some cases Herr E. Weiss, of 28, Wilhelm-Strasse, Berlin (a fellow-student with Herr Dessoir at the Berlin University); in others Herr H. Biltz, of 14, Schelling-Strasse, Berlin; and in one case (No. 7) Herr W. Sachse, of 2, Kirchbach-Strasse, Berlin. (Herr Weiss and Herr Biltz are known to us, through correspondence, independently of these experiments.) All three gentlemen have sent us certificates of the accuracy of the record of the experiments in which they were respectively concerned.

    {ii-643}

    Herr Dessoir thus describes the conditions of the trials:—

    “While the agent drew the original, I was almost always out of the room, to avoid being influenced by the sound of the drawing. When the agent called out ‘Ready,’ I came in, with eyes closely bandaged—the bandage being made to cover the ears, so as to shut out casual sounds. I set myself at the table, and in many instances placed my hands on the table, and the agent placed his hands on mine: the hands lay quite still on one another.1 1 It is important to observe the fundamental difference between contact which continues while the writing or drawing is going on (as in the writing of the figures of banknotes, which is a favourite trick in the public “thought-reading” exhibitions), where what the performer receives from the innocent “willer” is delicate muscular guidance from moment to moment; and contact which ceases before the attempt at reproduction commences, and which could only betray the required figure if the hand of the agent (which seems both to himself and to the percipient to be perfectly still) were moved on that of the percipient in such a way as to draw the required shape. I have reason to believe that certain figures may be thus indicated without the agent’s consciousness; but it seems to me unlikely that they could be unconsciously perceived—at any rate by an observer who, like Herr Dessoir, has devoted special pains to analysing his impressions and discovering their source. When an image presented itself in my mind, the hands were removed, the original drawing [on which the agent had been fixing his eyes] was turned over, or covered with a book, and I took off the bandage and drew my figure. Many of the experiments were made without contact, even though no note to that effect was made.”

    As regards the cases where there were two or three attempts at reproduction, Herr Dessoir says, that after he had had a clear image in his mind, and had removed the bandage, the image would sometimes lose its clearness, and that he was sensible that the figures which he produced did not correspond with it, and so tried again. Still, as no doubt the agent would have told him if the earlier attempt had been successful, and he would not then have made another, every incorrect attempt must count as simply a failure.

    The following woodcuts, which have been very carefully copied from the original sheets, include all the trials in which Herr Dessoir was himself the percipient, with the exception of two, (one, to the eye, a success, and the other a failure,) omitted on account of some uncertainty as to the conditions. Nos. iii., vi., and x., in which Herr H. Biltz was the percipient, must be set against three complete failures on his part. The series given contains a considerable proportion of failure; but if the reader will draw 19 figures of about an equal degree of complexity, and get a friend to do the same, and will then compare each figure of one series with the corresponding one of the other, he will realise the improbability of obtaining by mere chance, in so short a set, 9 resemblances as close as those in Nos. i., iv., vi., vii., xi., xiii., xv., xvii. and xviii., below.

    {ii-644}
    I.
    ORIGINAL.
    image
    Agent: H.B.
    REPRODUCTION.
    image
    II.
    ORIG.
    image
    Agent: H.B.
    REP. 1.
    image
    REP. 2.
    image
    III.
    ORIG.
    image
    Agent’s name omitted.
    REP.
    image
    It appears here that the agent’s image included an impression of the left part of the frame. M.D.
    {ii-645}
    IV.
    ORIG
    image
    Agent: H.B.
    REP.
    image
     
    ORIG.
    image
    Agent: H.B.
    REP. 1.
    image
    REP. 2.
    image
    REP. 3.
    image
    REP. 4.
    image
    {ii-646}
    VI
    ORIG.
    image
    Agent: M.D.
    REP. 1.
    image
    REP. 2.
    image
    VII.
    ORIG.
    image
    Agent: H.B.
    REP. 1.
    image
    REP. 2.
    image
    While the second reproduction was proceeding, an interruption occurred which prevented its completion.
    {ii-647}
    VIII.
    ORIG.
    image
    Agent: H.B.
    REP. 1.
    image
    REP. 2.
    image
    REP. 3.
    image
    REP. 4.
    image
    IX.
    ORIG.
    image
    Agent: H.B.
    REP. 1.
    image
    REP. 2.
    image
    REP. 3.
    image
    The percipient said, “It looks like a window.”
    X.
    ORIG.
    image
    Agent: M. D.
    REP. 1.
    image
    REP. 2.
    image
    REP. 3.
    image
    {ii-648}
    XI.
    ORIG.
    image
    Agent: H. B.
    REP. 1.
    image
    REP. 2.
    image
    REP. 3.
    image
    {ii-649}
    XII.
    ORIG.
    image
    Agent: H. B.
    REP. 1.
    image
    REP. 2.
    image
    XIII.
    ORIG.
    image
    Agent: E. W.
    REP. 1.
    image
    REP. 2.
    image
    The percipient said, “It looks like a window.”
    {ii-650}
    XIV.
    ORIG.
    image
    Agent: E. W.
    REP. 1.
    image
    REP. 2.
    image
    REP. 3.
    image
    XV.
    ORIG.
    image
    Agent: E. W.
    REP. 1.
    image
    REP. 2.
    image
    The first attempt at reproduction appears to have been a failure.
    XVI.
    ORIG.
    image
    Agent: E. W.
    REP. 1.
    image
    REP. 2.
    image
    REP. 3.
    image
    {ii-651}
    XVII.
    ORIG.
    image
    Agent: E. W.
    REP. 1.
    image
    REP. 2.
    image
    XVIII.
    ORIG.
    image
    Agent: E. W.
    REP. 1.
    image
    REP. 2.
    image
    The percipient said, “I see two bright triangles but I cannot tell exactly how the second is situated.”
    XIX.
    ORIG.
    image
    Agent: E. W.
    REP. 1.
    image
    REP. 2.
    image
    REP. 3.
    image

    The following shorter record is taken from the monthly journal Sphinx (Leipzig), for June, 1886, and we have not seen the original diagrams. The experiments were made at the house of Baron Dr. von Ravensburg, whose wife was the percipient. Herr Max Dessoir drew the originals on the spur of the moment, out of the Baroness von Ravensburg’s sight, and taking care that his pencil should move noiselessly. He and the Baron then concentrated their attention on the figure, which the Baroness, sitting at another table, endeavoured to reproduce, after a time varying from 20 to 45 seconds. (The Baron did not take part in the first experiment, which, it will be seen, was a failure.)

    {ii-652}
    I.
    ORIG.
    image
    REP. 1.
    image
    REP. 2.
    image
    II.
    ORIG.
    image
    REP. 1.
    image
    REP. 2.
    image
    III.
    ORIG.
    image
    REP.
    image
    The correction was made by the percipient before the original was shown to her.
    {ii-653}
    IV.
    ORIG.
    image
    REP.
    image
    V.
    ORIG.
    image
    REP.
    image
    The percipient said, “It is circle outside, and there is something else inside it;” then, after a pause, “A triangle.” She then drew the reproduction, and added that the circle was an imperfect one.

    With respect to these experiments, the Baron and Baroness von Ravensburg have sent a note of corroboration, of which the following is a translation:—

    “18, Zietenstrasse, Berlin, W.

    “July 9, 1886.

    “We certify that the report of our sitting for a trial of thought-transference, which appeared in the sixth number of Sphinx, is throughout in correspondence with the facts, and has been drawn up with complete accuracy.

    “FREIHERR GOELER VON RAVENSBURG.

    “ELIZABETH, FREIFRAU GOELER VON RAVENSBURG.”

    The following is a set of 400 trials, made in batches of 40 or 50 at a time, in June, 1886, by the Misses Wingfield, whose former experiments have been described in Vol. I., p. 34. The ninety numbers which contain two digits were inscribed on ninety slips of paper, and placed in a bowl. Miss M. Wingfield, sitting six feet behind the percipient, drew a slip at random, and fixed her attention on the number which it bore; Miss K. Wingfield made a guess at the number, and the real number and the guess made were at once recorded in the Table. The slip of paper was then replaced, the contents of the bowl shuffled, and another draw made at hap-hazard. The most probable number of right guesses for accident to bring about in the 400 {ii-654} trials was 4. The actual number of completely right guesses was 27; in 21 other cases the two right digits were given in reverse order: and in 162 others, one of the digits was given rightly in its right place. The probability which this result affords for a cause other than chance is represented by 47 nines and a 5 following a decimal point; i.e., the odds are nearly two hundred thousand million trillions of trillions to 1. It would be a very inadequate statement of the case to say that, if the waking hours of the whole population of the world were for the future continuously devoted to making similar trials, life on this planet would come to an end without such an amount of success, or anything like it, having been accidentally obtained.

    image {ii-655}

    The next account is from the Rev. Canon Lefroy, Incumbent of St Andrew’s, Liverpool. The percipient, Miss ——, is known to Mr. Myers and the present writer. Her bona fides is above suspicion; but her state of health has unfortunately prevented further experimentation.

    “1885.

    “Early in September, 1884, in Zermatt, I was, through the kindness of Miss ——, permitted to have an opportunity of testing, by personal observation, experience, and evidence, the reality or otherwise of what is, I believe, called telepathy. I am bound to say that when I was informed, and most kindly informed, of what was proposed to be done, the innate scepticism of my nature rose to its highest.

    “I was informed that the eyes of Miss —— would be tightly bandaged, and I saw them bandaged; that in this darkened state, mental or ocular perception—probably the latter 1 1 See p. 48, note.—would, nevertheless, enable her to read any word written by me on a slip of paper. There might be mistake; there might be literal transposition [? transposition of letters]; there might be delay; but, speaking broadly, I was assured that the word could be discerned. We sat at opposite sides of the table. I was desired to hold the lady’s hand. I did so, and while so doing I exerted my will to the utmost, and to the intent that, if possible, the conflict of wills should result in favour of my scepticism. I must, with shame and humiliation, confess that my incredulity and volitional resistance did not hesitate to select a word which my gifted antagonist probably never heard of; and accordingly I defiantly, confidently, and I will add, mercilessly, wrote the name of Terence’s old play—Heautontimorumenos. The completion of my word was followed by a prolonged pause. I felt as if breathing was an intrusion, and not a sound was heard. At last the blinded, and I thought the wearied, or at least strained, interpreter said, ‘What a long word!’ Then a pause. Then as follows: ‘Why—two, four, six, eight—there are eighteen letters in that word!’

    “Unconsciously my resisting power became less than it was, and it decreased from the moment Miss —— said, ‘What a long word!’ Nevertheless, the long pause seemed to give me a chance, and again I gathered up my mind to resolve that detection should be arrested. But very soon this purpose was foiled; the lady calmly said, ‘That word has two m’s to it; it begins with an h; and I never saw that word before.’ I felt very guilty as I observed what I thought were signs of fatigue, and then declared the word was unusual—ill-known, and asked that the bandage might be removed.

    “In a few moments I was allowed to try with simpler words. Again the bandage was applied, the word was written, and our hands were clasped. I wrote the word ink. In about one minute the word was read, thus, ‘k, n, i; your word is ink.’

    “Again I was most kindly allowed to try another word. I wrote toy. In a minute the word was read thus, ‘y, o, t; your word is toy.’2 2 The following note, by Mr. Myers, of a trial made in 1884, with the same percipient, exhibits the same curious reversal of letters; which might be compared with the production of anagrams, and of independent and phonetic spelling, in automatic writing (Vol. i., pp. 76–8, and below, p. 665). “I asked Miss —— to try some experiments in thought-transference with her sister. She soon told me that the experiments had succeeded, but with this strange peculiarity, that, when the sister fixed her eyes on some word, Miss K. saw its letters appear in her field of mental vision in reverse order. Miss K. was, unfortunately, very liable to headache, which these experiments quickly induced, and I was only allowed one short series of trials. I placed the word NET behind her, and looked fixedly at the letters. She said that she saw successively the letters T, E, N. I next chose SEA, and she saw A, E, S. I chose a third word, but she saw no mental image, and headache stopped the experiments.”

    {ii-656}

    The experience then closed, so far as this species of discovery was concerned.

    “WILLIAM LEFROY, M.A.”

    In answer to inquiries, Canon Lefroy writes, on June 17, 1886:—

    “Abercromby Square, Liverpool.

    “I believe I wrote the letters under the cover of my left hand. Miss —— could not possibly descry them. My own inflexible scepticism respecting her power provided, I can assure you, a ready safeguard against anything she might have been disposed to do under the peculiar circumstances of the experiment. I am, to this hour, a most unwilling believer in her possession of some force which revealed what she could not see, and which disclosed what I resolved should be impenetrable.”

    Miss Hamilton, of 47, Albert Mansions, Kensington Gore, W., a Member of the S.P.R., sends (in June, 1886,) the following record of an impromptu trial, of the sort which we wish we could persuade more people to make. In such a case as this, contact, though better avoided, can scarcely be held to afford the opportunity for unconscious physical hints. One reservation unfortunately must be made: the record was not drawn up in writing at the time. But Miss Hamilton tells us that the details were then and there carefully gone over, with a view to the present report; and we have several memories to rely on.

    “Experiment between Miss Leila Melvill [now Mrs. Lewis Hamilton], and Mr. Lewis Hamilton, September, 1885.

    “Miss L. M., eyes lightly bandaged with a silk handkerchief, was ‘willed’ by Mr. Hamilton. He placed his hands on her forehead, and willed intently that she should read the [printed] words, A Sermon, at which he gazed steadily all the time he willed. She said, slowly, A; then spelled the first few letters of ‘Sermon,’ and then said the whole word.

    “The same evening she read in the same manner these words, County Families. Later on, in November, the same experiment was tried, and she read the unusual words, Chatto and Windus. Each experiment took about three minutes. Amongst the witnesses present were:—

    “MARY C. D. HAMILTON.

    “A. MELVILL [sister of the percipient].

    “LILLIAS HAMILTON.”

    The agent and percipient also sign the account.

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Hamilton writes, on June 25, 1886:—

    “Lansdowne, Farquhar Road, Upper Norwood.

    (1) “Had the subject’s eyes been unbandaged, she could have undoubtedly seen the words; but not only were they tightly bandaged, but my fingers were placed on her closed eyelids, so that she could not even

    {ii-657} have opened them, had there been no bandage. On one occasion the words she read were held above the subject’s head, so that she could not in any case have seen. [Miss Hamilton independently confirms this.] I may say, however, that in no single case was there any possibility of her having seen the words. The words, and book, or pamphlet, from which they were read, were chosen after her eyes were bandaged, and out of her sight, and they were not whispered from one witness to the other, but shown round.

    (2) “In no instance did she fail with me, but when Mr. Hope tried her one evening, she failed, and on another occasion (one) she said almost at once she could not do it that evening. The experiment was tried a good many times, and except for the above, always succeeded.

    (3) “For about six months we did not try again, and on the two occasions we have tried lately, she has said she could not do it. We, however, do intend to try again.

    “LEWIS HAMILTON.”

    The following records of experiments have been sent to us by our friend Dr. Liébeault, of Nancy, a Corresponding Member of the S.P.R.

    “Compte-rendu des expériences de transmission de pensées, faites le 10 Décembre, 1885, de 3 heures à 4 heures et demie du soir, chez M. le Dr. Liébeault, en présence de M. le Dr. Liébeault, de Madame S., et de M. le Dr. Brullard. Opérateur, M. le Professeur Liégeois; sujet, Mlle. M., 20 ans. [Translation]Report of thought-transmission experiments carried out on December 10, 1885, between three and four-thirty in the afternoon, at Dr. Liébeault’s, in the presence of Dr. Liébeault, Mme S., and Dr. Brullard. Hypnotist: Professor Liégeois; subject, Mlle. M, aged 20.

    “1. Mlle. M., très intelligente et impressionable, est habituée à être endormie et entre très vite en état de somnambulisme, pendant lequel elle est en rapport avec tous les assistants. [Translation]1. Mlle M., very intelligent and sensitive, is used to being put to sleep, and goes into a somnambulistic trance very quickly, one during which she is in rapport with all those present.

    “M. le Professeur Liégeois la met en état de somnambulisme hypnotique, et lui suggère de n’être en rapport qu’avec lui seul; il lui donne du papier et un crayon, et lui commande de faire la même chose que lui. Alors il se rend à une table voisine et dessine un triangle sur un registre, dont la couverture relevée forme un écran entre lui et le sujet, et intercepte toute communication visuelle. Aussitôt Mlle. M. écrit de son côté, ‘Les grands hommes.’ Le résultat est donc nul. [Translation]Professor Liégeois puts her into a somnambulistic trance and suggests she remain in rapport with him only. He gives her paper and pencil, and orders her to do the same thing he does. He goes to a nearby table and draws a triangle in an account-book whose raised cover forms a screen between him and the subject, and blocks all visual communication. At once, Mlle M. writes "Great men." The result is thus negative.

    “2. En second lieu M. Liégeois dit au sujet, toujours en somnambulisme, ‘Je dessine un objet,’ et dans les mêmes conditions que précédemment, il dessine une carafe. Le sujet dit aussitôt, ‘C’est un vase,’ et elle dessine un vase de forme carrée. ‘Ce n’est pas cela,’ dit M. Liégeois. Alors Mlle. M. dessine un objet de même forme que la carafe, mais difforme, vu qu’ayant les yeux fermés elle plaçait ses traits au juger. Le résultat est donc exact.1 1 The drawings have been sent to us, and entirely accord with Dr. Liébeault’s description. [Translation]2. Next, M. Liégeois tells the subject, still in her trance, "I am drawing a picture of an object," and under the same conditions as before, draws a carafe. The subject says at once "It’s a vase," and draws a picture of a square-shaped vase. "No, not that," says M. Liégeois. Then Mlle M. draws an object having the same shape as the carafe, but distorted, given that her eyes are closed and she is drawing without seeing what she has done. The result is, therefore, correct.

    “3. En troisième lieu, ‘Je dessine quelque chose,’ dit M. Liégeois, et il figure un bonhomme. Le sujet, dans le même état passif, dit successivement, ‘C’est un dessin d’ornement,’ et elle commence à tracer quelques traits; puis sur une réponse négative, ‘On croirait une boussole—un arbre—une maison.’ Résultat nul. A ce moment M. Liégeois réveille Mlle. M. avec la suggestion de très bien voir à son réveil {ii-658} le dernier objet dessiné, et dès ce moment elle est en communication avec les assistants. ‘Je ne sais pas,’ dit Mile. M., et après quelques minutes, ‘C’est une tête,’ que sur demande elle figure de profil. Alors on lui dit que c’était un bonhomme. ‘Eh bien!’ répond-elle, ‘ma première impression a été de faire un bonhomme, mais j’ai craint que l’on ne se moquât de moi.’ [Translation]3. Third, M. Liégeois says "I am drawing something," and sketches a man. The subject, still in her passive state, says successively "It’s a drawing of an ornament," after which she starts to make a few marks, and then, after getting a negative reaction, "It looks like a compass-a tree-a house." Outcome negative. At this point M. Liégeois brings Mlle M. out of the trance with the suggestion that she shall very clearly see the last object drawn once she is awake, and at that moment she is in communication with all those present. "I don't know," says Mlle. M., and a few minutes later, "It’s a head." When asked, she draws it in profile. Then she is told that it was a man. "I say," she replies, "my first reaction was to draw a man, but I was afraid you would make fun of me."

    “4. Mile. M. restant réveillée, M. Liégeois retourne à sa table et dessine une table carrée vue en perspective, avec un tiroir et son bouton; puis, après avoir montré silencieusement son dessin à chaque assistant en particulier, il place ses deux mains sur la tête du sujet et lui dit, ‘Maintenant vous allez deviner ce que je viens de faire.’ Après moins de deux minutes de réflexion, ‘C’est une table,’ dit-elle; ‘elle est ronde—pas tout-à-fait.’ Sur demande de la dessiner, elle dessine peu-à-peu une table exactement semblable et dans la même position, avec le tiroir et son bouton. Résultat exact. [Translation]4. Mlle. M. being still awake, M. Liégeois returns to his table and draws a square table in proper perspective, with a drawer and knob. Then, after having shown his drawing in silence to each person separately, he puts his two hands on the subject’s head and says to her "Now guess what I have just done." After less than two minutes' thought, she says "It’s a table; it is round—well, not quite." When asked to draw the table, she slowly draws one exactly like the other and in the same position, including the drawer and the knob. Correct result.

    “5. Mlle. M., qui, comme aucun assistant, n’a vu le dessin, est en rapport avec M. Liégeois seul. M. Liégeois dessine un cube. Mlle. M. dit spontanément, ‘C’est une lampe.’ M. Liégeois lui met les mains sur la tête. ‘C’est une chaise,’ dit-elle. M. Liégeois lui fixe les yeux sur les siens et lui tient la main. ‘Je ne sais pas.’ Alors le dessin est montré aux assistants. ‘C’est un chapeau,’ dit-elle. Mlle. M. est mise de nouveau en somnambulisme. ‘Je veux que vous voyiez le dessin,’ dit M. Liégeois. ‘C’est un petit bureau.’ ‘Non.’ ‘Oh, il y a des carrés—oui,’ et elle dessine deux carrés, l’un audessous de l’autre. ‘Ce n’est pas cela,’ et comme elle ne trouve pas, après quelques minutes, ‘Quel est l’objet où il y a des carrés?’ ‘Je ne sais pas.’ ‘C’est un cube.’ ‘Ah, c’est vrai; je voulais le faire.’ Pendant l’expérience, M. le Dr. Liébeault avait ajouté des points figurant

    un dé. donc résultat médiocre. [Translation]5. Mlle M., who, unlike the others, has not seen the drawing, is in rapport with M. Liégeois alone. M. Liégeois draws a cube. Mlle. M., without being asked, says "It’s a lamp." M. Liégeois puts his hands on her head. "It’s a chair," she says. M. Liégeois stares into her eyes and takes her hand. "I don't know." At that point the drawing is shown to the other persons. "It’s a hat," she says. Mlle. M. is put back into a trance. "I want you to see the drawing," says M. Liégeois. "It’s a small desk." "No." "Oh, it’s squares—yes," and she draws two squares one above the other. "No, not that;" and, as she doesn't get it, after a few minutes, "What is the object made up of squares?" "I don't know." "It’s a cube." "Ah, of course; that’s what I meant to draw." During the course of the experiment, Dr. Liébault had added dots to make the cube into a die. Result only fair, therefore.

    “6. Mile. M., étant toujours en état de sommeil hypnotique, M. Liégeois dessine une croix. ‘Il y a un carré,’ dit Mlle. M. (C’était vrai; la croix était dessinée dans un carré.) ‘Mais qu’y a-t-il dedans?’ demande M. Liegéois. ‘C’est un verre—non—une étoile—non—un triangle. Cependant il y a trois traits.’ Enfin elle figure successivement un angle, puis une croix de S. André, quand on lui eût dit de laisser aller son crayon sans s’en occuper. Résultat à peu près nul. [Translation]6. Mlle M. being still under hypnosis, M. Liégeois draws a cross. "It’s a square," said Mlle M. This was accurate, for the cross had been drawn inside a square. "But what is that inside the square?" asks M. Liégeois. "It’s a drinking glass—no—a star—no—a triangle. But there are three lines." Finally, when asked to let her pencil move without controlling it, she draws, first an angle, then a St. Andrew’s cross. Outcome essentially negative.

    “7. M. Liégeois écrit le mot mariage. Mile. M. écrit de suite, ‘Monsieur.’ Puis elle dit, ‘Carafe—non—tableau—non.’ ‘Quelle est la lettre?’ ‘C’est un l—non, c’est un m.’. Puis, après quelques minutes de réflexion, ‘Il y a dans le mot un—i—un a après I’m—un g—un autre a—un e—il y a six lettres—non—sept.’ Quand elle eût trouvé toutes les lettres et leur places, ma iage, elle ne put découvrir la lettre r. Ce n’est qu’après plusieurs minutes qu’on lui dit d’essayer les combinaisons avec les différens consonnes, et enfin elle écrit mariage. Résultat médiocre.” [Translation]M. Liégeois writes the word mariage. Mlle. M. then writes “Monsieur.” Then she says “Carafe—no—painting—no.” “What is the letter?” “It’s an l—no, an m.” Then, after a few minutes’ thought: “There is an i in the word—an a after the m—a g—another a—an e—an e—there are six letters, no, seven.” When she had found all the letters and their order, ma iage, she was unable to come up with the letter r. Only after some minutes, when told to try all the consonants, that she finally wrote mariage. Outcome fair.

    “Procès-verbal relatant trois faits étonnants de suggestion mentale, obtenus par MM. Liébeault et De Guaita, au domicile du Dr. Liébeault (4, rue Bellevue, Nancy), le 9 Janvier, 1886. [Translation]Minutes of three remarkable examples of mental suggestion, obtained by MM. Liébeault and De Guaita, at the home of Dr. Liébeault (4, rue Bellevue, Nancy), on January 9, 1886.

    “Nous soussignés Liébeault (Ambroise), docteur en médecine, et De Guaita (Stanislas), homme de lettres, tous deux demeurant actuellement à Nancy, attestons et certifions avoir obtenus les résultats suivants. [Translation]We the undersigned, Ambroise Liébeault, M.D., and Stanislas De Guaita, author, both now residing at Nancy, attest and certify that we have attained the following results.

    “1. Mlle. Louise L., endormie du sommeil magnétique, fut informée {ii-659} qu’elle allait avoir à répondre à une question qui lui serait faite mentalement sans l’intervention d’aucune parole ni d’aucun signe. Le Dr. Liébeault, la main appuyée au front du sujet, se recueillit un instant, concentrant sa propre attention sur la demande, Quand serez-vous guérie? qu’il avait la volonté de faire. Les lèvres de la somnainbule remuèrent soudain: ‘Bientôt,’ murmura-t-elle distinctement. On l’in vita alors à répéter devant toutes les personnes présentes, la question qu’elle avait intuitivement perçue. Elle la redit dans les terrnes mêmes, où elle avait été formulée dans l’esprit de l’expérimentateur. Cette première expérience, entreprise par le Dr. Liébeault, à l’instigation de M. de Guaita, réussit donc pleinement. Une seconde épreuve donna des résultats moins rigoureux mais plus curieux peut-être encore, ainsi qu’on va voir. [Translation]1. Mlle Louise L., having been put into a magnetic sleep, was told that she was to reply to a question that would be put to her mentally without use of speech or signs. Dr. Liébeault, his hand on the subject’s forehead, thought for a minute, concentrating his own attention on the question he was planning to ask: "When will you be cured?" The subject’s lips moved suddenly. "Soon", she murmured clearly. We then asked her to repeat for everyone present the question she had intuitively perceived. She repeated it in the same words in which it had been formulated in the mind of the experimenter. This first experiment, performed by Dr. Liébeault at M. de Guaita’s suggestion, was thus entirely successful. A second test gave results that were less rigorous, but perhaps even more curious, as we shall see.

    “2. M. de Guaita, s’étant mis en rapport avec la magnétisée, lui posa mentalement une autre question, Reviendrez-vous la semaine prochaine?1 1 The questions were not committed to paper till after the conclusion of the sitting, which is unfortunate, as everything depends on their exact wording.Peut-être,’ fut la réponse du sujet; mais invité à communiquer aux personnes présentes la question mentale, elle répondit, ‘Vous m’avez demandé si vous reviendrez la semaine prochaine.’ Cette confusion, portant sur un mot de la phrase, est très significative. On dirait que la jeune fille a ‘bronché’ en lisant dans le cerveau du magnétiseur. [Translation]2. M. de Guaita, having achieved rapport with the subject, asked her a different question mentally: "Will you be back next week?" "Maybe" was the reply. But when asked to inform the persons there of the mental question, she replied "You asked me if you are coming back next week." This confusion in a single word of the sentence is extremely significant. It is as though the girl had "tripped over" the sentence as she read the mind of the hypnotist.

    “3. Le Dr. Liébeault, afin qu’aucune phrase indicative ne fût prononcée, même à voix basse, écrivit sur un billet, ‘Mademoiselle, en se réveillant, verra son chapeau noir transformé en chapeau rouge.’ Le billet fut passé d’avance à tous les temoins, puis MM. Liébeault et de Guaita posèrent, en silence, leur main sur le front du sujet, en formulant mentalement la phrase convenue. Alors la jeune fille, instruite qu’elle verrait dans la pièce quelque chose d’insolite, fut réveillée. Sans une hésitation elle fixa aussitôt son chapeau, et, avec un grand éclat de rire, se récria,

    ‘Ce n’était pas son chapeau; elle n’en voulait pas. Il avait bien la même forme; mais cette plaisanterie avait assez duré; il fallait lui rendre son bien.’ ‘Mais enfin, qu’y voyez-vous de changé?’ ‘Vous savez de reste. Vous avez des yeux comme moi.’ ‘Mais encore?’ On dut insister très longtemps pour qu’elle consentît à dire en quoi son chapeau était changé; on voulait se moquer d’elle. Pressée de questions elle dit enfin, ‘Vous voyez bien qu’il est tout rouge.’ Comme elle refusait de la reprendre, force fut de mettre fin à son hallucination, en lui afiirmant qu’il allait revenir à sa couleur première. Le docteur souffla sur le chapeau, et, redevenu le sien à ses yeux, elle consentit à le reprendre.2 2 Et la somnambule, immédiatement après, ne se souvient plus de son hallucination.And the subject immediately forgot her hallucination. [Translation]3. To avoid speaking any suggestive phrase, even in a low voice, Dr. Liébeault wrote on a scrap of paper "When Mademoiselle awakens, she will find her black hat has turned into a red hat." The paper was passed around among all the witnesses ahead of time. Then Liébeault and De Guiata silently put their hands on the subject’s forehead and produced mentally the sentence they had agreed on. Then the girl, having been told she would find something unusual in the room, was awakened. With no hesitation, she looked directly at her hat, and, with a great laugh, cried out "That’s not my hat; I don't want it. It’s the same shape, but the joke has gone on long enough; you must give me my property back." "But what do you see that is different?" "You know perfectly well. You have eyes just as I do." "And so?" It took considerable urging to get her to agree to state what was different about her hat. She still thought she was being teased. After energetic questioning, she finally said "You can clearly see it is red." Since she refused to take the hat, it was necessary to bring her hallucination to an end by telling her it was going to take on its original color again. The doctor breathed on the hat, and, as it had once again become hers as far as she could see, she agreed to take the hat.

    “Tels sont les résultats que nous certifions avoir obtenus de concert. En foi de quoi, nous avons rédigé le présent procès-verbal. [Translation]These results we certify as having been obtained through our collaboration, in witness of which we have drawn up the present account.

    Nancy, ce 9 Janvier, 1886, fait en double.Nancy, January 9, 1886, with copy.

    “A. A. LIÉBEAULT.

    “STANISLAS DE GUAITA.”

    “Nous avons été, une fois, très heureux avec une jeune fille de 15 ans, Mlle. Camille Simon, et cela en présence de M. Brullard et de quelques autres personnes.3 3 Moi seul ai touché la somnambule.—A. A. L.I was the only one who touched the subject.—A. A. L. Je lui ai suggeré mentalement qu’à son réveil elle verrait son chapeau, qui est brun, transformé en chapeau jaune; puis je {ii-660} l’ai mise en rapport avec tout le monde, et j’ai fait circuler, sous les yeux de chacun, un billet indiquant ma suggestion, avec recommandation de penser comme moi. Mais, par une distraction dont je suis coutumier, je n’ai plus songé à la fin à la couleur que j’avais désignée antérieurement par écrit; j’ai eu l’idée bien arrêteé qu’elle verrait son chapeau teint en rouge. Et, en la réveillant, je lui ai affirmé qu’elle verrait quelque chose représentant notre pensée commune. Cette jeune fille, éveillée, n’a plus reconnu la couleur de son chapeau. ‘Il était brun,’ a-t-elle dit. Après l’avoir longtemps considéré, elle a assuré que réellement il n’avait plus le même aspect, qu’elle n’en pouvait pas trop en définer la couleur, mais que toutefois il lui paraissait d’un jaune-rougeâtre. Alors je me suis souvenu de ma distraction. Au cas présent les temoins avaient pensé jaune et moi rouge; par suite, l’objet a paru jaune et rouge à la somnambule réveillée; ce qui est la preuve qu’une suggestion mentale peut être l’écho de plusieurs cerveaux pensants.”1 1 The reader may recall Prof. Lodge’s experiment as to the combination of telepathically transferred impressions from two different agents (Vol. i., p. 50; see also p. 80). Mr. Myers and I were witnesses of a similar confluence of suggestions verbally given at Dr. Liébeault’s house, on Aug. 31, 1885. Mr. Myers hypnotised a “subject,” and told her that on awaking she would see a baby on his knees. I told her that she would see a cat there. When she awoke she gazed at a hat which was on Mr. Myers’ knee, and exclaimed, “C’est ni chat ni enfant!”That is neither a cat nor a baby! and the mixed hallucination inspired a terror and disgust which lasted for three or four minutes. [Translation]We were once very successful with a 15-year-old girl, Mlle. Camille Simon, in the presence of M. Brullard and several others. I gave her the mental suggestion that upon awakening, she would see her hat, which is brown, transformed into a yellow one. Then I put her into rapport with everyone, and I passed around for all to see a note giving my suggestion and recommending that everyone think the same thing. But with my usual absent-mindedness, I ceased thinking about the color I had written down earlier; I had the firm idea that her hat would appear red to her. And, upon awakening her, I told her she would see something that represented our shared thought. Once awake, the girl no longer recognized her hat by its color. "It was brown," she said. After having exmined it at length, she insisted that it really did not look the same, that she could not tell us exactly what color it was, but that anyhow it looked reddish-yellow to her. That reminded me of my absent-mindedness. As it had happened, the witnesses had thought yellow and I had thought red, whereupon the object had appeared yellow and red to the subject once she was out of the trance, which proves that a suggestion may echo the thoughts of several brains.

    The following experiment, made with the same “subject,” and sent to us by Dr. Liébeault on June 3, 1886, is an interesting example of temporary latency of the telepathic impression.

    “J’avais, à cette jeune fille, fait suggérer par plusieurs personnes, et mentalement, qu’après la sortie de son sommeil elle verrait un coq noir se promenant sur le plancher de l’appartement. Au réveil et longtemps après (à peu près une demie heure) elle ne voit absolument rien, quoique je lui eusse annoncé qu’elle devait apercevoir quelque chose. C’est alors (au bout d’une demie heure) que cette jeune fille étant allé au jardin, et ayant considéré ma petite basse cour, par hasard, elle revint tout courant nous dire: ‘Ah! je sais ce que je devais voir;c’est un coq noir. Cette idee m’est venue en regardant votre coq.’ Mon coq est moitié d’un noir verdâtre sur les ailes, la queue, et le ventre, et partout ailleurs il est d’un blanc jaunâtre. Ainsi voilà une association d’une idée se

    transmettant de la vue d’un être réel, à une idée fictive transmise suggestivement et mentalement par les personnes présentes.” [Translation]I had caused several persons to give the girl the mental suggestion that upon awakening, she would see a black rooster walking about the floor of the apartment. Once awake, and for quite some time afterward (about half an hour), she saw nothing, even though I had told her she would see something. It was then, after half an hour, that the girl went to the garden, and, having incidentally examined my small yard, she ran back to tell us: "Ah, I know what I was supposed to see: a black rooster. I got the idea when I saw your rooster." My rooster is half greenish-black, on his wings, tail, and belly, and elsewhere he is yellowish-white. So here we have an association of ideas, carrying over from a real being to a fiction transmitted by mental suggestion from the persons present.

    The following record of experiments was kindly sent to us, on April 27, 1886, by Dr. Jules Ochorowicz, ex-Professor Agrégé of the University of Lemberg, now residing at 24, Boulevard St. Germain, Paris. It is to be wished that the original notes had included a very much more detailed description of the conditions;2 2 Possibly Dr. Ochorowicz will to some extent repair this omission in his forthcoming book, Le Problème de la Suggestion Mentale, in which this record will be embodied. but as corroborative of the parallel but more striking results recorded in Vol. I., Chap. II., the present set deserves attention.

    {ii-661}

    The first experiments, with cards, were of the type described in Vol. I., pp. 31–3; but though the success obtained told slightly in favour of a cause other than chance, the series was too short to have any independent value. The complete record of the next set of trials is as follows. The percipient was throughout in a normal waking state. (Complete successes are marked *, partial successes †, first guesses only being counted.)

    Madame D., agée 70 ans, forte, robuste, très intelligente. Rheumatisme articulaire chronique. Expérience hypnotique; lourdeur, paralysie, analgésie, dans le doigt. Deux personnes imaginent un objet, Madame D. le devine. Elle ne peut pas nous voir. [Translation]Madame D., aged 70, strong, good health, very intelligent. Chronic rheumatism of the joints. Has been hypnotized: heaviness, paralysis, loss of sensation, in the finger. Two persons imagine an object and Mme D. guesses what it is. She cannot see us.

    PREMIÈRE SÉRIE, LE 2 AVRIL, 1885.
    (a) UNE CARTE DE JEU.
    OBJET PENSÉ. OBJET DEVINÉ.
    1. Six de pique “Six noir.”†
    2. Dix de pique. “Rouge; un roi; un dix.”
    3. Valet de cœur. “Rouge;† un roi; une dame?”
    (b) UNE COULEUR.
    4. Bleue “Bleue.”*
    5. Jaune “Jaune.”*
    6. Noire “Noire.”*
    (c) UN OBJET QUELCONQUE.
    7. Une lampe “Un livre; un cigare; un papier.”
    8. Un chapeau de soie, noir “Quelque chose de bleu; chaise.”
    9. Un fauteuil “Une sucriére; une armoire; un meuble.”
    10. Le sel “Un gout de sel.”*
    (d) UNE LETTRE.
    11. z “i, r, s.”
    UNE PERSONNE CONNUE.
    12. Valentine “Valentine.”*
    13. Mr. O. “Mr. D.? Mr. Z.?”
    UN PORTRAIT DE LA SALLE.1 1 It ought to be made a rule that the object chosen is not anything visible in the room; as it is impossible to prove that it was not indicated to the guesser by the attitude or glance of some one present. It ought to have been stated in many cases whether the object or colour was looked at, or merely imagined, by the agents.
    14. D’un évêque “C’est l’évêque.” *
    UN CHIFFRE.
    15. 8 “7, 5, 2, 8.”
    {ii-662}
    UNE IMPRESSION
    OBJET PENSÉ. OBJET DEVINÉ.
    16. Gaie “Triste.”
    UNE FIGURE QUELCONQUE.
    17. Une croix noire “Un arbre—branches croisées.”
    18. Un vieillard à longue barbe “Un homme, barbu; barbe blanche.”*
    UNE PHOTOGRAPHIE SUR SEPT.
    19. D’un garçon “Une jeune fille; des enfants.”
    UN NOM QUELCONQUE.
    20. Marie “Marie.”*
    21. Adam “Jean, Gustave, Charles.”
    UN NOMBRE QUELCONQUE.
    22. Dix “Six, douze, neuf, dix.”
    UN OBJET QUELCONQUE.
    23. Un livre bleu, satin “Couleur violette—rose.”
    24. Un crayon d’or posé sur un fond bleu “Quelque chose de noir sur du bleu,”†
    25. As de pique sur un fond noir “Quelque chose de noir—bleu; une carte; l’as de trêfle.”
    UN INSTRUMENT.
    26. Un clarion “Un violon.”
    UN CHIFFRE.
    27. 3 “2, 5.”
    UN OBJET DE LA SALLE.
    28. Une assiette avec un image “L’assiette avec l’image.”*
    UN GOÛT.
    29. Du sel “Aigre—amer.”
    30. Sucre “Doux.”†
    31. Des fraises “D’une pomme—du raisin; des fraises.”
    DEUXIÈME SÉRIE, LE 2 MAI, 1885.
    UN OBJET QUELCONQUE.
    32. Un buste de M. N. “Un portrait—d’un homme;† un buste.”
    33. Un éventail “Quelque chose, de rond.”
    34. Une clef “Quelque chose en plomb—en bronze—en fer.”
    35. Une main portant une bague. “Quelque chose qui brille—un diamant—une bague.”
    {ii-663}
    UN GOÛT.
    36. Acide “Doux.”
    UNE FORME.
    37. Un carré “Quelque chose d’ irrégulier.”
    38. Un cercle“Un triangle—un cercle.”
    UNE LETTRE.
    39. M “M.”*
    40. D “D.”*
    41. J “J.”*
    42. B “A, X, R, B.”
    43. O “W, A—non, c’est un O.”
    44. Jan “J” (Continuez), “Jan.”*
    TROISIÈME SÉRIE, LE 6 MAI, 1885.
    Le sujet, nous tournant le dos, tient un crayon et écrit ce qui lui vient dans la pensée. Nous lui touchons le dos légèrement d’un doigt, en regardant les lettres écrites par nous. Vingt-deux expériences1 1 Dr. Ochorowicz speaks of 22 experiments between 44 and 66, but only allows for 21. ont été faites sans être notées exactement; c’étaient pour la plupart des échecs. Suit une série de succes étonnants. [Translation]With her back to us, the subject holds a pencil and writes what comes into her mind. We touch her back gently with a finger with our eyes on the letters we are writing. Twenty-two experiments were made without specific notes being taken. They were mostly failures. There follows a series of surprising successes.
    66. Brabant “Bra—” (je m’efforce mentalement à aider le sujet, sans rien dire) “bant.”*
    67. Paris “P…aris.”*
    68. Téléphone “T…Téléphone.”*
    QUATRIÉME SÈRIE, LE 8 MAI, 1885. (MÊMES CONDITIONS.)
    UNE LETTRE.
    69. Z “L, P, K, T.”
    70. B “B.”*
    71. F “S, T. F.”
    72. n “M, N.”
    73. P “P, Z, A.”
    74. Y “V, Y.”
    75. e “e.”*
    76. Gustave “F, T, Gabriel.”
    77. Duch “C, O.”
    78. ba “B, A.”†
    79. N O “F, K, O.”
    UN NOMBRE.
    80. 44 “6,8,12.”
    81. 2 “7,5,9.”
    (J’engage mon aide à se représentor la forme écrite et non les sons nombres.)I instruct my assistant to represent the written form and not the sounds of the numbers.
    82. 3 “8,3.”
    83. 7 “7.”*
    84. 8 “8—non, 0, 6, 9.”†
    {ii-664} Suivent 13 expériences sur les formes dessinées, phantastiques, parmi lesquelles cinq seulement présentaient une certaine analogie. [Translation]There follow 13 experiments involving the drawing of fantastic shapes, only five of which presented a certain similarity.
    UNE PERSONNE CONNUE.
    98. Le sujet lui-même “M. O.—non, c’est moi.”
    99. M. D “M. D.”*
    UN IMAGE QUELCONQUE.
    100. Nous nous représentons la lune croissant—Me P. (mon aide) sur un fond de nuages, moi dans un ciel bleu foncé. [Translation]We draw the crescent moon—M. P., my assistant, with a background of clouds, and I against a deep blue sky. “Je vois les nuages, qui filent. Une lumière. C’est la lune.”* [Translation]"I see clouds passing by. I see a light. It’s the moon."

    The following is a tabular view of the results of this series:—

    Total. Complete Successes. Partial Successes. Failures
    I. Visual—Diagrams, with contact 13 0 0 13
    II. Imagined objects, various, with contact 3 2 0 1
    without contact 27 8 4 15
    III. Imagined numbers, letters, and names, without contact 12 5 0 7
    IV. Visual numbers and names and letters, with contact 41 6 2 33
    V. Abstract ideas 1 1
    VI. Tastes 4 0 1 3
    101 21 7 73

    It will be seen that the majority both of complete and partial successes occur in the first 44 trials, in which there was no contact.

    A third set of trials, made with a hypnotised “subject,” gave 8 complete and 7 partial successes, and 11 failures. But here, though contact was avoided, the form of experiment—involving movement of the limbs, and sometimes actual movement about the room,—is open to grave objection; as it can never be proved to the satisfaction of persons not present that guidance of some sort was not afforded by unconscious physical signs.

    The following case of the transference of a name is recorded by M. Ch. Richet. It is one of the sporadic instances which occurred before the time was ripe for placing telepathy on a firm evidential basis. In future, we may hope that similar casual instances will, as a matter of course, be recorded at the moment, (especially by medical {ii-665} and scientific observers,) and forwarded to our London headquarters, or to those of the Société de Psychologie Physiologique in Paris.

    “Octobre 30, 1885.

    “Je n’ai obtenu qu’une seule fois dans de nombreuses recherches sur la lucidité des personnes mesmerisées, un résultat satisfaisant. C’est pré cise’ment dans une de mes premières expériences, et elle est remarquable, car je ne l’ai jamais pu répéter, même avec une approximation moindre. Une jeune fille, convalescente, fut mise dans le sommeil magnétique, en Novembre, 1872, par moi, à l’Hôtel-Dieu. Un jour, vers 4 heure de l’aprèsmidi, j’amenai avec moi un jeune étudiant Américain de mes amis, M. Hearn. M. Hearn n’av ait jamais vu cette jeune fille. Lorsque elle fut endormie, je dis à mon sujet magnétique: ‘Connaissez-vous le nom de mon ami?’ (J’étais sûr de ne pas avoir prononcé son nom.) Elle se mit à sourire. ‘Non,’ me dit-elle. Puis, comme j’insistais, elle ajouta: ‘Je ne le vois pas.’ J’insiste encore, et elle me dit: ‘Il y a cinq lettres.’ ‘Eh bien!’ dis-je alors, ‘quelle est la premiere lettre?’ Alors elle, à voix très basse, me dit, ‘H.’ ‘Quelle est la seconde lettre?’ dis-je. ‘E.’ ‘Et la troisième?’ ‘Je ne la vois pas.’ Comme elle cherchait inutilement, je dis, ‘Passons à la quatrième.’ ‘R.’

    ‘Puis la cinquième.’ ‘N.’ [Translation]Only once in my many studies on lucidity in mesmerized persons did I produce a satisfactory result. It was, indeed, one of my first studies, and it is remarkable, for I was never able to repeat it, even to a lesser degree of approximation. A convalescent girl was put into a magnetic sleep by me, in November, 1872, at the Hôtel-Dieu [hospital in Paris]. One day about four in the afternoon, I brought a young American student friend, Mr. Hearn, with me. Mr. Hearn had never seen the girl. Once she was asleep, I asked my subject: "Do you know the name of my friend?" (I was positive I had never said it.) She smiled. "No," she said. Then, as I was insistent, she added "I don't see it." I insisted once more, and she said "There are five letters." "Well," I said, "what is the first?" She said very softly "H." "What is the second letter?" "E." "And the third?" "I can't see it." After she had tried in vain to see it, I said "Let’s go to the fourth." "R." "Now the fifth." "N."

    “J’ai essayé le lendemain d’autres expériences analogues avec le même sujet, mais sans succès. De même plus tard, sans succès, avec d’autres personnes. [Translation]The next day I tried other similar experiments with the same subject, but without success. Also later, without success, with other persons.

    “C’est pour cela que je ne l’avais pas publiée; mais maintenant que le fait de cette thought-transference semble bien prouvé, je me crois autorisé à le donner; car il rentre dans un ensemble de faits qui paraissent demontrés, et j’en ai été tellement frappé que je me souviens avec une précision absolue de toutes les circonstances qui l’ont accompagné.” [Translation]That is why I didn't publish, but now that the reality of such thought-transference seems to have been solidly proven I consider myself authorized to reveal it, for it matches a group of facts that appear to have been established, and I was so struck with it at the time that I remember the circumstances surrounding it with absolute precision.

    The next case is from Dr. A. M. Chiltoff, of Kharkoff, and is parallel to those described in Vol. I., pp. 82–3.

    “University of Kharkoff.

    “May, 1886.

    .

    “On Jan. 31, 1886, in Petersburg, in the lodging of M. Greshner, I, in 3 minutes, and at a distance of 4 feet, plunged into sleep M. Drobiazguin, an officer of the Russian navy. The experiment was made in the presence of M. Toumas, M.D. (now Professor at the University of Warsaw), and of many other witnesses. When the ‘subject’ fell asleep, one of the witnesses wrote on a sheet of paper the (Russian) word ‘Bog’ (God). Then I took this sheet of paper and put it on the forehead of my ‘subject.’ To my question whether he can read the word written on the paper, M. Drobiazguin gave an affirmative answer, and then proceeded to pronounce in a dead voice the letters. The first two were read correctly, but in lieu of ‘g’ he said ‘tch.’ When I remarked to him that the last letter is guessed incorrectly, he immediately said the true letter. In my opinion this experiment cannot be explained by ‘mental suggestion,’ for those present expected that the ‘subject’ would pronounce the right letter, ‘g,’ and he nevertheless pronounced ‘tch.’”

    [There is no Russian word “botch.” As regards peculiarities of spelling, see Vol. I., pp. 76–8. The independent action of the percipient’s {ii-666} mind which such peculiarities indicate affords, according to the reasoning in this book, no ground at all for doubting that the idea was telepathically transferred from one mind to the other.]

    We owe the following accounts of some experiments in hypnotic rapport to Mr. C. Kegan Paul, who states that he has known the phenomenon of “community of taste in the mesmeric sleep” to have occurred several times in the case of this “subject.” Mr. Paul writes:—

    “May 27th, 1884.

    “I lived at Great Tew, in Oxfordshire, from March, 1851, to May, 1852. When there, the following circumstance occurred, but I am not able to fix the month, further than to say that I think it was in the late summer of 1851. (No. I am now convinced that it was in April, 1852.)

    “I had been in the habit of mesmerising frequently Mr. Walter Francis Short, then an undergraduate scholar of New College, who was, without any single exception, the most ‘sensitive’ person of either sex I have ever known. He usually became what is called clairvoyant, but this always tired him, and I seldom made protracted experiments in this direction. On several occasions I found that a community of taste was established between us, but only once made any experiment with more than one substance, such as a biscuit, or glass of water.

    “At Great Tew, with his consent, my two sisters alone being present besides ourselves, I carried the matter further. We had dined in my only sitting-room, and the dessert was still on the table. (I think I am right, though my sister F. doubts.) I put Short to sleep in an arm-chair, which I turned with its back to the table, and Short’s face to the wall. There was no mirror in the room. I asked Short, taking his hand, if he thought he could taste what I took in my mouth, and he said he thought that he could. I, still holding his hand, shut my own eyes, and my sisters put into my mouth various things which were on the table. I remember only raisins, but there were four or five various substances tasted. These were all quite correctly described, except that I think there was an uncertainty about the kind of wine. Short, however, had of course been aware of what was on the table, but he could not know, nor did I know, the order in which I was to be fed with these things.

    “To carry the experiment further, one of my sisters left the room, bringing back various things wholly unknown to me, which she administered to me having my eyes shut. I remember spices, black pepper, salt, raw rice, and finally soap, all of which Short recognised, and the last of which he rejected with a splutter of great disgust. The experiment only ended when we could think of nothing more to taste.

    “I had at that time already left Oxford; Short did so soon after, and our various occupations seldom allowed our meeting. His conviction of my power over him was such that he begged that I would never attempt to place him under mesmeric influence when I was at a distance from him, on the ground that, as he was rowing in the Oxford boat, I might do so when he was on the river. I had once affected him at a distance, under rather singular circumstances, and of course willingly gave the promise.

    “C. KEGAN PAUL.

    {ii-667}

    “My sister F. is right in remarking that our four selves were the only persons in the house. My only servant was a woman in the village, who lived close by, and came and went at fixed hours, like an Oxford scout.”

    This account was sent by Mr. Paul to his sister, Miss Paul, with the following letter:—

    “In talking with my friend Henry Sidgwick over my experiments in mesmerism many years ago, I mentioned one with Short at Tew, when you and M. were present. He has asked me to write it down, and get if possible your recollections on it.

    “The particular experiment was one in which Short, being in the mesmeric sleep, was able to taste what was put into my mouth. If you recollect the circumstance at all, I want you, before reading what I have said, enclosed in another envelope, to write down a statement of what you remember as much in detail as possible—time, place, persons present, things tasted, &c.; then to read my narrative, and to write also how far your recollection, thus refreshed, tallies with mine, and preserve both accounts, even if you find them contradictory; then to send my account and your account and remarks enclosed to M., together with this note, asking her to follow exactly the same plan, and return my statement, yours, and her own to me, together with this note.

    “I should like you also to say that you have observed my order of proceeding as indicated above.

    “C. KEGAN PAUL.”

    Miss Paul replied as follows, on May 27:—

    “On Thursday, April 29th, 1852, my sister and I went to stay with my brother at Great Tew, in Oxfordshire, and Mr. Short joined us at Oxford, and went with us to Tew. As he returned to Oxford on Saturday, May 1st, the mesmeric experiments, which I well remember, must have been on Friday, April 30th, and they were after dinner in the evening. My brother mesmerised Mr. Short, and when he was quite asleep he tried some experiments.

    “My brother drank some wine (I think it was port), and we saw Mr. Short’s lips and throat moving as if he was swallowing it, and on my brother asking him what he was drinking, he at once said what it was. The wine had been taken from a cupboard and poured out, where, even had he been awake, Mr. Short could not have seen what it was before tasting it.”

    “[I think my own account is the more correct.—C. K. P.]”

    “My sister then got some black pepper from the kitchen and put it in my brother’s hand, and on his putting some in his own mouth, Mr. Short at once tasted it, and on my brother asking him what he had in his mouth, he said it was very hot and unpleasant, but was not quite sure what it was. My brother held Mr. Short’s hand all the time.

    “The only other thing I remember is that on my brother removing his hand after, and substituting my sister’s, Mr. Short looked as if in pain, and said the change was unpleasant.

    “No one else was in the little cottage at the time.

    “F, K. PAUL.

    {ii-668}

    “P.S.—Since writing my account I have read my brother’s, and think it very accurate, as, now I am reminded of the soap, &c., I can faintly recollect it, but not clearly, as I do the things I have written down.

    “Also I think the dessert had been put away, and the wine taken out again on purpose.

    “I remember the date, as I have always written down very shortly the events of each day.”

    Mr. Paul’s other sister, Mrs. P., writes, on May 29, 1884:—

    “In the year 1852 or 1853, I believe at Bloxham [certainly Tew.—C. K. P.], I remember my brother trying experiments on a friend, Mr. Short, whom he was in the habit of mesmerising. One evening, I saw him mesmerise Mr. Short, and while he was in that state my brother asked for a glass of water or wine, and drank it. Mr. Short appeared as if he was drinking, and swallowed, and made a reply when asked what it was; but the experiment I remember best was, after my getting some pepper, and giving it to my brother, he put some into his mouth, and Mr. Short looked as if in pain, and said, ‘Hot.’ Then I took his hand, and his face changed, and I think he said, ‘Nasty.’ I know he seemed to dislike the change from my brother’s touch; but although I know there were other experiments, it is so long ago that I cannot quite recall them.

    “M. E. P.

    “P.S.—Since writing the above I have read my brother’s narrative, which is, I think, substantially correct.”

    The Rev. W. F. Short writes to Mr. Podmore:—

    “The Rectory, Donhead St. Mary, Salisbury.

    “June 12th, 1884.

    “DEAR SIR,—Stock tells me you would like my account of some mesmeric experiences of mine at Great Tew in the year’ 52. You are very welcome, but 32 years may have impaired my memory for the details, and I should like Kegan Paul to see the account before any use is made of it.

    “I had come up to New College by accident a week before the time, and finding college empty accepted an invitation to pay Paul, then curate of Great Tew, a visit. One night, I think the Thursday following, he mesmerised me, and made, I believe, some successful experiments in the ‘transference of taste’; but of these, as I was in a deep sleep, I can say nothing. When I was in due time awakened, he said, ‘We tried to get you to visit New College, but you said it was all a guess, and would tell us nothing.’ I answered, ‘I seem to have dreamt of New College Junior Common-room, and to have seen B. and G. sitting at a small round table drawn near the fire, with the lamp on the large table near them, playing at cards.’ It was agreed that I should test the truth of this on my return to Oxford on Friday (one day before men in general came up). On entering college I met B., and said, ‘You up? Are there any other men come?’ ‘Oh, yes; half-a-dozen. G. and so-and-so,’ &c. ‘Were you in the Commonroom last night at 10 (?)?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Who else was there?’ ‘Oh, the whole lot of us. No, by 10 everyone was gone but I and G.’ ‘Where were you sitting?’ ‘At a small table close to the fire, it was so cold.’ {ii-669} ‘With the lamp on the big table near you?’ ‘Yes, drawn close to us.’ ‘Then I will tell you what you were doing. You were playing cards.’ ‘How odd! We weren’t playing cards, but G. was showing me tricks on the cards.’

    “I have always thought this a thoroughly good case, too exact to be a mere coincidence, and I think tolerably accurate even in the words used, but those who do not, like myself, believe in clairvoyance1 1 This may very probably have been a case of telepathic clairvoyance (Vol. i., pp. 368–9), conditioned by the hypnotic trance, but also by the pre-existing relation between Mr. Short and the friends whom he saw (p. 162). will probably set it down to a happy guess.

    “I have not for many years had any experience of mesmerism, but after this, for some years, I saw a great deal of it, and have no more doubt of its reality, even in its higher phases of inducing clairvoyance, &c., than I have of my own existence.

    “I doubt whether B. would remember this (I don’t think G. ever heard of it), but I would write to him if you like it, only I am rather overworked just now.—Believe me, yours very truly,

    “W. F. SHORT.”

    Mr. Short writes, on Feb. 18, 1886:—

    “My friend B. remembered nothing of the circumstances (naturally enough), though I feel perfectly sure it took place.”

    Mr. C. Kegan Paul writes, on June 16, 1884:—

    “I am sorry to say I do not remember much about the clairvoyance part of the experiment with Walter Short, though I remember the community of taste vividly, and have described it to Mr. Sidgwick.

    “Short became clairvoyant on several occasions under my mesmerism, but I do not recall the details with certainty. On the evening in question I only remember that on trying some experiments Short said he was tired, and wished to be wakened. I do not remember his mentioning his ‘dream’ or that I heard afterwards how nearly correct it had been. It is probable that he did mention the dream, but that I paid little attention to it, being full of the first experiment, and that as I only saw him occasionally, and we did not exchange letters, I never heard the verification.”

    In the following cases, though they are in a sense experimental, the experiment was not directed to the particular result obtained. They are parallel to those recorded in Vol. I., pp. 78 and 84; they illustrate thought-transference of the “underground” sort, both agent and percipient being unconscious of the idea which nevertheless is pretty clearly shown to have passed from one mind to the other otherwise than through the recognised sensory channels. We have reason to think that this form of transference is not extremely uncommon; and these specimens may serve to elicit further records.

    Mrs. Wingfield (mother of the ladies mentioned above, p. 653) writes as follows:—

    {ii-670}

    “34, Ennismore Gardens, S.W.

    “April 2nd, 1886.

    “On the evening of Jan. 13, 1886, Mr. Tatham [of 2, Cambridge Gate, W.] was writing automatically, but not very legibly. He wrote a word twice, which some of us tried to read, but could not. He said he thought it was Phoebe, or something like it. Some minutes afterwards Miss Wingfield, who was sitting at the other side of the room, wrote automatically, ‘Who is G. Norby?’ We none of us knew this name, and asked why the question was written. We were told ‘because he wanted to tell something about an accident,’ or words to that effect. The subject then dropped, and the writing was at an end.

    “Some half-hour or more afterwards, Mr. M. W. took up Mr. Tatham’s paper and looked at it, and said, ‘Why! this is G. Norby.’ And when we examined the letters carefully we found it was so. Therefore Mr. Tatham and Miss W. were both influenced to write the same name independently of each other,1 1 If this were certainly the case, the incident could not have been included in the present work. But it is quite conceivable that Miss Wingfield’s production of the name was due to its latent existence in Mr. Tatham’s mind. as at the time Miss W. wrote, ‘Who is G. Norby?’ she had not seen what Mr. Tatham wrote, and we none of us had any idea of such a name. There were six persons present beside Mr. T. and Miss W., none of whom had ever heard the name.

    “E. A. WINGFIELD,

    “PERCY TATHAM.”

    The next record is from Miss Birrell and Mrs. Medley, near relatives of the present writer, who entertains little doubt that the facts, though somewhat remote, are recorded with substantial accuracy.

    “37, Addison Gardens, North Kensington, W.

    “October, 1885.

    “I was playing at table-turning in the Christmas holidays of 1863, with a party of six or seven. At last the table rapped a name we none of us knew. We thought there was a mistake. A lady in the room, but not at the table, turned round and identified it as the name of some relation—I think her sister’s son. We asked the table to rap three times if it wished her to come, which it did. She came and put her hands on the table but no distinct message followed. The name was new to me. I said, ‘Was there really such a person?’ The lady, who was a good deal distressed, answered, ‘Oh yes!’ and mentioned one or two facts about him, turning round to another lady of her own age, in the room but not at the table, for further confirmation. She did this as we were too young to remember the dead person.

    “OLIVE BIRRELL.”

    “Walden House, All Saints Street, Nottingham.

    “October 30th, 1886.

    “I was seated with a party of six or eight round a table with our hands placed upon it, and it rapped in reply to the letters of the alphabet. Several names were spelt out and various broken sentences. The table at length spelt the name ‘William Smallshaw.’ We replied, ‘There {ii-671} never was such a person,’ and one gentleman laughed and said, ‘You have made a mistake, try again.’ The table continued to rap and then a lady in another part of the room, away from our party altogether, said very nervously, ‘I had a brother, William Smallshavi.’ The table continued to rap and we asked if Miss Smallshaw should join us. It replied, ‘Yes,’ and she came. No sentence of any value or sense was made out after this.

    “EMILY G. MEDLEY.”

    Miss Birrell is tolerably confident that the surname was not Smallshaw, but Lyon, which was Miss Smallshaw’s married sister’s name.

    Mr. Augustine Birrell, who was present, says that the expression of Miss Smallshaw’s face, as she came across the room, is fixed in his memory; but he cannot recall what followed, when she put her hands on the table, or the reason of her being summoned to the table.

    [The state of Miss Smallshaw’s health has prevented us from applying for her recollections.]

    § 2. The following is a transitional case, akin to those recorded in Vol. I., pp. 103–9; but it differs from that group in the fact that the agent remembers his own direct share in the occurrence, and appears to have been reciprocally affected. We owe the case to Mr. H. P. Sparks (of Overbeck Villa, Woodstone, near Southampton,) and Mr. A. H. W. Cleave (of 28, Vardens Road, New Wandsworth, S.W.,) who at the time were fellow-students of naval engineering at Portsmouth. Personal acquaintance has completely confirmed the impression made on me by the letters of these gentlemen, that they had observed the phenomena, which were a complete surprise to them, with intelligence and care. They were unaware of the remarkable interest of their results; and Mr. Sparks addressed me in the first instance, not so much to supply information which, for aught he knew, might be of a common enough type, as to ask for advice about hypnotic experimentation in general. He did not know to what address to write; but acting on a dim recollection of a newspaper notice of our objects, he boldly launched a letter into space, which by good luck reached me after a certain amount of peregrination. His account, received in January, 1886, is as follows:—

    “H.M.S. ‘Marlborough’, Portsmouth.

    (685) “For the last year, or for about the last 15 months, I have been in the habit of mesmerising a fellow-student of mine. The way I did it was by simply looking into his eyes as he lay in an easy position on a bed. This produced sleep. After a few times I found that this sleep was deepened by making long passes after the patient was off.1 1 In conversation, I learnt (as I expected) that during the trance Mr. Cleave was to a considerable degree insensitive to pain, and that, on waking, he had no memory of any actions that he had been made to perform, or of what had passed around him. Then comes {ii-672} the remarkable part of this sort of mesmerism. [Mr. Sparks then describes his ‘subject’s’ ability to see, in the trance, places in which he was interested, if he resolved to see them before he was hypnotised; but there is nothing to show that these visions were anything but purely subjective.] However, it has been during the last week or so I have been so surprised and startled by an extraordinary affair. Last Friday evening (January 15 th, 1886) he expressed his wish to see a young lady living in Wandsworth, and he also said he would try to make himself seen by her. I accordingly mesmerised him, and continued the long passes for about 20 minutes, concentrating my will on his idea. When he came round (I brought him round by just touching his hand and willing him, after 1 hour and 20 minutes’ trance) he said he had seen her in the dining-room, and that after a time she grew restless, and then suddenly looked straight at him and then covered her eyes with her hands. Just after this he came round. Last Monday evening (January 18th, 1886) we did the same thing, and this time he said he thought he had frightened her, as after she had looked at him for a few minutes she fell back in her chair in a sort of faint. Her little brother was in the room at the time. Of course, after this we expected a letter if the vision was real; and on Wednesday morning he received a letter from this young lady asking whether anything had happened to him, as on Friday evening she was startled by seeing him standing at the door of the room. After a minute he disappeared, and she thought that it might have been fancy; but on the Monday evening she was still more startled by seeing him again, and this time much clearer, and it so frightened her that she nearly fainted.

    “This account I send you is perfectly true, I will vouch, for I have two independent witnesses who were in the dormitory at the time when he was mesmerised, and when he came round. My patient’s name is Arthur H. W. Cleave, and his age is 18 years. My own is 19 years. A. C. Darley and A. S. Thurgood, fellow-students, are the two witnesses I mentioned.

    “H. PERCY SPARKS.”

    Mr. Cleave writes, on March 15, 1886:—

    “H.M.S. ‘Marlborough,’ Portsmouth.

    “Sparks and myself have, for the past 18 months, been in the habit of holding mesmeric séances in our dormitories. For the first month or two we got no very satisfactory results, but after that we succeeded in sending one another to sleep. I could never get Sparks further than the sleeping state, but he could make me do anything he liked whilst I was under the influence; so I gave up trying to send him off, and all our efforts were made towards my being mesmerised. After a short time we got on so well that Sparks had three or four other fellows in the dormitory to witness what I did. I was quite insensible to all pain, as the fellows have repeatedly pinched my hands and legs without my feeling it. About 6 months ago I tried my power of will in order, while under the influence, to see persons to whom I was strongly attached. For some time I was entirely unsuccessful, although I once thought that I saw my brother (who is in Australia), but had no opportunity of verifying the vision.

    “A short time ago, I tried to see a young lady whom I know very well, and was perfectly surprised at my success. I could see her as {ii-673} plainly as I can see now, but I could not make myself seen by her, although I had often tried to. After I had done this several times, I determined to try and make myself seen by her, and told Sparks of my idea, which he approved. Well, we tried this for five nights running without any more success. We then suspended our endeavours for a night or two, as I was rather over-exerted by the continued efforts and got severe headaches. We then tried again (on, I think it was, a Friday, but am not certain), and were, I thought, successful; but as the young lady did not write to me about it, I thought I must have been mistaken, so I told Sparks that we had better give up trying. But he begged me to try once more, which we did on the following Monday, when we were successful to such an extent that I felt rather alarmed. (I must tell you that I am in the habit of writing to the young lady every Sunday, but I did not write that week, in order to make her think about me.) This took place between 9.30 p.m. and 10 p.m. Monday night, and on the following Wednesday morning I got the letter which I have enclosed. I, of course, then knew I had been successful. I went home about a fortnight after this, when I saw the young lady, who seemed very frightened

    in spite of my explanations, and begged me never to try it again, and I promised her that I would not.

    “I must now tell you our method of mesmerism. I lay on my bed, with my head raised on two pillows, and Sparks sat facing me about three feet off on a chair. The lights were made low, and then I watched his eyes intently, thinking in the meantime of the young lady whom I wanted to see. After a short time (about 7 minutes) my sense of hearing left me, and I could see nothing but two eyes, which after a short time disappeared, and I then became senseless. (When we first experimented I could never get farther than this state, and it was only after repeatedly trying that I did so.) I then seemed to see (indistinctly at first) her face, which gradually became plainer and plainer until I seemed to be in another room altogether, and could detail minutely all the surroundings. I told Sparks, when I came round, what I saw, who was with the young lady, and what she was doing, all of which were verified in her letter.

    “A. H. W. CLEAVE.

    The two witnesses of the experiment last described write as follows:—

    “I have seen Mr. Cleave‘s account of his mesmeric experiment, and can fully vouch for the truth thereof.

    “A. C. DARLEY.”

    “I have read Mr. Cleave’s statement, and can vouch for the truth of it, as I was present when he was mesmerised and heard his statement after he revived.

    “A. E. S. THURGOOD.”

    The following is a copy, made by the present writer, of the letter in which the young lady, Miss A. ——, described her side of the affair.

    The envelope bore the postmarks, “Wandsworth, Jan. 19, 1886,” “Portsmouth, Jan. 20, 1886,” and the address, “Mr. A. H. W. Cleave,, H.M.S. ‘Marlborough,’ Portsmouth.”

    {ii-674}

    “Wandsworth.

    “Tuesday morning.

    “DEAR ARTHUR,—Has anything happened to you? Please write and let me know at once, for I have been so frightened.

    “Last Tuesday evening, I was sitting in the dining [room] reading, when I happened to look up, and could have declared I saw you standing at the door looking at me. I put my handkerchief to my eyes, and when I looked again, you were gone. I thought it must have been only my fancy, but last night (Monday), while I was at supper, I saw you again, just as before, and was so frightened that I nearly fainted. Luckily only my brother was there, or it would have attracted attention. Now do write at once and tell me how you are. I really cannot write any more now.”

    “[Signature of Christian name.]

    It will be seen that Miss —— mentions Tuesday as the day of her first hallucination; whereas both Mr. Sparks and Mr. Cleave mention Friday as the day on which he first seemed to obtain a vision of the room where she was; and though, in a letter written on March 21st, Mr. Cleave expresses uncertainty on this point, and inclines to the view that his first vision of the room occurred on the Tuesday, “as I waited for a day or two to see if I should get a letter before I tried again” on the following Monday, it is impossible to set aside the earlier statement. But in conversation, both he and Mr. Sparks expressed their decided opinion—which accords with what would be naturally inferred from their letters—that Tuesday must at any rate have fallen within the five days running on which trials were made, before the break; and the first incident therefore gives valuable confirmation to the second. Mr. Cleave’s omission to write as usual to Miss —— on the Sunday was perhaps an error of judgment; as it leaves it open to the objector to say that the non-receipt of a letter on Monday morning so wrought on her mind as to conjure up a spectral illusion, to which she had become predisposed by her experience of the previous week.

    Mr. Cleave explains that though he might naturally enough have imagined Miss —— to be in the dining-room at that hour, it would have seemed to him more probable, had he made a guess at the scene, that other elder members of the family should also be present, than that she should have been alone with her little brother—which is so far an argument for supposing his vision to have been of the telepathically clairvoyant sort, and not a mere subjective picture. But the nature of his percipience is, of course, {ii-675} a separate question;1 1 If the case was truly reciprocal, it seems clearly to exemplify the connection of the power to act telepathically with an abnormal extension of the agent’s own susceptibility. See pp. 161–2 and 309–10. the prime fact in the case is the hallucination produced by his agency. Miss ——, it will be seen, was so seriously disturbed by what occurred that she has requested him not to repeat the experiment. Her feeling is natural enough—it is just one of the natural conditions that “psychical research” has to reckon with. Every department in the exploration of Nature has difficulties of its own; and it would be strange if a study that deals with living human material were an exception. That the particular form of obstacle here again encountered (see Vol. I., p. 109) may make the accumulation of evidence for the rarer psychical phenomena a slow process is probable enough; but that the prolongation of our search should have already brought us a single fresh instance of this rarest type is really a fact of the most hopeful significance, and one which would alone amply vindicate the plan of wide and public inquiry that we have adopted.

    The next account is perhaps even more remarkable, as the agent was in a normal state. We owe it to Mrs. Russell, of Belgaum, India, wife of Mr. H. R. Russell, Educational Inspector in the Bombay Presidency.

    “June 8th, 1886.

    (686) “As desired, I write down the following facts, as well as I can recall them. I was living in Scotland, my mother and sisters in Germany. I lived with a very dear friend of mine, and went to Germany every year to see my people. It had so happened that I could not go home as usual for two years, when on a sudden I made up my mind to go and see my family. They knew nothing of my intention; I had never gone in early spring before; and I had no time to let them know by letter that I was going to set off. I did not like to send a telegram, for fear of frightening my mother. The thought came to me to will with all my might to appear to one of my sisters, never mind which of them, in order to give them a warning of my coming. I only thought most intensely for a few minutes of them, wishing with all my might to be seen by one of them—half present myself, in vision, at home.2 2 Note by Mr. Russell:—“I.e., she was at home, and saw her people, in thought.” I did not take more than ten minutes, I think. I started by Leith steamer on a Saturday night, end of April, 1859. I wished to appear at home about 6 o’clock p.m. that same Saturday. I arrived at home about 6 o’clock on the Tuesday morning following. I entered the house without anyone seeing me, the hall being cleaned and the front door open. I walked into the room. One of my sisters stood with her back to the door; she turned round when she heard the door opening, and, on seeing me, stared at me, turning deadly pale and letting what she had in her hand fall. I had been silent. Then I spoke, and said, ‘It is I. Why do you look so frightened?’ when she answered, ‘I thought I saw you again as Stinchen’ (another sister) ‘saw you on Saturday.’

    {ii-676}

    “When I inquired, she told me that on the Saturday evening, about 6 o’clock, my sister saw me quite clearly entering the room in which she was by one door, passing through it, opening the door of another room where my mother was, and shutting the door behind me. She rushed after what she thought was I, calling out my name, and was quite stupefied when she did not see me with my mother. My mother could not understand my sister’s excitement. They looked everywhere for me, but of course did not find me. My mother was very miserable; she thought I might be dying.

    “My sister who had seen me i.e., my apparition) was out that morning when I arrived. I sat down on the stairs, to watch, when she came in, the effect of my real appearance on her. When she looked up and saw me, sitting motionless, she called out my name, and nearly fainted. My sister has never seen anything unearthly either before that or afterwards; and I have never made any such experiments again—nor will I, as the sister that saw me first when I really came home had a very severe illness afterwards, caused by the shock to her nerves.

    “J. M. RUSSELL.”

    Mrs. Russell wrote to ask her sister (Fräulein Hoist, of 7, Wohler’s Allée, Altona, Holstein) if she recollected the occurrence, and has copied an

    extract from her sister’s reply, of which the following is a translation:—

    “Of course I remember the matter as well as if it had happened to-day. Pray don’t come appearing to me again!” Fräulein Hoist declines, however, to give an independent account, on the ground of dislike to the subject.

    I proceed to some more hypnotic cases. The following is an apparently genuine, though isolated, case of the telepathic influence of will on a hypnotic “subject,” who however was at the time in a normal state. (Cf. Vol. I., pp. 89–94.) The further experiment with the same “subject” recalls the cases in Vol. I., p. 96, and above, pp. 334–6. We received the account in May, 1886, from Mr. E. M. Clissold, of 3, Oxford Square, W.

    “United University Club,

    “Pall Mall East, S.W.

    (687) “In the year 1878 (I believe), there was a carpenter (Gannaway) employed by me to mend a gate in my kitchen garden, when a friend of mine (Moens) called upon me, and the conversation turning on mesmerism, he asked me if I knew anything about it myself. On my replying in the affirmative, he said, ‘Can you mesmerise anyone at a distance?’ I said that I had never tried to do so, but that there was a man now in the garden upon whom I could easily operate, and that I would try the experiment with this man, if he (Moens) would tell me what to do. He then said, ‘Form an impression of the man whom you intend mesmerising in your mind, and then wish him strongly to come to you.’ I very much doubted the success of the enterprise, but I followed out the suggestion of my friend, and I was extremely astonished to hear the steps of the man, whom I wished to appear, running after me; he came right up to me and asked me what I wanted with him. I must explain that my friend was walking with me previously in the garden, and that we had seen and talked to the {ii-677} man whom I subsequently mesmerised, but that when I wished him to come to me I was out of his sight, behind the garden wall, some 100 yards distant, and that I had neither by conversation nor otherwise led him to believe that I proposed to mesmerise him.

    “My friend (Moens) is dead; the man Gannaway I have not heard of for more than seven years; but I have this day written to him, and asked him, if he remembers the incident alluded to, to write to me, and in his own language describe the scene. I may tell you that I have not supplied him with any of the above details, but have left him (if he can) to tell his own story.

    “E. M. CLISSOLD.”

    Mr. Gannaway writes back, in a letter which Mr. Clissold has forwarded to us, that he remembers being often mesmerised by Mr. Clissold, and he recalls some incidents of his experiences; but he does not recollect this particular occasion. One sentence of his letter is as follows:—“I remember, in the dining-room, when you made me think the same as you were thinking about, and I told you what you were thinking of.” Mr. Clissold explains that this was an occasion when the Hon. Auberon Herbert was present, and he thus describes it:—

    “June 1, 1886.

    “Gannaway was mesmerised, and stood in one corner of my dining-room. Herbert sat at the table, and wrote on a paper a subject on which he wished me to think. Gannaway instantly told me, when I asked him, what the thought was about. Herbert wrote:—

    “‘1. I see a house in flames.

    “‘2. I see a woman looking out of a window.

    “‘3. She has a child in her arms.

    “‘4. She throws it out of the window.

    “‘5. Is it hurt?’ &c., &c.

    “Gannaway became much excited, as he appeared to witness these scenes acted before him. I am conscious that if there had been mala fides on my part, there was nothing in the experiment; but it was quite honestly conducted, and we were all of us very much surprised at the wonderful accuracy with which Gannaway interpreted my thoughts.”

    I wrote to Mr. Auberon Herbert, asking him if he remembered participating in an experiment in thought-transference, made with Mr. Clissold’s “subject,” Gannaway, in which the ideas transferred related to a conflagration. He replied:—

    “Ashley Arnewood Farm, Lymington.

    “June 22nd, 1886.

    “My recollection is as follows; some of the details have escaped me. I thought of a house on fire. Gannaway (a carpenter, I think), on my asking him what I saw, answered quite rightly. I then asked him again what I saw, and he answered quite rightly, ‘Fire-engine coming up.’ Then the conversation went on (I have shortened it). I. ‘Ah! something has happened! what is it?’ G. ‘A horse, belonging to the fireengine, has fallen down.’ (Quite right.) My memory is quite distinct up to this point as to the questions and answers, though I cannot exactly remember the part Gannaway and Mr. Clissold took respectively. I {ii-678} remember very distinctly I thought of and asked these questions, and I believe it was Gannaway himself who answered them directly to me. The next point was that, in answer to what I saw, he said they were throwing feather-beds out of a top-storey window—this also was perfectly right—but on this point my memory is not so clear as on the first three points. I have as clear and positive a memory as a man could have about the three first points, (1) fire, (2) fire-engine, (3) horse falling down. They were all quite fairly asked, and quite fairly answered; and I believe I might add to them the fourth point, ‘the feather bed’ but I cannot speak positively on this. Then comes a curious point. I imagined an entirely different scene—I cannot recall it, but it was to do with a wood—and his power seemed to fail entirely. He made quite wrong answers. I have no doubt about the truthfulness of the whole proceedings. One night I had mesmerised him, and told him he was in a boat, and attacked by a shark. If I had allowed it, he would have almost battered himself to pieces in striking with both arms upon the floor, where he thought the shark was.1 1 It is of course important to distinguish this phenomenon (which is of a very ordinary type, and is merely of interest here as indicating the reality of the hypnotic state,) from the telepathic result before described. He was an extraordinary man. It was enough, when you knew him, to look in his eyes to have influence over him. Kindly tell Mr. Clissold I most fully corroborate his statement as far as I know it.

    “AUBERON HERBERT.”

    Another gentleman who was present on this occasion was Mr. A. T. T. Peterson, of Arnewood Towers, Lymington, who believes that it was he who drew up the programme of the experiment. His account is as follows:—

    “June 24th, 1886.

    “I drew out a programme in writing of what I wished the operator to think without speaking, in order to try the mere power of the operator over the patient. On this occasion Herbert was the operator, Gannaway the patient. Programme.—A fire-engine with two horses galloping on a public road. One of the horses falls down; gets up again, and on they go. A house on a rising ground on the left on fire. A woman in her night-dress, with a baby in her arms, imploring for help from the first floor. People are throwing beds out of some of the windows of the rooms, which are taken to opposite where the lady was. The child is thrown out and caught all right. The woman jumps out, and is caught and saved.

    “This paper I handed to Herbert, requesting him not to say a word, which request he obeyed. He put Gannaway into trance, and Gannaway acted the part [of spectator, presumably,] to the very letter.

    “A. T. T. PETERSON.”.

    [Mr. Peterson goes on to describe another equally successful experiment where the picture transferred was a fishing-scene. Possibly this preceded the failure which Mr. Herbert mentions.]

    It is in connection with hypnotism that the most striking telepathic results have been obtained, in the recent rapid development of “psychical research” among French men of science. The {ii-679} cases here given were reported to the Société de Psychologie Physiologique towards the close of last year, and were published in the Revue Philosophique for February and for April, 1886. The observations themselves, and the circumstances of their publication, mark a distinct step in the scientific recognition of telepathic phenomena on the Continent. The first report—Note sur quelques Phénomènes de Somnambulisme—is from Professor Pierre Janet, of Havre, a Corresponding Member of the S.P.R.

    (688) “Grâce à l’obligeance d’un médecin bien connu de la ville du Hâvre, M. le docteur Gibert, j’ai pu pendant une quinzaine de jours observer certains phénomènes curieux de somnambulisme. … [Translation]

    class="hidetrans">Thanks to the kindness of a well-known physician of Le Havre, Dr. Gibert, I was able to spend two weeks observing certain curious phenomena associated with somnambulism. …

    “Le sujet sur lequel ces expériences ont été faites est une brave femme de la campagne, que nous désignerons sous le nom de Mme. B. Elle a toujours eu, autant du moins que l’on peut le savoir, une très bonne santé, et en particulier elle ne présente à l’état normal aucun des signes de l’hystérie. Elle est seulement sujette depuis son enfance à des accès de somnambulisme naturel, pendant lesquels elle peut parler et décrire les singulières hallucinations qu’elle paraît éprouver. Son caractère pendant sa vie ordinaire est très honnête, très simple et surtout très timide; quoique son intelligence paraisse fort juste, Mme. B. n’a reçu aucune instruction, elle ne sait pas écrire et épelle à peine quelques lettres. Plusieurs médecins ont déjà, paraît-il, voulu faire sur elle quelques expériences, mais elle a toujours refusé leurs propositions. Ce n’est que sur la demande de M. Gibert qu’elle a consenti à venir passer quelques jours au Hâvre, du 24 septembre au 14 octobre 1885, et c’est pendant ce court, séjour que nous avons eu l’occasion de l’observer. [Translation]The subject of these experiments is a good country woman whom we shall call Mme. B. She has always been in good health as far as can be determined, and in particular, when in her normal state she presents none of the signs of hysteria. Except she has been subject since childhood to episodes of natural somnambulism, during which she can speak and describe the singular hallucinations she appears to have. Her character in ordinary life is straightforward, simple and above all very timid. Though her understanding seems quite accurate, Mme. B. has no education, she cannot write and can barely spell out a few letters. Various physicians have already tried to experiment on her, but she has always refused their offers. It is only thanks to M. Gibert’s request that she agreed to come and spend several days in Le Havre, from September 24 to October 14, 1885, and it was during this short stay that we had the opportunity to observe her.

    “Il est assez facile de mettre Mme. B. en état de somnambulisme artificiel; il suffit pour cela de lui tenir la main en la serrant légèrement pendant quelques instants.” [Translation]It is fairly easy to put Mme B. in a state of artificial somnambulism; all that is required is to hold her hand and squeeze it gently for a few seconds.

    The usual symptoms of deep hypnotic trance presented themselves, including complete insensibility to light, sound, and pain.

    “Néanmoins il est un genre d’excitation auquel Mme. B. reste sensible pendant ce sommeil. Celui qui l’a endormie, et celui-là seul, a le pouvoir de provoquer à volonté une contracture partielle ou générale. Il suffit, par exemple, qu’il place un doigt dans l’extension forcée pour qu’il reste raide comme un morceau de bois, et une personne étrangère ne parvient pas à le fléchir. Si à ce moment le magnétiseur touche même lègérement le doigt contracturé, il s’assouplit instantanément. Pour provoquer la contracture générale, il suffit que le magnétiseur place sa main étendue à une petite distance au-devant du corps.” [Translation]Still, there is a type of stimulus to which Mme. B. remains sensitive during the trance. The person who has put her under, and he alone, has the power to bring about at will a partial or general contracture. He need only induce extension in a finger, and it remains as stiff as a piece of wood; no one else can bend it. If then the hypnotist touches, even slightly, the contractured finger, it relaxes at once. To bring about generalized contracture, the hypnotist need only place an outstretched hand a little bit in front of her body.

    Other persons could not produce these effects in the slightest degree; and in several other ways the person who had hypnotised the subject retained, during her trance, a quite peculiar influence over her.

    After about 10 minutes of deep sleep, Mme. B. would wake into a somnambulic state, in which she was completely sensible to impressions, and could answer questions.

    {ii-680}

    “Mais le caractère, ainsi qu’on l’a fréquemment remarqué, n’est plus du tout le même qu’à l’état de veille. Au lieu d’être simple et timide, Mme. B. est devenue subitement très hardie, très vive, pleine de caprices et toute disposée à se moquer de tout le monde, quelquefois avec esprit.” [Translation]But her character, as has been frequently seen, is no longer at all the same as when she is awake. Instead of being simple and shy, Mme. B. suddenly becomes very bold, lively, willful, and fully inclined to make fun of everyone, sometimes wittily.

    From this stage she could be wakened to the normal state by the person who had hypnotised her, but by no one else (see Vol. I., p. 88, note); if not wakened she soon relapsed again into the state of deep sleep.

    The first phenomena suggestive of “psychical” influence presented themselves in the process of hypnotisation.

    “M. Gibert tenait un jour la main de Mme. B. pour l’endorinir; mais il était visiblement préoccupé et songeait à autre chose qu’à ce qu’il faisait: le sommeil ne se produisit pas du tout. Cette expérience répétee par moi de diverses manières nous a prouvé que pour endormir Mme. B. il fallait concentrer fortement sa pensée sur l’ordre du sommeil qu’on lui donnait, et que plus la pensée de l’opérateur était distraite, plus le sommeil était difficile à provoquer. Cette influence de la pensée de l’opérateur, quelque extraordinaire que cela paraisse, est ici tout à fait prépondérante, à un tel point qu’elle peut remplacer toutes les autres. Si on presse la main de Mme. B. sans songer à l’endormir, on n’arrive pas à provoquer le sommeil; au contraire, si l’on songe à l’endormir sans lui presser la main, on y réussit parfaitement.” [Translation]M. Gibert one day took Mme. B.’s hand to put her asleep, but he was visibly distracted and thinking of something else besides what he was doing. No trance resulted. The experiment, which I repeated in various ways, proved that to put Mme. B. to sleep, one had to concentrate deeply on the order one was giving her to fall asleep, and that the more the experimenter was distracted, the harder it was to bring on sleep. This influence of the hypnotist’s own thought, extraordinary though it may seem, is entirely primary here, to such a degree that it may exclude all others. If one presses Mme. B.’s hand without thinking of putting her under, one does not succeed in bringing about a trance, and, inversely, if one thinks of putting her under without pressing her hand, one succeeds perfectly.

    Experiments of this sort were often repeated; but it is impossible, as M. Janet fully recognises, absolutely to exclude the hypothesis that the hypnotisation was due to some suggestion of the purpose in view, unconsciously conveyed by gesture, or attitude, or mere silence and appearance of expectation. This objection would not apply to other cases in which M. Gibert, without warning, and at a moment then and there fixed on by M. Janet or another friend, produced a distinct effect on the subject from another part of the town—the fact being immediately verified by M. Janet; who on one occasion found that the “subject,” on feeling the impulse to sleep, had only prevented herself from yielding to it by putting her hands in cold water; and on two others, found her in a deep trance from which only M. Gibert could wake her. On the last of these occasions, M. Gibert, at a distance, further willed three times, at intervals of 5 minutes, the performance of certain actions during the trance, which the entranced “subject” began to execute, though obviously rebelling against the impulse, and ending with a laugh, “Vous ne pouvez pas … si peu, si peu que vous soyez distrait, je me rattrape.You can’t … if you are distracted even a little, little bit, I come back.

    “Mais les suggestions mentales, car ce mot me paraît ici bien à sa place, peuvent être faites sur Mme. B. d’une autre manière et avoir un tout autre succès. On réussit peu, comme nous l’avons dit, quand on lui commande d’exécuter l’ordre immédiatement pendant le sommeil; on réussit beaucoup mieux quand on lui commande mentalement une action à exécuter plus tard quelque temps après le réveil. Le 8 octobre M. Gibert fit une suggestion de ce genre: sans prononcer aucun mot il approcha son front de celui de Mme. B. pendant le sommeil léthargique, et pendant quelques instants concentra sa pensée sur l’ordre qu’il lui donnait. Mme. B. parut ressentir une impression pénible et poussa un gémissement; d’ailleurs le sommeil ne parut pas du tout être dérangé. M. Gibert ne dit {ii-681} à personne l’ordre qu’il avait donné et se contenta de l’écrire sur un papier qu’il mit sous enveloppe. Le lendemain je revins auprès de Mme. B. pour voir l’effet de cette suggestion qui devait s’exécuter entre 11 heures et midi. A 11 heures ½ cette femme manifeste la plus grande agitation, quitte la cuisine où elle était, et va dans une chambre prendre un verre qu’elle emporte; puis, surmontant sa timidité se décide à entrer dans le salon où je me trouvais, et toute émue demande si on ne l’a pas appelée; sur ma réponse négative elle sort et continue plusieurs fois à monter de la cuisine au salon sans rien apporter d’ailleurs. Elle ne fit rien de plus ce jour-là, car bientôt elle tomba endormie à distance par M. Gibert. Voici ce qu’elle raconta pendant son sommeil: ‘Je tremblais quand je suis venue vous demander si on m’avait appelée—il fallait que je vienne—c’était pas commode de venir avec ce plateau—pourquoi veut-on me faire porter des verres—qu’est-ce que j’allais dire, n’est-ce pas—je ne veux pas que vous fassiez cela—il fallait bien que je clise quelque chose en venant.’ En ouvrant l’enveloppe, je vis que M. Gibert avait commandé hier à Mme. B. ‘d’offrir un verre d’eau à chacun de ces messieurs.’ Ici encore il faut reconnaître que l’expérience n’avait pas entièrement réussi, la suggestion n’avait pas été exécutée; peut-on nier du moins qu’elle n’ait été comprise? [Translation]But mental suggestions, which seems to me to be the proper term here, can be conveyed to Mme. B. in another way, with even more success. One has little success, as we have said, when one orders her to carry out the suggestion immediately, during her sleep. Success is greater when one orders her mentally to carry out an act later, some time after she wakes. On October 8, M. Gibert made a suggestion of the following type: without speaking a word, he brought his forehead near hers while she was in a lethargic sleep, and for a few moments he concentrated on the order he was giving her. Mme. B. seemed to feel pain and gave a moan. The sleep did not seem to be disturbed in any other way. M. Gibert told no one what order he had given, but merely wrote it down on a piece of paper, which he put into an envelope. The next day, I returned to see Mme. B. and to observe the effect of the suggestion, which was supposed to be carried out between eleven o'clock and noon. At 11:30, the woman exhibits great excitement, leaves the kitchen she was in, and goes into another room, where she carries off a drinking glass; then, overcoming her shyness, she brings herself to enter the salon, where I was, and, greatly upset, asks whether she had been called. When I reply in the negative, she goes out, and then repeatedly goes up to the salon from the kitchen, though without bringing anything. She did nothing further that day, for she was soon put to sleep by M. Gibert at a distance. Here is what she said during her trance: "I was shaking when I came to ask you if I had been called—I had to come—it wasn't easy with that tray—why am I being made to carry drinking glasses—what was I to say, then—I don't want you to do that—I had to say something when I got there." Upon opening the envelope, I saw that M. Gibert had told Mme. B. the day before "to offer a glass of water to each of these gentlemen." Here again we must admit that the experiment was not a total success. The suggestion was not carried out; but can it be denied that it was understood, at the least?

    “Voici maintenant une expérience plus significative. Le 10 octobre, nous convenons, M. Gibert et moi, de faire la suggestion suivante: ‘Demain à midi fermer à clef les portes de la maison.’ J’inscrivis la suggestion sur un papier que je gardais sur moi et que je ne voulus communiquer à personne. M. Gibert fit la suggestion comme précédemment en approchant son front de celui de Mme. B. Le lendemain quand j’arrivai à midi moins un quart je trouvai la maison barricadée et la porte fermée à clef. Renseignements pris, c’était Mme. B. qui venait de la fermer; quand je lui demandai pourquoi elle avait fait cet acte singulier, elle me répondit: ‘Je me sentais très fatiguée, et je ne voulais pas que vous puissiez entrer pour m’endormir.’ M. Bernheim et M. Richet ont déjà parlé de ces personnes qui inventent des raisons pour s’expliquer à elles-mêmes un acte qu’elles font nécessairement sous l’innuence d’une suggestion. Mme. B. était à ce moment très agitée; elle continua à errer dans le jardin, et je la vis cueillir une rose et aller visiter la boîte aux lettres placée près de la porte d’entrée. Ces actes sont sans importance, mais il est curieux de remarquer que c’était précisément les actes que nous avions un moment songé à lui commander la veille. Nous nous étions décidés à en ordonner un autre, celui de fermer les portes, mais la pensée des premiers avait sans doute occupé l’esprit de M. Gibert pendant qu’il commandait, et elle avait eu aussi son influence. [Translation]Now here is a more significant experiment. On October 10, M. Gibert and I agreed to give the following suggestion: "Tomorrow at noon, close and lock all the doors of the house." I wrote the suggestion on a piece of paper and kept it upon my person without showing it to anyone. M. Gibert gave the suggestion as was done earlier, by bringing his forehead close to that of Mme. B. The next day, when I got there at a quarter before noon, I found the house closed and the front door locked. I found out it was Mme. B. who had just closed it. When I asked her why she had done this unusual thing, she replied: "I was feeling very tired, and I did not want you to come in and put me to sleep." M. Bernheim and M. Richet have already spoken of the subjects who invent reasons for themselves in order to explain an act carried out under the influence of a hypnotic suggestion. Mme. B. was then very agitated. She continued to wander in the yard, and I saw her pluck a rose and then go to the mailbox near the front door. These acts have no importance in themselves, but it is curious to note that they were precisely the acts we had briefly considered telling her to carry out the day before. We had decided to give her a different order, to close the doors, but the thought of the first had presumably occupied M. Gibert’s mind while he was giving the command, and that thought had also had its influence.

    “Voici une troisième expérience qui ne mériterait pas d’être racontée, car elle réussit moins bien que la précédente, mais elle est intéressante cependant, car elle montre combien le sujet peut résister à ces suggestions mentales. Le 13 octobre, M. Gibert lui ordonne toujours par la pensée d’ouvrir un parapluie le lendemain à midi et de faire deux fois le tour du jardin. Le lendemain elle fut très agitée à midi, fit deux fois le tour du jardin, mais n’ouvrit pas de parapluie. Je l’endormis peu de temps après pour calmer une agitation qui devenait de plus en plus grande. Ses premiers mots furent ceux-ci: ‘Pourquoi m’avez-vous fait marcher tout {ii-682} autour du jardin—j’avais l’air bête—encore s’il avait fait le temps d’hier par exemple—mais aujourd’hui j’aurais été tout à fait ridicule.’ Ce jour-là il faisait fort beau et la veille il pleuvait beaucoup: elle n’avait pas voulu ouvrir un parapluie par un beau temps de peur de paraître ridicule. La suggestion avait au moins été comprise si elle n’avait pas été exécutée entièrement.” [Translation]Here is a third experiment that would not be worth including, given its

    lesser success, but it is still interesting, for it shows to what extent the subject is capable of resisting these mental suggestions. On October 13, M. Gibert orders her, mentally as usual, to open an umbrella and to walk around the garden twice with it, at noon the next day. The next day, she was very agitated at noon, and she went around the garden twice, but without opening an umbrella. I put her to sleep shortly afterward, to ease her constantly growing agitation. Her first words were these: "Why did you make me walk all around the garden—I looked stupid—at least if it had been yesterday’s weather, let us say—but today I would have been totally ridiculous." That day it was quite fine, and the day before it had rained a great deal. She had not wanted to open an umbrella in good weather, out of fear of seeming ridiculous. The suggestion was at least understood, if not fully carried out.

    In April, 1886, Mr. Myers and Dr. A. T. Myers had the opportunity of witnessing some further experiments made with this “subject.”1 1 A fuller account of these experiments will be found in Part X. of the Proceedings of the S.P.R. The times at which the trials were made were always chosen without premeditation. It is true that Mme. B. had come to Havre for a few weeks for the purpose of hypnotic experiments, and may therefore have had a general idea that attempts to influence her from a distance were likely to be made; but the closeness of the coincidences, coupled with the fact that she is not liable to go into spontaneous trances at other times, makes it in the highest degree improbable that the results were due to accident.

    (1) “In the evening of April 22, 1886,” says Mr. Myers, “we dined at M. Gibert’s, and in the evening M. Gibert made an attempt to put Mme. B. to sleep at a distance (from his house in the Rue Séry to the Pavilion, Rue de la Ferme), and to bring her to his own house by force of will. At 8.55 he retired to his study; and MM. Ochorowicz, Marillier, Janet, and A. T. Myers went to the Pavilion, where Mme. B. was staying, and waited outside in the street. At 9.22 Dr. Myers observed Mme. B. coming half-way out of the garden-gate, and again retreating. Those who saw her more closely observed that she was plainly in the somnambulic state, and was wandering about and muttering. At 9.25 she came out (with eyes persistently closed, so far as could be seen), walked quickly past MM. Janet and Marillier, without noticing them, and made for M. Gibert’s house, though not by the usual or shortest route. (It appeared afterwards that the bonne had seen her go into the salon at 8.45, and issue thence asleep at 9.15: had not looked in between those times.) She avoided lamp-posts, vehicles, &c., but crossed and re-crossed the street repeatedly. No one went in front of her or spoke to her. After eight or ten minutes she grew much more uncertain in gait, and paused as though she would fall. Dr. Myers noted the moment in the Rue Faure; it was 9.35. At about 9.40 she grew bolder, at 9.45 reached the street in front of M. Gibert’s house. There she met him, but did not notice him, and walked into his house, where she rushed hurriedly from room to room on the ground-floor. M. Gibert had to take her hand before she recognised him. She then grew calm.

    “M. Gibert, before hearing Dr. Myers’ statement, said that from 8.55 to 9.20 he thought intently about her; from 9.20 to 9.35 he thought more feebly; at 9.35 he gave the experiment up, and began to play billiards; but in a few minutes began to will her again. It thus appeared that his visit to the billiard-room had coincided with her hesitation and stumbling {ii-683} in the street. She may, however, have hesitated merely because she was not sure of the way.

    (2) “On April 23, M. Janet lunched in our company, and retired to his own house at 4.30 (a time chosen by lot) to try to put her to sleep from thence. At 5.5 we all entered the salon of the Pavilion, and found her asleep with shut eyes, but sewing vigorously (being in that stage in which movements once suggested are automatically continued). Passing into the talkative state, she said to M. Janet, ‘C’est vous qui m’avez fait dormir à quatre heures et demi.You are the one who put me to sleep at four-thirty. The impression as to the hour may have been a suggestion received from M. Janet’s mind. We tried to make her believe that it was M. Gibert who had sent her to sleep, but she maintained that she had felt that it was M. Janet.

    (3) “On April 24 the whole party chanced to meet at M. Janet’s house at 3 p.m., and he then, at my suggestion, entered his study to will that Mme. B. should sleep. We waited in his garden, and at 3.20 proceeded together to the Pavilion, which I entered first at 3.30, and found Mme. B. profoundly asleep over her sewing, having ceased to sew. Becoming talkative, she said to M. Janet, ‘C’est vous qui m’avez commandée.You are the one who ordered me. She said that she fell asleep at 3.5 p.m.”

    Writing from Havre on June 18, 1886, M. Janet gives the following brief summary of the results obtained in the particular experiment of inducing “sommeil à distance,” during this visit of Mme. B. to Havre:—

    “Ne parlons pas des suggestions de sommeil faites par la pensée en se tenant devant le sujet, ou même dans une autre piece de la maison; on n’est jamais assez certain que le sujet ne soit pas du tout prévenu. Il ne s’agit ici que des expériences tentées de loin, de chez M. Gibert ou de chez moi, c’est-à-dire, à 500 mètres au moins du pavilion où se trouvait Mme. B. Les expériences faites dans ces conditions, soit par M. Gibert, soit par moi, sont au nombre de 21 pendant ce second séjour de Mme. B. au Hâvre. Je ne compte pas un essai fait au milieu de la nuit dans des conditions déplorables. Considérons comme échecs toutes les expériences dans lesquelles le sujet n’a pas été trouvé endormi quand on entrait dans le pavilion, ou même celles dans lesquelles le sujet a mis plus d’un quart d’heure à s’endormir après l’instant de la suggestion mentale. Le nombre de ces insuccès a été de 6, et chacun d’eux peut avoir une explication precise. Il reste à retenir 15 succès précis et complets, ou 15 coïncidences extraordinaires, suivant que l’on voudra les comprendre d’une manière ou d’une autre.” [Translation]Let us not speak of sleep suggestions made mentally while in the presence of the subject, or even in another room of the house. One is never adequately certain that the subject has received no warning. We treat here only experiments attempted at a distance, from M. Gibert’s house or from my own, in other words, from at least 500 meters from the house where Mme. B. was. The experiments carried out in these conditions during Mme. B.’s second stay in Le Havre, either by M. Gibert or by me, number 21. I omit one test carried out in the middle of the night in bad conditions. Let us consider as failures all the experiments in which the subject was not found asleep when we entered the house, and even those in which the subject took more than 15 minutes to go to sleep after the moment of the mental suggestion. The number of these failures was 6, and each may be given a precise explanation. To be retained are 15 precise, complete successes, or else 15 extraordinary coincidences, depending on whether one wishes to view them in the first way or in the second.

    The next record is from M. J. Héricourt, of 50, Rue de Miroménil, Paris.

    (689) “L’observation que je rapporte ici date de l’année 1878, époque à laquelle je l’ai communiquée à mon ami M. Charles Bichet, qui l’a gardée fidèlement et prudemment dans ses cartons, pour des raisons faciles à comprendre. [Translation]The observation I am reporting here dates from 1878, at which time I informed my friend M. Charles Richet of it. He kept it faithfully and prudently in his files, for easily understandable reasons.

    “Il s’agit d’une jeune femme de vingt-quatre ans, d’origine espagnole, veuve et mère d’une petite fille de cinq ans. … L’examen le plus minutieux n’a pu faire découvrir chez elle aucune tare hystérique, personnelle ou héréditaire.” [Translation]The subject is a young woman of twenty-four, Spanish, a widow with a five-year-old daughter. Despite the most detailed examination, no hysterical, personal, or

    hereditary flaw was discovered.

    M. Héricourt easily succeeded in hypnotising Mme. D. on the first trial.

    {ii-684}

    “J’endormais Mme. D. avec une facilité chaque jour plus grande. En effet, après quinze jours environ de cet entraînement spécial, je n’avais plus besoin pour obtenir ce résultat ni du contact ni du regard: il me suffisait de vouloir, tout en m’abstenant de toute espèce de geste qui pût trahir mon intention. Était-elle en conversation animée au milieu de plusieurs personnes, tandis que je me tenais dans quelque coin dans l’attitude de la plus complète indifférence, que je la voyais bientôt, à mon gré, lutter contre le sommeil qui l’envahissait, et le subir définitivement, ou reprendre le cours de ses idées, selon que moi-même je continuais ou cessais d’appliquer ma pensée au résultat à obtenir. [Translation]I put Mme. D. to sleep more easily every day. Indeed, after some two weeks of this special training, I could reach this result without need of touching or eye contact. All I needed was to will, while abstaining from any sort of gesture that might reveal my intent. Though she might be in lively conversation in a group of several persons, while I was off in a corner showing the most complete indifference, still I soon could see her, as I willed it, fighting against the sleep that was overcoming her, then submitting to it entirely, or else picking up the thread of her conversation again, according to whether I myself continued or ceased to apply my thought to the desired result.

    “Et même je pouvais regarder fixement mon sujet, lui serrer les pouces ou les poignets, et faire toutes les passes imaginables des magnétiseurs de profession; si ma volonté n’était pas de l’endormir, il restait parfaitement éveillé, et convaincu de mon impuissance. [Translation]Further, I could stare at my subject, take her thumbs or wrists, and use all the imaginable passes used by professional magnetizers: if it was not my will to put her to sleep, she remained perfectly wide awake, and persuaded of my lack of power. [Translator’s note: The context shows that the masculine gender here refers to mon sujet, i.e., Mme. D., the subject of the passage as a whole.]

    “Mais bientôt, ce ne fut plus seulement d’une extrémité à l’autre d’une chambre que je sougeai à exercer mon action; d’une pièce à une autre, d’une maison à une autre maison, située dans une rue plus ou moins éloignée, le même résultat fut encore obtenu. [Translation]But soon, I began not merely to produce the effect from the far end of the room, but to attain the same result from one room to another, from one house to another, in a street at a greater or lesser distance.

    “Les circonstances dans lesquelles j’exerçai ainsi pour la première fois cette action à longue distance méritent d’être rapportées avec quelques détails. Étant un jour dans mon cabinet (j’habitais alors Perpignan), l’idée me vint d’essayer d’endormir Mme. D., que j’avais tout lieu de croire chez elle, et qui habitait dans une rue distante environ de 300 mètres de la mienne. J’étais d’ailleurs bien éloigné de croire au succès d’une pareille expérience. Il était trois heures de l’après-midi, je me mis à me promener de long en large, en pensant très vivement au résultat que je voulais obtenir; et j’étais absorbé par cet exercice, quand on vint me chercher pour voir des malades. Les cas étant pressants, j’oubliai mornentanément Mme. D. que je devais d’ailleurs rencontrer vers quatre heures et demie sur une promenade publique. M’y étant rendu à cette heure, je fus très étonné de ne l’y point voir, mais je pensai qu’après tout, mon expérience avait bien pu réussir; aussi, vers cinq heures, pour ne rien compromettre et rétablir les choses en leur état normal, dans le cas où cet état eût été effectivement troublé, par acquit de conscience, je songeai à réveiller mon sujet, aussi vigoureusement que tout à l’heure j’avais songé à l’endormir. [Translation]The circumstances in which I produced this long-distance effect for the first time deserve to be reported in some detail. I was in my office one day (I was then living in Perpignan), and I had the idea of putting Mme. D. to sleep. I had every reason to believe she was at her home, which was in another street at about 300 meters' distance. I was in any case far from believing such an experiment could succeed. It was three in the afternoon. I began to walk back and forth, thinking very intensely of the result I sought, and I was absorbed by this activity when I was called to see patients. Their cases were urgent, and so I momentarily forgot Mme. D. Anyhow, I expected to see her about four-thirty on the public promenade. When I got there at that time, I was quite surprised not to see her there, but it came to me that my experiment had perhaps worked after all. And so, about five, just to be sure, intending to avoid compromising anything and to put things back to normal, in case there had been any disturbance, I concentrated on awakening my subject just as vigorously as I had concentrated on putting her to sleep earlier.

    “Or, ayant eu l’occasion de voir Mme. D. dans la soirée, voici ce qu’elle me raconta, d’une manière absolument spontanée, et sans que j’eusse fait la moindre allusion à son absence de la promenade. Vers trois heures, comme elle était dans sa chambre à coucher, elle avait été prise subitement d’une en vie invincible de dormir; ses paupières se faisaient de plomb, et ses jambes se dérobaient—jamais elle ne dormait dans la journée—au point qu’elle avait eu à peine la force de passer dans son salon, pour s’y laisser tomber sur un canapé. Sa domestique étant alors entrée pour lui parler, l’avait trouvée, comme elle le lui raconta plus tard, pâle, la peau froide, sans mouvement, comme morte, selon ses expressions. Justement effrayée, elle s’était mise à la secouer vigoureusement, mais sans parvenir cependant à autre chose qu’à lui faire ouvrir les yeux. A ce moment, Mme. D. me dit qu’elle n’avait eu conscience que d’éprouver un violent mal de tête qui, paraît-il, avait disparu subitement vers cinq heures. C’était précisément le moment où j’avais pensé a la réveiller. [Translation]I had occasion to see Mme. D. in the course of the evening, and here is what she told me, in absolutely spontaneous fashion, without my having made any allusion to her earlier absence. About three o'clock, while she was in her bedroom, she had suddenly been overcome with an uncontrollable desire to sleep. Her eyelids were like lead, and her legs could not hold her up—she never slept during the day—she barely had strength enough to go into her salon and to fall onto a couch. Her servant, having then come in to speak to her, found her (as she put it later) pale, cold to the touch, motionless, as though dead. Understandably frightened, she had begun to shake her mistress vigorously, but without managing to do any more than get her to open her eyes. At that moment, Mme. D. tells me, she was aware only of a raging headache, which apparently went away suddenly about five. That was the exact moment when I had been concentrating on awakening her.

    {ii-685}

    “Ce récit ay ant été spontané, je le répète, il n’y avait plus de doute à conserver: ma tentative avait certainement réussi. Afin de pouvoir la renouveler dans des conditions aussi probantes que possible, je ne mis pas Mme. D. au courant de ce que j’avais fait, et j’entrepris toute une série d’expériences dont je rendis témoins nombre de personnes, qui voulurent bien en fixer les conditions et contrôler les résultats. Parmi ces personnes, je citerai le médecin-niajor et un capitaine du bataillon de chasseurs dont j’étais alors l’aide-major. Toutes ces expériences se ramènent en somme au type suivant. [Translation]

    class="hidetrans">As this statement was a spontaneous one, I repeat, there was no more room for doubt: my attempt had surely succeeded. So that I might renew it in the strictest possible conditions, I avoided telling Mme. D. what I had done, and I undertook an entire series of experiments, with a number of witnesses who agreed to set the conditions and verify the results. Among these persons, I will mention the medical officer and a captain of the battalion of which I was then the assistant medical officer. [Translator’s note: chasseurs then were either light infantry or light cavalry.] All of these experiments may be assimilated to the following type.

    “Étant dans un salon avec Mme. D., je lui disais que j’allais essayer de l’endormir d’une pièce voisine, les portes étant fermées. Je passais alors dans cette pièce, où je restais quelques minutes avec la pensée bien nette de la laisser éveillée. Quand je revenais, je trouvais en effet Mme. D. dans son état normal, et se moquant de mon insuccès. Un instant plus tard, ou un autre jour, je passais dans la même pièce voisine sous un prétexte quelconque, mais cette fois avec l’intention bien arrêtée de produire le sommeil, et après une minute à peine, le résultat le plus complet était obtenu. On n’invoquera ici aucune suggestion autre que la suggestion mentale, puisque l’attention expectante, mise en jeu dans toute sa force, lors de l’expérience précédente, avait été absolument sans action. Les conditions de ces expériences, qui se contrôlent réciproquement, sont d’une simplicité et d’une valeur sur lesquelles j’attire l’attention, parce qu’elles constituent une sorte de schéma à suivre pour la démonstration. [Translation]While I was in a salon with Mme. D., I would tell her I was going to put her to sleep from an adjoining room, while keeping the doors closed. I went into the other room and stayed there for a few minutes while concentrating on keeping her awake. When I came back, there was Mme. D., in a normal state, and joking about my failure. Then, a moment later, or on another day, I would go into the same adjoining room, giving some reason or another, but this time in the firm intention of producing sleep; and after barely a minute, I obtained perfect results. No other form of suggestion besides the mental can be proposed here, since expectation, put into play in full force during the first experiment, was entirely ineffective. The conditions of these experiments, each of which serves as control for the other, are worthy of attention because their simplicity and their value constitute a sort of schema for use in demonstration.

    “Mme. D. prétendait que, toutes les fois que je pensais à elle, elle ressentait une vive douleur dans la region précordiale; c’était d’ailleurs cette même douleur qu’elle éprouvait encore quand les séances de somnambulisme se prolongeaient, et qui me déterminait à y mettre fin. De fait, apres convention préalable, si je voulais que Mme. D. descendît de chez elle, je n’avais qu’à m’arrêter dans une rue voisine de la sienne, et à lui en donner l’ordre mentalement. Je ne tardais pas à la voir arriver, et toujours elle me disait que sa douleur au coeur lui avait indiqué ma présence.” [Translation]Mme. D. claimed that whenever I thought of her she felt a sharp pain in the precordial region—the same pain she felt when our sessions of somnambulism had gone on too long, and which led to my bringing them to an end. In fact, on prior agreement, if I wanted Mme. D. to come down from her house, I had only to pause in a nearby street and give her that order mentally. I always saw her coming immediately, and she would always tell me that the pain around her heart had revealed my presence.

    The next account, from Dr. E. Gley, of 37, Rue Claude Bernard, Paris, records some observations of his friend, Dr. Dusart, (published in the Tribune Medicate in May, 1875), on a girl of 14, whom he found suffering from obstinate hysterical attacks, and for whom he easily procured sleep by a simple hypnotic process.

    (690) “J’avais observé que, quand, en faisant des passes, je me laissais distraire par la conversation des parents, je ne parvenais jamais à produire un sommeil suffisant, même après un long espace de temps. II fallait donc faire une large part à l’intervention de ma volonté. Mais celle-ci suffirait-elle sans le secours d’aucune manifestation extérieure? Voilà ce que je voulus savoir. [Translation]I had observed that if I let myself be distracted during my passes by the conversation of relatives, I never managed to produce a proper sleep, even after a long period of time. It was seen that the intervention of my will played a large role. But would the will be sufficient without the aid of any exterior manifestation? That was what I determined to discover.

    “A cet effet j’arrive un jour avant l’heure fixée la veille pour le réveil, et, sans regarder la malade, sans faire un geste, je lui donne mentalement l’ordre de s’éveiller: je suis aussitôt obéi. A ma volonté, le délire et les cris commencent. Je m’assieds alors devant le feu, le dos au lit de la malade, laquclle avait la face tournée vers la porte de la chambre, {ii-686} je cause avec les personnes présentes, sans paraître m’occuper des cris de Mile. J., puis, à un moment donné, sans que personne se fût aperçu de ce qui se passait en moi, je donne l’ordre mental du sommeil, et celui-ci se produit. Plus de cent fois l’expérience fut faite et variée de diverses façons: l’ordre mental était donné sur un signe que me faisait le Dr. X., et toujours l’effet se produisait. Un jour, j’arrive lorsque la malade était éveillée et en plein délire; elle continue, malgré ma présence, a crier et s’agiter, je m’assieds et j’attends que le Dr. X. me donne le signal. Aussitôt celui-ci donné et l’ordre mental formula, la malade se tait et s’endort. ‘Vous saviez qué j’etais là depuis quelque temps?’ ‘Non, monsieur; je ne me suis aperçue de votre présence qu’en sentant le sommeil me gagner; j’ai eu alors conscience que vous étiez assis devant le feu.’ [Translation]To that end, I arrived one day before the time agreed upon the day before, and, without looking at the patient, without any gesture, I gave her mentally the order to awaken. I was obeyed at once. As I willed it, the delirium and the outcries began. Then I sat down in front of the fire, with my back to the patient’s bed. She was turned toward the door of the room. I spoke with the others there, without seeming to pay any attention to Mlle. J.’s cries. Then, at one point, without anyone having noticed what was happening within me, I gave the mental order for sleep, and sleep occurred. More than one hundred times, this experiment was carried out, with various differences. The mental order was given on a sign from Dr. X., and the effect was always the same. One day I arrived when the patient was awake and in total delirium. Despite my presence, she continued to cry out and to struggle. I sat down and awaited the signal from Dr. X. The moment it was given, and the order formulated, the patient fell silent and went to sleep. "Did you know I had been here for some time?" "No, sir; I realized you were here only when I felt myself going under; that was when I was aware you were sitting by the fire."

    “Je donnais chaque jour, avant de partir, l’ordre de dormir jusqu’ au lendemain à une heure déterminée. Un jour, je pars, oubliant cette précaution; j’étais à 700 mètres quand je m’en aperçus. Ne pouvant retourner sur mes pas, je me dis que peut-être mon ordre serait entendu, malgré la distance, puisque à 1 ou à 2 mètres un ordre mental était exécuté. En conséquence, je formule l’ordre de dormir jusqu’au lendemain 8 heures, et je poursuis mon chemin. Le lendemain, j’arrive à 7 heures et demie; la malade dormait. ‘Comment, se fait-il que vous dormiez encore?’ ‘Mais, monsieur, je vous obéis.’ ‘Vous vous trompez; je suis parti sans vous donner aucun ordre.’ ‘C’est vrai; mais cinq minutes après, je vous ai parfaitement entendu me dire de dormir jusqu’à 8 heures. Or il n’est pas encore 8 heures.’ Cette dernière heure étant celle que j’indiquais ordinairement,

    il était possible que l’habitude fût la cause d’une illusion et qu’il n’y eût ici qu’une simple coincidence. Pour en avoir le coeur net et ne laisser prise à aucun doute, je commandai à la malade de dormir jusqu’à ce qu’elle reçût l’ordre de s’éveiller. [Translation]Every day, as I was leaving, I gave the order to sleep until a specified time on the next day. One day, I left without remembering this precaution. I was 700 meters away when I realized it. As I could not return, I told myself that perhaps my order would be heard despite the distance, since orders given at a distance of one or two meters were carried out. As a result, I formulated the order to go to sleep until the next day at eight o'clock, and I went on my way. The next day, I arrived at 7:30. The patient was still asleep. "How can it be that you are still asleep?" "But, sir, I am obeying you." "You are mistaken; I left without giving any order." "That’s so; but five minutes later, I clearly heard you tell me to sleep until eight. And it’s not eight yet." This being the time I usually chose for her, it is possible that habit had brought about an illusion, and that the whole thing was a mere coincidence. To clear my conscience and eliminate all doubt, I ordered the patient to sleep until she received an order to wake up.

    “Dans la journée, ayant trouvé un intervalle libre, je résolus de compléter 1’expérience. Je pars de chez moi (7 kilomètres de distance), en donnant l’ordre du réveil. Je constate qu’il est 2 heures. J’arrive et trouve la malade éveillée: les parents, sur ma recommandation, avaient noté l’heure exacte du réveil. C’était rigoureusement celle à laquelle j’avais donné l’ordre. Cette expérience, plusieurs fois renouvelée, à des heures différentes, eut toujours le même résultat. [Translation]During the day, I had a bit of free time, and decided to complete the experiment. As I left my home (7 kilometers away), I gave the order to awaken. I noted the time as two o'clock. On my arrival, I found the patient awake. Her parents, on my recommendation, had marked the exact time of her awakening. It was strictly the time at which I had given the order. This experiment, repeated several times, at different times of day, gave the same result every time.

    “Mais voici qui paraîtra plus concluant encore. [Translation]But here is something even more decisive.

    “Le 1er janvier, je suspendis mes visites et cessai toute relation avec la famille. Je n’en avais plus entendu parler, lorsque le 12, faisant des courses dans une direction opposée et me trouvant à 10 kilometrès de la malade, je me demandai si, malgré la distance, la cessation de tous rapports et l’intervention d’une tierce personne (le père magnétisant désormais sa fille), il me serait encore possible de me faire obéir. Je défends à la malade de se laisser endormir; puis, une demi-heure après, réfléchissant que si, par extraordinaire, j’étais obéi, cela pourrait causer préjudice à cette malheureuse jeune fille, je lève la défense et cesse d’y penser. [Translation]On January first, I ceased my visits and ended all contact with the family. I had heard nothing more of them by the twelfth, when, during my errands, I was headed in an opposite direction and was located some 10 kilometers from the patient. I began to wonder whether it was possible, despite the distance, the ending of the relationship, and the intervention of a third party (since the father was by then magnetizing his daughter), for me still to be obeyed. I forbade the patient to go let herself be put to sleep. Then, half an hour later, I came to think that if by some exceptional chance I had been obeyed, that could harm the poor girl. I cancelled the order and forgot about it.

    “Je fus fort surpris, lorsque le lendemain, à 6 heures du matin, je vis arriver chez moi un exprès portant une lettre du père de Mile. J. Celui-ci me disait que la veille, 12, à 10 heures du matin, il n’était

    {ii-687}

    arrivé à endormir sa fille qu’après une lutte prolongée et très douloureuse. La malade, une fois endormie, avait déclaré que, si elle avait résisté c’était sur mon ordre, et qu’elle ne s’était endormie que quand je l’avais permis. [Translation]I was greatly surprised when, the next morning at six, I received at home an express letter from the father of Mlle. J. He informed me that on the day before, the 12th, at ten in the morning, he had been unable to put his daughter to sleep without a long and very painful struggle. Once asleep, the patient had stated that if she had resisted, it was on my order, and that she had gone to sleep only when I permitted her to.

    “Ces déclarations avaient été faites vis-à-vis de témoins auxquels le père avait fait signer les notes qui les contenaient. J’ai conservé cette lettre, dont M. —— me confirma plus tard le contenu, en ajoutant quelques détails circonstanciés.” [Translation]These statements were made in the presence of witnesses whom the father had had sign the notes containing them. I have kept this letter, whose contents were only later confirmed by M., with a few circumstancial details.

    § 3. I come now to the spontaneous cases. The following seems to be an instance of casual spontaneous transference of an idea; and strikingly exemplifies the latency of the impression, and its emergence after several hours, which has been so frequently noted in the course of this work. Mrs. Lethbridge, of Tregeare, Launceston, Cornwall, writes:—

    “Bella Vista, Corsier, Vevey, Switzerland.

    “April 10th, 1886.

    (691) “In December, 1881, my husband was slowly recovering from a severe illness; and one afternoon, about 5 o’clock, I went into his study, where he had gone for 2 or 3 hours, to see if he wanted anything. Finding him asleep in his armchair, I left him, and having some village lending-library books to sort, I went into the small room where they were kept, called the ‘box-room’ (in a distant part of the house), to do so. There, to my surprise, I saw our gamekeeper’s dog, Vic, curled up. On seeing me she rose, wagged her tail, turned half round and lay down again. This dog had never been inside the house before, which was the reason of my surprise at seeing her where she was. However, I turned her out of doors, and there I thought the matter ended. I am quite sure I did not mention the matter to my husband.

    “He went to bed very early that evening, and had a most restless night, talking a great deal in his sleep. While fast asleep he related the whole occurrence of ‘Hawke’s dog, Vic,’ actually being found in the box-room, even describing the animal’s behaviour, rising, turning half round and lying down again. Next morning I asked my husband if he had dreamt? ‘No, not that he knew of.’ If he had not dreamt of Vic? ‘No, why of Vic?’ Then I asked him if by any chance he had heard where Vic had been found the previous evening?’ No. Where?’ And when I told him, he was extremely astonished, just because the dog had never been known inside the house before, and the box-room was on an upper landing. Subsequently I related to him what he had said in his sleep, but he evidently had not the slightest recollection of it.

    “MILLICENT G. LETHBRIDGE.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mrs. Lethbridge adds:—

    “I am glad my account interested you, and regret extremely that it cannot be corroborated, for I fully understand the necessity in investigations such as yours to obtain perfectly trustworthy evidence, and free from intentional or unintentional exaggerations or inaccuracies. My dear husband died about 16 months ago. On receiving your letter I tried to find out whether he mentioned the occurrence in his diary, but unfortunately the diary of that year (1881) was left behind in England.

    {ii-688}

    “From mine, which I succeeded in finding, written at the time, I copy out the following brief notice, dated Dec. 14th, 1881. ‘Baron talked a great deal in his sleep last night, and curiously enough he described how the terrier was found curled up on the mat in the box-room, which actually happened yesterday, probably for the first time in the terrier’s life, for I was so amazed at finding the dog in so unusual a place that I called the children to see it. But the strange part is this, Baron was asleep in the study at the time, and no one had told him of the occurrence. Of this I am quite sure.’

    “I mentioned the occurrence to several people at the time, but as it happened 5 years ago, I doubt if any of them would recall it quite accurately.”

    [Mr. Lethbridge’s complete forgetfulness is clearly a strong indication that the news of the occurrence had not reached him in any normal way—e.g., by overhearing the children speaking of it.]

    The following experiences belong to a class whose force, in the cumulative proof of telepathy, is comparatively small—the class of mere impressions, without any sensory affection; but they are in themselves well-evidenced cases, the records of the impressions having been carefully written down before the news of the corresponding event arrived. The narrator is Mr. J. C. Grant, of 98, Cornwall Gardens, S.W.; from whose very full journal they were copied by the present writer. Mr. Grant desires that the names of the persons mentioned shall not be printed; but says that “the fullest information is open to private inquiry.” The instance which was second in date is given before the earlier one, as being more complete, and is the only one to which I have attached an evidential number.

    (692) Entry in diary for April 11, 1882.

    “A very strange thing happened to me last night. It has happened once before. After being asleep some little time, I was wakened up, quite quietly and with no dread or horror, but with the absolute and certain knowledge that there was a ‘presence’ in my room. I looked everywhere into the darkness, implored it to appear, but to no effect; for though I have the gift of ‘feeling,’ I have not that of ‘sight.’ I felt certain, in fact was told by it, that it was to do with Bruce [Christian name]. I thought it was his father—I was sure it was: I thought he must be dead.1 1 Mr. Grant explains this sentence as follows:—“I knew his father to be very seriously ill, which no doubt was the reason why my thoughts took this direction.” All this took place in about a couple of minutes or so; and as I saw I could see nothing, I got up, struck a match, lighted the candle at my bedside, and looked at my watch. It was just 14 minutes past 12 o’clock. I then put out the candle; but all feeling of the presence had gone. It had spoken as only a spirit2 2 See p. 48, note. can speak, and then had passed away. I did not get to sleep for a long time, and was very unhappy for poor Bruce. … I {ii-689} have been quite out of sorts all day for poor old Bruce, to whom I wrote this morning. Told M. and R. of my feeling and experiences of the night.”

    [The entry for April 12 mentions a conversation with Mr. and Mrs. M., in which Mr. Grant remembers that he described the occurrence.]

    Entry for April 13.

    “In afternoon went over to my aunt M.’s, had a long talk with her, told her and J. and others all about my presentiment. I have not heard from poor Bruce yet.”

    Entry for April 14.

    “Up early, at half-past seven—expecting a letter. The letter has come, as I expected—deep black edge; but it is not his father, but his brother, that has died, poor old E., date and all, on Tuesday. … I wrote to him this morning. I will not tell him of my strange meeting of Tuesday morning or Monday night. … Witnesses to this strange pre-knowledge of mine: Mrs. R., my housekeeper; Mrs. C., my aunt; J., my cousin (Captain C.); other cousins, Mrs. M. and Mr. M., Mr. H. R., and Mme. G. So you see1 1 The journal, though a private one, is in many parts written as if addressed to an imaginary reader. I am not without my authorities, besides my written journal.”

    Entry for April 15.

    “Wrote a long letter to my father, giving him what news there was, and telling him about my queer experience.”

    The following is a copy, made by the present writer, of a letter written to Mr. Grant by Mr. M., on June 3, 1886:—

    “We distinctly remember your telling us about the strange circumstance that took place before2 2 The wording of this letter, and Mr. Grant’s expressions above, illustrate what I have more than once remarked on—the common tendency to describe what are really telepathic impressions, coinciding with or closely following real events, as prophetic and premonitory. See p. 535, note, and p. 569. the death of one of your friends. The details have escaped our memory, but we remember that it was a case of premonition, which was afterwards verified.

    “C. W. M.”

    The date of death appears in the Times obituary as April 10, 1882. This was Monday, not Tuesday; and probably Mr. Grant assumed that the day on which his friend heard of the death was the day of the death itself. The death, which took place in China, can only have fallen within 12 hours of his experience if it occurred in the few hours preceding midnight.

    Mr. E. T. R., who died, was an intimate friend of Mr. Grant’s, but not so intimate as his brother Bruce.

    “Entry in diary for Wednesday, Dec. 10, 1879. (Mr. Grant was at the time in Southern India.)

    “Yesterday I had a peculiar sensation. When I say yesterday, I mean last night. … I have as it were an inner eye opened. I had a sort of unconscious feeling that, if I were to wish it, I could see some strange visitant in the chamber with me—someone disembodied. [Here {ii-690} follow some words of description which, though general and not distinctive, apply perfectly to the particular person who, as it turned out, died at the time, and would have applied equally naturally to only a small group of persons. Mr. Grant has what appear to me valid reasons for withholding the clause from publication.] I forced the idea from me, and fell into a troubled sleep.”

    Entry for Dec. 11.

    “Went in afternoon to the library; thence to C.’s. Hear by telegram, while there, of the death of my uncle, Mr. C., on Tuesday. Wonder if that had anything to do with my feelings the night before last.”

    We find in the obituary of a leading newspaper that the death took place on Dec. 9, 1879.

    Mr. Grant states that he had had no idea that anything was the matter with his uncle.

    I have studied in Mr. Grant’s diary the full record of a third case, which was even more remarkable than the first, as it included the peculiarity that, for some time after his first impression, he felt forcibly impelled to draw the figure of the person who died. The case was made the more striking to me by the fact that Mr. Grant was so certain that the death (the, time of which he had only very vaguely learnt) must have coincided in date with his impression, that he had actually not taken the trouble to verify the coincidence. He left it to me to find in the Times obituary—as he confidently foretold that I would—that the death (which was quite unexpected) occurred, thousands of miles from the place where he was, on the day preceding that on which the entry in his diary, relating his impression of the previous night, was written. The impression of that night did not, however, bear distinct reference to the particular person who died, but was a more general sense of calamity in the family. Certain reasons which at present make it desirable not to publish the details of this case may in time cease to exist.

    Mr. Grant writes, on May 31, 1886:—

    “Except on these three occasions, I have never, to the best of my recollection, had any feeling in the least resembling those described.”

    To pass now to examples where the senses were concerned—the following is an auditory death-case of the ordinary type. The narrator is Mrs. Evens, mentioned above (pp. 176 and 344).

    (693) In 1885, Mrs. Evens filled up a census-form (p. 7) with the information that about September, 1858, in the early hours of the night, she, experienced an auditory hallucination representing the voice of a “most intimate and deeply attached friend. She died suddenly that night. The lady was French. We had been very intimate, and she had frequently mesmerised me for neuralgia. We had been parted for more than a year—she in France and I in England. I had been to sleep, but woke as if I were called. I sat up, saw nothing, but heard distinctly, in the well-known and beloved voice, ‘Adieu, ma chérie’ (her name for me). {ii-691} It was not till a week after that I heard of her sudden and quite unexpected death (she not having been ill) on that night. At the time, I had no feeling of surprise or fear. I may mention that only during the last year I heard, in an indirect manner, that, under the pressure of great horror, she was supposed to have committed suicide.”

    In reply to inquiries, Mrs. Evens writes:—

    “Oldbank, Enniskillen.

    “December, 1885.

    “I was staying in a country house, but not with (at that time) very intimate freinds, [sic] and I cannot feel sure that I mentioned the circumstance. I shall be writing to one of them soon, and will ask if she remembers my speaking of it at all. The recollection, except as to precise date, is as vivid in my mind as ever—the tone of the voice, as of one not stationary, but leaving the room by the door,1 1 I have mentioned (Vol. i., p. 573) how frequently visual hallucinations, alike of subjective and the telepathic class, present this feature of movement. which was on the left side and near the head of my bed; and likewise the words, distinctly spoken. I left France in 1857, and my friend died in 1858. It was the year before my marriage, and I was then a girl of 20. I had no terror, or even surprise; but equally little when I heard of her sudden death, which I seemed to have foreknown. As to the hour, I gathered that it must have been tolerably simultaneous with the death. We did not go to our rooms till 11 ever in that house. I had the sensation of being awoke out of my first sleep. My friend was found dead and cold (in her house in Alsace) between 4 and 5 in the morning. Having led a wandering life since my marriage, I have kept no letters of so long ago. The circumstances of the loss of my beloved friend, and my firm belief inker desire to take leave of me, are both indelibly impressed on my memory. I wish, for the sake of science, my details were more satisfactory.

    “I was a parlour boarder from ’55 to ’57 (inclusive) at the Château Giron, then a large and well-known school. Mme. H. was one of the principals; the friendship between us was of a very close and unusual kind. She was just the sort of woman whose ‘will’ once more to see a dear friend would triumph over almost any difficulties, as I always believe it did.

    “AGNES EVENS.”

    In reply to further inquiries, Mrs. Evens adds:—

    “In my own mind I always associate the hearing of the voice with a Sunday night. You will say this is unreliable, and so it is, but I find that in the recollection of my domestic events, births, deaths, &c., my recollection of the day of the week, with its associations, is more reliable than that of the date.

    “As to any other [auditory] hallucinations, the only one I can remember is the sound of music unusual in character, &c., but it took place when I was worn out with nursing and grief, and I have always assigned it to an abnormal condition of the nervous system, associated with a time of such sorrow that I can hardly bear to go back upon it.

    “I seemed not so much to be awoke by the voice as to wake to hear it. I had no doubt as to whose it was; it produced the effect of a passing, not stationary, voice; the words, distinctly uttered, were ‘adieu, ma chérie.’ I heard yesterday from the friend with whom I was staying at {ii-692} the time. She says, ‘We both’ (herself and sister) ‘well remember about your friend Mme H., and what a terrible attack of neuralgia you had just at the time when she died.’ I had forgotten this latter circumstance. It would account in some measure for the want of distinctness in my recollections.”

    We have procured from the Registrar at Rappoltsweiler an official certificate of the death, which states that it occurred at 2 p.m., on Sept. 5th, 1858. This was a Sunday—which confirms Mrs. Evens’ recollection. The death must have preceded her experience by at least 10 hours.

    The next case, also auditory, is apparently one of direct reproduction of the agent’s sensation. (See cases 267–270.) It is from Mr. J. G. F. Russell, of Aden, Aberdeenshire (the narrator of case 196). The agent was a near relative who had been making a long stay with Mr. and Mrs. Russell.

    “32, Upper Brook Street, Grosvenor Square, W.

    “December 18th, 1885.

    (694) “On Wednesday, December 2nd, 1885, I was woke up at night, between 12 p.m. and 2 a.m. (as far as I can recollect), by hearing myself distinctly called from a small passage outside my bedroom door; the voice seemed to come from just outside the door itself. I got up, fearing Mrs. Waller, in the adjoining room, was ill, but, as the calling of my name was no longer repeated, I did not then disturb her. (There is no door of communication between the rooms, the wall is solid, and a gigantic wardrobe is against it.) Next morning I asked her if she had called me during the night; but she declared she had slept ‘like a top,’ and had never thought of me or anyone else. I did not mention the incident to her sister (who had just left us after a long visit), but she (Mrs. Waller) did, on returning to the country. I enclose what Miss Young wrote to me, solely from her sister mentioning to her my having questioned her. The dates correspond exactly; it was the first night of Mrs. Waller’s visit.

    “J. G. F. RUSSELL.”

    The following is the extract from Miss Young’s letter to Mr. Russell:—

    “I will tell you something that has struck me rather. The two nights my sister was with you in London were very disturbed nights to me; you were continually in my dreams, and one of those nights I found myself sitting up in bed, having woke myself up by calling you loudly by name. When she came back she told me you had asked her one morning whether she had called you in the night, as you had distinctly heard your name. I wish I could remember which night it was. I have an impression it was the first.

    “BLANCHE YOUNG.”

    Mr. Russell (who gave me the account vivâ voce on December 16th, a fortnight after the occurrence,) has explained that the wall between his room and the next is so thick that even a very loud cry in one would be almost inaudible in the other. He has never had such a hallucination on any other occasion.

    {ii-693}

    The following cases are visual. The first is from Mr. Teale, of 50, Hawley Road, Kentish Town, N.W.

    “June, 1886.

    (695) “In 1884, my son Walter was serving in the 3rd King’s Royal Rifles Regiment, in the Soudan. The last we had heard from him was a letter informing us that he was about to return to England, which he expected would be about Christmas time. Things were in this position on the 24th October, 1884, when on returning home in the evening, I said, (noticing my wife looking very white,) ‘Whatever is the matter with you?’ and she said she had seen Walter, and he had stooped down to kiss her, but owing to her starting he—like—was gone, so she did not receive the kiss.

    “After that we had a letter from the lady nurse at Ramleh Hospital to say that the poor boy had a third relapse of enteric fever; they thought he would have pulled through, but he had been taken, and when we had that letter, it was a week after he died. But the date when the letter was written corresponded with the date of the day when Walter appeared, which was on the 24th October, 1884.

    [When Mr. Teale used these words, he had not referred to the letter, and was under the impression that it had been written on the very day of the death, which (as will be seen below) was October 24.]

    “My son Frederick, Selina, and Nelly were in the room, but none of them saw Walter; only Fred heard his mother scream, ‘Oh!’ and Fred asked her what was the matter. I thought, having heard many tales of this kind, I would set it down; so I put the date on a slip of paper. He was in his regimentals, and she thought he had come on furlough to take her by surprise—knowing the back way; but when she saw he was gone, and the door not open, she got dreadfully frightened.

    “FRED. J. TEALE.”

    Mrs. Teale herself died in April, 1886, after an illness due in great measure to the shock of the bereavement.

    Mr. Teale has shown me the letters which were received during August, September and October, 1884, respecting his son’s condition. A letter, dated August 20, which the son dictated and signed, states that he is in hospital, down with enteric fever. The next letter, dated September 7, which was similarly dictated and signed, states that he has had a very serious illness, but is much better, and hopes soon to be home. The next letter, dated October 12, from Sister Thomas, states that he had had a bad relapse a fortnight previously, but “is getting on very nicely now.” This was the last letter received before October 24. In a letter dated October 52, Lieutenant W. H. Kennedy states that the death had taken place on the preceding day; and in a letter dated October 28, Sister Thomas states that the death occurred about 2 o’clock p.m., on Friday, October 24. This date has been confirmed to us by an official communication from the Depot at Winchester.

    In conversation, Mr. Teale explained to me that his wife‘s experience took place between 7 and 8 in the evening—which would be between 7 and 8 hours after the death. She was at the time sitting at the table, talking. The son who was present is at a distance; but Miss Teale {ii-694} showed me how the persons in the room were placed, and described to me how she saw her mother start, and heard her exclamation. Mr. Teale is certain that his wife never experienced any other visual hallucination; and he says that she was of anything but a brooding temperament, and was not at the time anxious about her son. His note of the date of the vision was on the back of an envelope, which he carried in his pocket-book. He thought that this envelope was lost; but was kind enough, at my request, to make a search, which brought it to light. The envelope, which lies before me, bears his address, and the post-mark London, N., Feb. 22, 84; the pencil note on the back of it is 24-10-84.

    The next case is from the Rev. R. Markham Hill, of St. Catherine’s, Lincoln.

    “June 17, 1886.

    (696) “On the evening of Easter Sunday, about 8 or 9 years ago, I think, I was just beginning my supper, feeling very tired after the day’s work, when I saw the door opening behind me.1 1 See p. 612, note. I was sitting with my back to the door, but could just see it over my shoulder. I may also have heard the opening, but cannot speak with certainty upon this point. I turned half round, and just had time to see the figure of a tall man rushing hastily into the room, as if to attack me. I sprang up at once, turned round, and threw the glass, which I held in my hand, at the spot where I had seen the figure, which had disappeared in the act of my rising. The disappearance had, however, been too sudden to arrest the act of throwing. I then realised that I had seen an apparition, and I immediately connected it with one of my uncles, whom I knew to be seriously ill. Moreover, the figure which I saw resembled my uncle in stature. Mr. Adcock came in, and found me quite unnerved by the occurrence; and to him I related the circumstances. I don’t remember telling him that I connected the vision with my uncle. The next day a telegram came announcing my uncle’s death on the Sunday. My father was summoned to my uncle’s death-bed unexpectedly, on the Sunday evening as he was sitting at supper, and the death must have coincided in time with what I saw.

    “R. MARKHAM HILL.”

    The Rev. H. Adcock, of Lincoln, writes:—

    “June 16, 1886.

    “I called on my friend, the Rev. Markham Hill, one evening, and found him apparently in an exhausted condition in an arm-chair; he told me, before I could ask for any explanation, that he had just seen the figure of his uncle standing opposite to him against the wall, behind a piano; that he lifted up a glass from the table, and was about to throw it at him, when the figure vanished. He said he felt convinced that he should very shortly hear of his uncle’s death. It was only the following day, or the day after, that he showed me a letter received that morning informing him that his uncle had died on the day when the appearance took place.”

    In conversation, Mr. Podmore learnt from Mr. Hill that he was alone at the time. He has had no other visual hallucination in his life, unless it were an experience which impressed him in somewhat the same way as this one, but which may well have been merely a case of mistaken identity.

    {ii-695}

    Mr. Adcock explained that the above incident must have occurred about 12 years ago. He cannot remember whether it was a Sunday evening.

    We find from the Register of Deaths that Mr. Hill’s uncle died on April 5, 1874, which was Easter Sunday.

    [It would be difficult to account for the hallucination here as due to anxiety respecting the uncle’s condition. If a person’s mind, from brooding over the condition of a sick relative, is led to evolve a phantasm of that relative, we should certainly expect the appearance to be recognised; and we should not expect its character to be at once unfamiliar and formidable.

    It will be seen that the two accounts differ as to whether the glass was actually thrown.]

    The next example belongs to the “borderland” class. It is one of the cases where the agent’s bond of connection has apparently been with someone who was in the percipient’s company at the time of the experience, rather than with the actual percipient. (Cf. Nos. 242 and 355.) The narrator desires that his name may not appear, as the family of the agent, whom he has already assisted liberally, might base on the incident described a sentimental claim to further favours.

    “June 12, 1886.

    (697) “There can be no doubt whatever that there is some transmission for which no explanation has yet been given by the savants.

    “I am a practical business man, and look upon all theories of Spiritualism, &c., as so much humbug that only deludes weak-minded people. But at the same time, I recently had an experience of a most extraordinary character, which I should scarcely have believed if related to me of anyone else, and the plain facts of which I will give as they actually occurred.

    “I had in my employ a clerk who contracted an illness which incapacitated him from regular attendance at his duties. He was absent about six months in 1884, and, on leaving the hospital, as I found that he was unable to resume his regular work, I agreed with him that he should come to the office whenever he felt able to do so, and that I would pay him for the work so done. This arrangement continued for some months; then, at the beginning of April, 1885, he had to stay away altogether for two or three weeks. He seemed in fair general health, but he was troubled with a diseased ankle-joint, which prevented him from getting about. I was in no anxiety on his account, however, and had no apprehension of any serious illness. My wife, who knew Mr. Z. from seeing him occasionally at my private house, did not even know that he was absent from the office at this time.

    “On the night of the 27th-28th April, I was wakened by my wife calling out convulsively, ‘There is someone looking at you.’ Though by no means timid as a rule—a practical woman, not subject to nervous fancies of any kind—she was much disturbed and terrified. She jumped out of bed, and turned up the gas. Finding no intruder in the room, and all the doors locked, she got back into bed; but she was shivering all over, {ii-696} and it was some time before I succeeded in quieting her. The clock in the hall struck 1 during this disturbance.

    “In the morning we referred to the incident, and I told my wife she must have been suffering from nightmare.

    “Later on that day, news was brought to my office that poor Z. had passed away in the night. When I got home in the evening, my wife met me as usual at the door, and I said to her, ‘I have some sad news to tell you.’ Before I could say more she replied, ‘I know what it is; poor Z. is dead. It was his face which I saw looking at you last night.’

    “I afterwards learnt, from a man who lodged in Mrs. Z.’s house, that he had died just at 1 o’clock in the morning of the 28th, and that in the delirium which preceded his death, he called upon me to look after his wife and children when he was gone.”

    Mrs. B., the percipient, writes:—

    “I have read this paper through, and the contents correctly describe what transpired. I was awake, when I saw the face. I have never experienced any similar occurrence.”

    [The last sentence is in answer to the question whether she had experienced a hallucination of the senses on any other occasion.]

    We have verified in the Times obituary the fact that Z. died on April 28, 1885.

    Mr. Podmore has examined the clerk whom Mr. B. despatched to make inquiries of the widow on hearing of the death,—i.e., on the afternoon of April 28—and who has since heard Mrs. B. narrate her experience. So far as he could recollect, Mrs. Z. told him that Z. died about 1.30 a.m., certainly at an early hour in the morning. He did not remember to have heard anything about the dying words, &c.

    The following is a “borderland” case of the ordinary type. The percipient, Emma Burger, has been for 6 years in the service of our friend and colleague, M. Ch. Richet, and has his most complete confidence. Mr. Richet writes:—

    “Mars, 1886.

    (698) “Emma Burger, âgée de 24 ans, née à Malsch, près de Radstadt, avait été fiancée à Paris avec M. Charles Br. Le mariage était convenu. Emma B. partit le 1 août a Usrel (Corrèze), chez Madame d’U., ou elle était alors en service. La santé de M. Charles Br. était bonne, où du moins il avait toutes les apparences de la santé. En tout cas le mariage était décidé, et Emma B. n’avait aucune inquiétude sur l'état de la santé de son fiancé. [Translation]Emma Burger, aged 24, born at Malsch near Radstadt, had become formally engaged to marry M. Charles Br. in Paris. The marriage had been agreed to. Emma B. left on August 1st for Mme. d’U.’s home in Usrel (Corrèze), where she was in service at that time. M. Charles Br. was in good health, or at least he appeared entirely healthy. In any case, the marriage had been arranged, and Emma B. was in no way concerned about her fiancé’s health.

    “Quelques jours aprés son arrivée à Usrel, le 7 ou 8 août, Emma B. reçut une lettre de Charles, lui apprenant que pour affaires de famille il quittait Paris, et allait passer quelques jours dans les Ardennes. [Translation]A few days after she reached Usrel, on August 7 or 8, Emma B. received a letter from Charles, letting her know that he was leaving Paris for a few days in the Ardennes on family business.

    “Le 15 août, jour de la fête de Sainte Yierge, Emma B., quoique n’étant pas dévote, se sentit prise d’une grande tristesse et pleura abondamment au pélerinage qui avait lieu alors à Usrel. [Translation]On August 15, the Feast of the Assumption, Emma B., who was not devout, felt a great sadness, and shed abundant tears during the pilgrimage that then used to occur at Usrel.

    “Le soir de ce même jour, 15 août, E. couchait comme d’habitude dans un cabinet de toilette contigu à la chambre de Madame d’U. A côté de son lit était la petite porte d’un escalier de service, porte masquée par le rideau du lit, de sorte personne qui était dans de lit devait se {ii-697} lever et écarter le rideau du bas du lit pour voir qui entrait par l’escalier. Voici le récit que m’a fait E. [Translation]That same evening, August 15, E. was sleeping as usual in a small dressing room adjoining Madame d’U.’s room. Beside her bed was the small door to a back stairway, hidden by the bed-curtain, so that anyone in the bed was obliged to get up and pull the curtain away from the foot of the bed to see who was coming up the stairway. Here is the story as E. told it to me.

    “‘Vers onze heures et demie du soir je venais de me mettre au lit; les domestiques n’étaient pas encore couchés tous, parcequ’on entendait encore du bruit dans la maison. Madame d’U. était coucheé dans la chambre voisine, dont la porte de communication était ouverte. J’ai alors entendu un léger bruit, comme si la porte du petit escalier s’ouvrait. Je me suis mise à genoux sur mon lit pour soulever le rideau et prévenir la personne qui entrait que Madame d’U. étant couchée, il ne fallait pas faire de bruit, ni passer par sa chambre. C’est alors que j’ai aperçu distinctement la personne de Charles Br. Il était debout, son chapeau et sa canne à la main droite, de la main gauche tenant la porte entr’ouverte, et restant dans l’entrebâillement de la porte. II avait un costume de voyage—son costume habituel. Il y avait une veilleuse dans la chambre, mais j’étais tenement surprise que je ne me suis pas demandé si la clarté de la veilleuse suffisait pour expliquer l’extrème netteté avec laquelle j’ai aperçu tous ses traits, sa physionomie, et le détail de son costume. Il avait une figure souriante, et il m’a regardée sans rien dire, en s’arrêtant dans la porte. Alors je lui ai dit avec sévérité, ne pouvant, quelque invraisemblable que fut son arrivée soudaine à Usrel, pas supposer que ce ne fût pas Charles Br. lui-même, “Mais que venez-vous faire ici? Madame d’U. est là. Partez! partez donc!” Puis, comme il ne disait rien, j’ai repris de nouveau, “Qu’est-ce que vous me voulez? Partez, partez donc!” Alors il m’a répondu, en souriant et avec une grande tranquillité, “Je viens vous faire mes adieux; je pars en voyage. Adieu!” C’est à ce moment que Madame d’U., qui était dans la chambre voisine, et qui, n’étant pas endormie encore, lisait dans son lit, m’ayant entendu parler tout haut, me dit, “Mais qu’avez-vous done, E.? vous rêvez!” Mais moi, au lieu de lui répondre, croyant toujours que Charles Br. était rêellement devant moi, je lui dis, et cette fois à voix plus basse, “Mais partez donc, partez donc.” Et alors il disparut, non pas subitement mais comme quelqu’un qui ferme une porte et qui s’en va.1 1 This way of describing the sense of a door closing is of interest, suggesting a vaguer form of what in other cases has appeared as a distinct part of the hallucination. See p. 612, note; and compare case 696. C’est alors seulement que, sur une nouvelle demande plus pressante de Madame d’U., je lui répondis, “Mais oui, madame, j’ai eu un cauchemar.” [Translation]About eleven-thirty at night, I had just gone to bed. The servants were not all in bed yet, for one could still hear sounds in the house. Madame d’U. was in bed in the next room with her door open. I then heard a very slight sound, as though the door of the small staircase were being opened. I knelt in my bed to raise the curtain and warn the person who was coming in that Madame d’U. was in bed and not to make any noise or go through her room. Then I clearly saw Charles Br. in person. He was standing in the open door, with his hat and cane in his right hand, holding the door partly open with his left hand. He had on his usual traveling costume. There was a night-light in the room, but I was so surprised that I did not think to wonder whether it gave enough light to explain the extreme clarity with which I saw his features, his looks, and the details of his clothing. He was smiling, and he looked at me without speaking, without crossing the threshold. I was unable to suppose that it was not Charles himself, however improbable his sudden appearance in Usrel was, and so I spoke sharply to him. "What are you doing here? Madame d’U. is here. Get out! Get out!" As he was silent, I repeated, "What do you want? Get out! Get out!" Then he answered very calmly, with a smile: "I have come to say goodbye. I am off on a trip. Farewell!" At that moment, Madame d’U. was awake in the next room, and reading in bed. She could hear me speaking, and she said to me "What’s the matter, E.? Are you having a dream?" But instead of answering her, for I still thought Charles Br. was really there with me, I said to him, in a lower voice this time, "Go away, go away!" And then he disappeared, not suddenly but like someone who goes off and closes the door behind him. Only then, as Madame d’U. asked again, more insistently, did I answer her: "Yes, Madame, I had a nightmare."

    “‘J’étais parfaitement éveillée, puisque je ne m’étais pas endormie, et que je venais à peine de me coucher. Je pensai alors, restant encore quelque temps éveillée, que Charles Br. était venu me surprendre, et je me mis à regretter de ne pas lui avoir demandé où il allait en voyage. Mais je ne m’en préoccupai pas outre mesure, et au bout d’uncertain temps je m’endormis très tranquillement, sans supposer le moins du monde qu’il ne s’agissait pas de la

    presence formelle, en chair et en os, de Charles Br. à la porte de ma chambre. [Translation]I was fully awake, since I had just gone to bed and had not yet fallen asleep. I remained awake for a while, thinking that Charles Br. had come to surprise me. I was sorry I had not asked him where he was taking a trip to. But I didn't worry about it excessively, and after some time I fell calmly asleep, without imagining in the least that it had been anything except the physical presence of the flesh-and-blood Charles Br. at the door of my room.

    “‘Le lendemain matin je fus fort étonnée de ne pas entendre parler de Charles Br. Je crus qu’on jouait avec moi une sorte de comédie; enfin je me décidai à demander si on n’avait pas fait venir quelqu’un dans ma chambre. On m’assura que non; on me plaisanta de mes rêves, et je finis par croire que j’avais rêvé, ou plutôt, par une sorte d’inconséquence, je {ii-698} n’arrêtai pas ma pensée sur les invraisemblances accumulées de cette visite. Je saurai bien la vérité, me disais-je, quand il écrira. [Translation]The next morning I was greatly surprised that no one mentioned Charles Br. I thought someone was playing games with me. Finally I decided I would ask if someone had been brought into my room. I was assured that was not the case; I was teased about my dreams; and I finally came to think that I had had a dream, or rather, somewhat illogically, I avoided thinking about the several improbabilities the visit involved. I said to myself that I would know the truth when he wrote to me.

    “‘Le lendemain, 18 août, vers neuf heures du matin, je reçtus la lettre suivante:— [Translation]The next day, August 18, about nine in the morning, I received this letter:

    “‘“MADEMOISELLE,—Monsieur C. vient de recevoir par dépêche télégraphique la nouvelle de la mort de M. Charles Br. Il est mort le 16 du courant. Nous nous joignons à vous pour le regretter. [Translation]Mademoiselle,—Monsieur C. has just received a telegram announcing the death of M. Charles Br. He died the 16th of this month. We share your grief.

    “‘“PERRIN, Concierge.

    “‘“26, Rue Marignan, Paris.

    “‘“le 18 août.’”1 1 Il y a une erreur; c’est le 17 août que la lettre a été écrite.

    [M. Richet has seen and transcribed this letter.]

    “‘On jugera de ma stupeur quand je reçus cette lettre. Depuis j’ai appris que Charles Br. était mort dans la nuit du 15 au 16 août, d’une maladie du coeur que tout le monde ignorait, et qui ne s’était antérieurement traduite par aucun symptôme.’” [Translation]You may well imagine that I was stupefied by this letter. Since then, I have learned that Charles Br. died during the night of the 15th of August, from an unsuspected heart condition that had not previously been revealed by any symptom.

    We have made repeated and urgent applications to the Maire of the commune where the death occurred, for a copy of the Acte de Décès, but have received no reply.

    The Vicomtesse d’Ussel wrote to us on April 1, 1886, that Emma Burger was in her service in the summer of 1875, at Corrèze, and slept in a room adjoining her own; but she does not remember hearing of the incident. She remembers noticing, however, towards the end of the stay, that Emma Burger was in distress, and learning afterwards that this was due to the death of some one about whom Emma had never told her.

    The percipient has had in her life two hallucinations representing a person whom she knew to be dead. But the first of these did not occur till 9 years after the incident above described; and they can scarcely therefore be regarded as diminishing the force of the coincidence.

    The following is a copy made by M. Richet of a letter written to Emma Burger by a friend, Madame Aurousseaux, who heard from her of the vision before the news of the death arrived.

    “Vous me demandez si je me souviens de votre rêve. Je m’en souviens comme si c’était d’aujourd’hui. Je me rappelle parfaitement de notre pélerinage à la Yierge, et de tout ce que vous m’avez raconté au sujet de votre rêve, et aussi de votre fiancé.” [Translation]You ask if I remember your dream. I remember as if it were today. I remember perfectly our Assumption-day pilgrimage, and everything you told me about your dream, and also what you told me about your fiancé.

    On May 13, 1886, M. Richet writes:—

    ‘Pour ce qui concerne le cas de Charles Br. je puis vous donner d’intéressants détails. J’ai pu faire venir chez moi la personne qui a eu la confidence de Emma Burger avant que la mort de Charles Br. soit connue, et voici ce qu’elle m’a raconté. ‘Le 15 août, jour de la fête de la Vierge, Emma n’était pas comme d’ordinaire. Elle était triste et cherchait à s’égayer; elle était à peu près comme folle ce jour-là. Le soir il y a eu un grand dîner, mais, comme Emma était la bonne d’un enfant, elle a dîné dans la chambre de l’enfant avec moi, qui étais alors nourrice. Puis, vers dix heures nous nous sommes couchées, chacune dans notre chambre, mon nourisson dormant avec moi dans ma chambre, Emma couchant seule dans une petite chambre contigue à la grande chambre de Madame d’U. Le lendemain matin, elle a dit à Jeanne, la femme-de-chambre {ii-699} de la Comtesse d’U., “Vous m’avez donc envoyé quelqu’un cette nuit.” Jeanne s’est mise à rire, et alors Emma m’a raconté qu’elle avait fait un rêve très heureux, qu’elle avait vu son fiancé dans sa chambre, puis quand elle s’est réveillée qu’elle s’est sentie très triste, et qu’elle n’a pu dormir le reste de la nuit. Alors je lui ai dit, “Taisez-vous done, vous êtes folle,” et nous nous sommes toutes moquées d’elle. Mais elle dit, “Je suis sûr que c’est lui qui est venu, et on ne m’ôtera pas de l’idée que e’est vrai. Vous pouvez vous moquer de moi, mais je crois bien que e’est vrai.” [Translation]I can give you some interesting details about the case of Charles Br. I was able to see the person in whom Emma Burger confided before his death was made known, and here is what she told me. "On August 15, Assumption Day, Emma was not herself. She was sad, but trying to act happy; she seemed almost crazy that day. That evening, there was a big dinner, but since Emma was maid to one of the children, she dined in the child’s room with me; I was a wet-nurse at that time. Then, about ten, we each went to bed in our own rooms, and the baby slept with me in mine. Emma slept alone in a little room next to Madame d’U’s big room. The next morning she told Jeanne, the Countess d’U.’s chambermaid, "You sent somebody to see me last night." Jeanne laughed, and it was then that Emma told me she had had a very happy dream, in which she saw her fiancé in her room, and that when she had awakened, she felt very sad and could not sleep the rest of the night. Then I said to her "Hush, you are crazy," and we all made fun of her. But she said "I am sure it was he who came, and you can't make me change my mind. Tease me all you want, but I am sure it is true."

    “‘JEANNE AUROUSSEAUX, à Tragny, Nièvre.’

    “P.S.—Je viens de montrer à Emma Burger la lettre que je vous écris, car j’ai interrogé Aurousseaux hors la présence d’Emma. Elle l’approuve complètement, mais dit seulement qu’au lieu de se croire heureuse elle était tres ennuyée, sans etre inquiète, et que c’était par suite des moqueries dont on l’avait assaillie qu’elle avait répondu, ‘Eh bien oui! j’étais très contente de voir mon fiancé.’” [

    Translation]P.S. I have just shown the letter I am writing you to Emma Burger, for I questioned Aurousseaux in Emma’s absence. She approves the letter entirely, but says only that instead of being happy she was very oppressed, though not worried, and it was after she was teased so much that she answered back, "Why yes, I was very happy to see my fiancé!"

    The following is a collective case. It will be seen that we have no proof that the second witness independently recognised the figure; at the same time, the way in which the figure disappeared, if correctly remembered, tells strongly against the hypothesis of mistaken identity. The narrator is Mr. Amos Beardsley, M.R.C.S., of Grange-over-Sands, Lancashire. He had sent us a shorter account in 1883.

    “June 28th, 1886.

    (699) “From 1845 to ‘50 I lived between the villages of H—— and L——, in Derbyshire. The landlord of the chief hotel in L—— had a farm just opposite my house, from which I used to get my supplies of milk and other dairy produce. I had also been called in on one occasion to attend his wife in illness. One evening, probably in August or September, I had been out with my boy, John Howitt—a connection of the poet, William Howitt—hunting for moths, and was returning home about 9 p.m., as far as I can remember. We had just passed a railway cutting which crossed the road, or rather which was intended to cross the road; for the cutting—16 or 20 feet deep—had been brought within a few yards of the roadway on either side, but had not yet been carried through it. Just after passing this part I turned round, and saw, as I thought, E., the owner of the farm referred to, crossing the road—having apparently just come in by a footpath on the right—in the direction of a corresponding footpath a little lower down on the left. I had noticed that the cutting had been carried right through the footpath, so that passengers would have to make a détour, and thinking that E. was probably not aware of this, and might run some risk of falling down the embankment, I sent the lad after him, to warn him of the danger. The lad ran off at once; the distance was not more than 100 yards or so; but when he got to the stile, the man was nowhere to be seen. He could not have got clear away in that short interval; but we searched the cutting to see if he had by any ill-chance fallen down there. There was nothing to be seen; and after spending about half an hour in a fruitless search, we returned home. {ii-700} Next morning, Howitt came to me with a scared face to tell me that E. had fallen down dead the night before, about 9 p.m., just after he had offered to make a blasphemous wager.

    “That is all the story. I could not, and did not, for a moment doubt my recognition of E.’s figure. My eyesight is good, and I think it hardly possible that I could have been mistaken. Why the apparition should have come to me I cannot say, unless, perhaps, the dying man’s thoughts turned instinctively towards me as a doctor. I have never had any hallucination of the senses,—unless this apparition was one.”

    We find from the Register of Deaths that E. was found dead in his bed, from heart-disease, on July 25, 1847. Dr. Beardsley does not profess to have gathered the circumstances of his death from eye-witnesses; and the imagination of neighbours would be likely to exaggerate the suddenness with which the supposed punishment followed on the transgression.

    Mr. Podmore has questioned Mr. John Howitt, now butler at the ShipBuilding Yard Board Rooms, Barrow. He has no real independent memory of the incident, though when Mr. Podmore repeated Dr. Beardsley’s account, he said, “Now you seem to bring it all back to me.” He was only 14 at the time.

    Dreams, as has been so often pointed out, being a specially weak class of evidence, it was not my intention to give any further specimens in this chapter; but at the last moment some records have been received which claim admittance. The force of cases where a dream exactly reproduces the thoughts of a person in the dreamer’s vicinity is so much increased by their multiplication in the experience of the same two persons, that the following additional instance, from the narrators of case 90, needs no apology. Mrs. Fielding writes:—

    “Yarlington Rectory, Bath, 19th May, 1886.

    (700) “I sleep badly, and on Monday night it was 2 o’clock when I slept. I had, for half-an-hour before going off, fixed my mind upon every turn and corner of my girlhood’s home (where I have not been for above 20 years) in Scotland. My father, a squire, had a neighbour squire, called Harvey Brown. In my whiling away the night, I dwelt upon him, and his house and family, particularly. My husband knew him only by name, but of course, knew my home, and loves it as much as I do. He and I awoke at 6. Before a word of any kind was said, he said to me, ‘I have had such a strange dream about Harvey Brown, and been at the old home, wandering about it.’ What made it seem stranger is that Harvey Brown is a man we never spoke of in our lives, or for 20 years have ever thought of, till Monday night in idleness I went over old meetings with him; and I was wide awake and my husband asleep; he had slept heavily all the night after a 12 mile walk; so there was no possibility of my leading his mind near Scotland, in any conversation even, before he slept.

    “JEAN ELEANORA FIELDING.

    “J. M. FIELDING.”

    The chief interest of the next case depends on the repetition of the dream. I have implied (Vol. I., p. 358, note) that distinct repetition on {ii-701} several successive nights, though by no means unexampled, is very decidedly rare, in dreams of purely subjective origin; and the repetition in a case of telepathic origin may fairly be taken as an indication of that special intensity which is shown also in other ways—notably often by the exceptional sense of reality surviving into waking hours (see case 482). I do not, however, number the account, as the closeness of the coincidence cannot be completely determined. The narrator is Dr. Gibert, the leading physician at Havre, who was concerned in case 688.

    “Rue Séry, le Hâvre.

    “19 Mai, 1886.

    ‘La scène se passait en 1849, au printemps. Un vieillard âgé de 84 ans, du nom de Borel, grand-oncle de ma mère, demeurant près Genève, au petit Sacconex, vint un samedi déjeûner à la maison. Nous demeurions à la Monnaie, campagne aux portes de Genève, à une distance de 4 kilomètres de la demeure du vieillard. Il était parfaitement portant. Deux jours après sa visite, dans la nuit de dimanche au lundi, à deux heures du matin, au milieu de son sommeil, ma mère se réveille en criant, ‘L’oncle est mort; je le vois à terre, les bras étendus!’ Mon père chercha à la rassurer, mais la nuit fut sans sommeil. [Translation]The event took place in the spring of 1849. An old man of 84, named Borel, a great-uncle of my mother’s, living in Petit Sacconex near Geneva, came to lunch at our house one Saturday. We were living at La Monnaie, in the country just outside Geneva, 4 kilometers from the old man’s dwelling. He was in perfect health. During the Sunday night, two days after his visit, at two in the morning, while asleep, my mother awoke crying "Uncle is dead! I can see him lying with his arms outstretched!" My father tried to reassure her, but no one got any more sleep that night.

    “Le lundi, mon père nous raconta le rêve de ma mère, et nous en rîmes, lui disant que si l’oncle était mort on serait venir nous prévenir. Dans la nuit de lundi au mardi, à la même heure, nouveau réveil de ma mère, qui crie de même, ‘L’oncle est mort!’ Enfin, dans la nuit de mardi au mercredi, même scène. [Translation]On Monday, my father told us about my mother’s dream, and we found it comic, telling him that if Uncle were dead, someone would have come to let us know. Monday night, at the same time, my mother woke again, and cried as before "Uncle is dead!" Finally, on Tuesday night, the same scene.

    “Le mercredi, mon père, qui était juge de paix, me pria de l’accompagner au petit Sacconex, afin de convaincre ma mère que son rêve, répété trois fois, n’était qu’un rêve. A peine arrivé à la demeure de nom oncle, on nous dit que le vieillard n’avait pas paru depuis trois jours. La petite maison isolée était close de toutes parts. Mon père fit sauter un volet, et nous vîmes dans la cuisine le vieillard étendu. Nous pénétrâmes par l’écurie, et j’allais relever le malheureux, qui était mort, la tête dans le foyer, face contre terre, les bras étendus, quand mon père me fit remarquer que le crâne était fracassé. Il avait été assassiné. L’assassin fut pris, condamné à mort, et exécuté. Il avoua tout après sa condamnation. Il avait tué le vieillard le dimanche, entre midi et une heure. Le rêve de ma mère avait done eu lieu douze ou treize heures après le crime. [Translation]The event took place in the spring of 1849. An old man of 84, named Borel, a great-uncle of my mother’s, living in Petit Sacconex near Geneva, came to lunch at our house one Saturday. We were living at La Monnaie, in the country just outside Geneva, 4 kilometers from the old man’s dwelling. He was in perfect health. During the Sunday night, two days after his visit, at two in the morning, while asleep, my mother awoke crying "Uncle is dead! I can see him lying with his arms outstretched!" My father tried to reassure her, but no one got any more sleep that night. On Monday, my father told us about my mother’s dream, and we found it comic, telling him that if Uncle were dead, someone would have come to let us know. Monday night, at the same time, my mother woke again, and cried as before "Uncle is dead!" Finally, on Tuesday night, the same scene. On Wednesday, my father, who was a justice of the peace, asked me to go to Petit Sacconex with him, in order to convince my mother that her triple dream was nothing but a dream. We had scarcely reached my uncle’s house when we were told that the old man had not been seen for three days. His small, isolated house was shut up completely. My father pried off a shutter, and we saw the old man lying in the kitchen. We got in by way of the stables. The poor fellow was lying dead with his head in the fireplace, face down, arms extended. I was about to lift him when my father pointed out to me that his skull had been smashed. He had been murdered. The murderer was captured, sentenced to death, and executed. After his sentencing, he made a complete confession. He had killed the old man Sunday between noon and one. Thus my mother’s dream had occurred twelve or thirteen hours after the crime.

    “DR. GIBERT.”

    We have procured from the Département de Justice et Police, at Geneva, a copy of the Proces-verbal made by the official who inspected the scene of the crime immediately after the murder was discovered, and who received on the spot the evidence of M. Gibert père. This document completely confirms Dr. Gibert’s account of the murder, and of the discovery of the body lying face downwards on the hearth—the arms however, not “étendus,” but “raccourcis sous l’estomac”; but it shows that his recollection is not correct as to dates and days. The murder was discovered about 6 p.m. on Thursday, November 9, 1848; and M. Gibert père stated that he had made the visit to the house, which led to {ii-702} the discovery, on hearing that his uncle had not been seen by the neighbours since the Tuesday evening. It seems probable therefore that the murder was committed on the Tuesday night.1 1 If, as Dr. Gibert says, the murderer made a full confession, it is probable that some record of the hour of the murder exists. But we cannot obtain any information as to such a confession, either from official sources or from the leading Geneva newspaper; and the Secretary of the Département de Justice tells us that the man always persisted in his denial, and that the hour remained doubtful. He adds, “On a supposé que c’était le soir.We assumed it was evening. It may fairly be supposed that Dr. Gibert is at least as likely to be right in his statement that the dreams fell on the nights immediately preceding the discovery, as in his statement of the particular days of the week on which they fell—since his recollection of the days of the week is connected with his recollection, proved incorrect, as to the day on which the murder fell; and this hypothesis is somewhat favoured by his recollection that there was an interval of more than a day between the last visit of M. Borel to the Giberts’ house and the first dream. It is not improbable, therefore, that one of the dreams very closely coincided with the murder. But after this dream there would be room for only a single repetition—on the Wednesday night.

    The next two cases illustrate the point so often emphasised—the psychological identity of dreams and waking phantasms—in a rare and interesting way; a telepathic impression taking effect first as a dream, and afterwards as a hallucination. In the first of the two cases there was an interval of a good many hours between the two experiences.2 2 Compare case 659; and also case 283, where the hallucination preceded the dream. For cases where a hallucination has been itself repeated after an interval, see p. 237, note. In the second case, the visual hallucination was apparently a prolongation of the dream-image into waking moments (see Vol. I., pp. 390–1); but the waking experience included a further feature—a hallucination of hearing.

    The following account was obtained through the kindness of Mrs. Walwyn, of 9, Sion Hill, Clifton, Bristol, who has known the narrator from a boy.

    “February 24th, 1886.

    (701) “‘I dreamed that Maggie, my sister-in-law, had been taken seriously ill. The next evening, when I went into the dining-room to have my usual smoke previous to going to bed, just after I entered the room, Maggie suddenly appeared, dressed in white, with a most heavenly expression on her face. She fixed her eyes on me, walked round the room, and disappeared through the door which leads into the garden. I felt I could not speak; but followed her. On opening the door and outside shutter nothing was to be seen. I vouch for the truth of this.

    “‘H. E. M.’”

    Mr. M.’s mother writes to Mrs. Walwyn:—

    “H. and his wife were in England in the autumn, and returned on the 9th November. They had been visiting the parents in L.—General and Mrs. R. They left the next younger sister apparently in her usual health. On Friday, the 20th, she was at the theatre with friends. At 1 a.m. she {ii-703} was seized with violent internal pains; these continued all day, but no danger was apprehended till 4.45 p.m., when she became insensible, and at 5.15 all was over. The cause of death, ‘perforation of the stomach.’ On the Saturday night H. dreamt that Maggie had been taken dangerously ill; the next evening when he went into the dining-room as usual to have his smoke previous to going to bed, just after he entered the room Maggie suddenly appeared to him. [Mrs. M.’s description of the appearance exactly coincides with her son’s account.]

    “He told me in the morning what had happened. I tried to persuade him it was only an optical delusion, but he knew better. Why the apparition should have come to H. is most extraordinary, for he was not in the least superstitious, nervous, or fanciful. The only way we can account for it is that the telegram which the General sent off on Sunday never reached us, and it was actually Wednesday, the day of the funeral, before we heard the sad news, and she might have known this and come to tell us that she was gone.

    “R. L. M.”

    We find from an obituary in the Leamington News that Miss R. died on 21st November, 1885, and that she “remained perfectly conscious until 5 o’clock, when she suddenly collapsed and died in a quarter of an hour.”

    The final case is from Mr. M. S. Griffin, of San Remo, Weymouth.

    “May, 1886.

    (702) “I have been requested to give an account of an odd coincidence which occurred some three years since. (I am no believer in spirits, and believe the following was the result of illness.) I was in the tropics, and, at the time I mention, laid up with fever, when one night I had a dream about an old lady friend of mine. I woke up suddenly, and thought I saw her at the foot of my bed, and the strange part was I thought I heard her speak. She seemed to be dressed in white. I told this to a friend, who only laughed at me and said I was ill, but at the same time, he put down the date and hour. A few mails after, I heard of the old lady’s death, at the same date and hour. I have no belief in spirits whatever, but this was a fact.”

    In answer to inquiries, Mr. Griffin supplied the following fuller account.

    “June 15, 1886.

    “At the time of the occurrence, June, 1882, I had been in Jamaica for about 18 months. I had been ill with country fever, but was convalescent, though still very weak. I was sleeping in a room next that of a friend, with the door open between. I had a dream, in which my mind went back to old times when I had seen much of the lady I mentioned; and then I became aware that she was dead, in a room which seemed to be near me, and that I wanted to get to her; and as this thought flashed across me, I seemed to see her. Then I woke with a sudden start, and distinctly saw her standing at the foot of my bed, dressed in white, and with the hands by her side. The face was extremely distinct, and quite unmistakeable. Had a real person been standing in that place, I certainly could not have distinguished the features, as it was {ii-704} a dark night.1 1 See Vol. i., pp. 462 (note) and 551; and compare case 698, above. The figure plainly pronounced my name, ‘Marcus,’ once, and then gradually disappeared as I watched it. It remained visible a sufficient number of seconds for me to be keenly aware that I was awake; I felt quite clearly, the former experience was a dream, then I woke, and now this is a waking reality. After the disappearance, I called out, and my friend came in. I described the whole experience to him, and he was sufficiently impressed with it to notice the time—which was a few minutes past midnight, June 11th—and to note the occurrence at once in his diary. The next morning he and others laughed at the matter, but could not but be impressed by its reality to me.

    “About three weeks afterwards, I received a letter from a daughter of my friend, informing me of her mother’s death in England, on June 11th, soon after 5 a.m. My friend and I calculated the difference of longitude, and the hours corresponded to within a few minutes. I had no idea of the lady’s being ill, and had neither been anxious about her nor thinking about her. In conversation with the family, two years later, they told me that a few minutes before her death she said, ‘Tell Marcus I thought of him.’ I may mention that this lady had, three years before, nursed me through a dangerous illness; and I had a warm affection for her.

    “I do not recollect on any other occasion in my life experiencing the continuation of a dream-image into waking moments; nor have I ever had a hallucination either of sight or hearing.

    “MARCUS SOUTHWELL GRIFFIN.”

    Mr. Griffin kindly allowed me to copy the following sentence from the letter which announced the death:—

    “Alphington.

    “June 17, 1882.

    “Mother died on St. Barnabas’ Day [i.e., June 11], at 5.20, and was buried on the Thursday following, June 15th, 1882.”

    We have verified the date of death in the Register of Deaths.

    The next letter that Mr. Griffin received made it quite clear that the 5.20 was a.m.; and in conversation with the family since, the death was described to him as having taken place before breakfast.

    [Mr. Griffin has now no separate recollection of the date of his vision. He had an idea that the death had been on June 15, not having looked for some time at the letter in which it was announced, where it will be seen that June 15 (the day of the funeral) is the only day of the month mentioned, the day of the death being otherwise described. The “June 11” in the foregoing account was added after he had referred to this letter. But there can, I think, be no reasonable doubt that he is justified in his conviction that his vision took place on June 11. He can hardly be wrong in his recollection that he and his friend made a careful computation of the longitude, with a view to ascertaining how close the coincidence was; and that they specially noticed a slight discrepancy. (The difference of longitude being about 73½°, the time of the death would correspond with about 12.30 a.m., not 12.10 a.m.; so that if the two times are quite accurately given, Mr. Griffin’s experience preceded the death by about 20 minutes.) Now persons who took this amount of trouble with regard {ii-705} to the hours, may fairly be assumed not to have made a gross blunder as to the identity of day; even if Mr. Griffin is mistaken (which there is no reason for supposing) in his recollection that the means for establishing the identity of day were there in black and white before them. It is to be hoped that the diary has been preserved, and that the evidence will in time be completed by our obtaining the entry. The friend who made it is at present in America, and Mr. Griffin has written to him, but doubts whether the last address given will now find him. He is sure, he thinks, to have news of him before very long. I may mention that Mr. Griffin’s mother told me that her son gave her a full description of the occurrence on his return to England, not very long after it took place.]

    I naturally cannot convey to others the full effect of Mr. Griffin’s vivâ voce description. Though he had not attributed any scientific importance to the incident, he impressed on me that his own experience, taken alone, and quite apart from the facts which he learnt afterwards, was to him absolutely unique—by far the strangest and most perplexing thing that had ever happened to him. It gave him precisely the same vivid feeling of astonishment that the sanest of my readers would receive if they looked up from this page, and saw a friend standing palpably before them, who gazed at them, addressed them, and then vanished into air. As regards the coincidence, Mr. Griffin will allow me to add that the view expressed in his first account—namely, that his own illness was a sufficient explanation of his experience, and that the coincidence therefore was accidental—is not that which he now holds. I pointed out to him (as so often in the course of these pages) that the theory of accident which would be the reasonable one if the particular experience in question stood alone or nearly alone in our generation, becomes unreasonable when the case is only one of a large class; and I can only hope that others may agree with him in finding this argument as just as it is obvious.

    Here I must stop. Cases continue to reach us which may claim a place in a future collection; but time is needed for inquiry into their details; and the limits of space proposed for the present work have already been overpassed. To those whom it may have interested, its last word must be a reminder that to them we look for vigorous aid in the accumulation of further facts, which may confirm or modify our conclusions.

    {ii-706} {ii-707}

    TABLE OF NUMBERED CASES.

    IN COLUMN IV.
    A = Auditory. M = Motor.
    D = Dream. O = Olfactory.
    E = Emotional. S = Sensation of pain, &c.
    G = Gustatory. T = Tactile.
    I = Ideational. V = Visual.
    IN COLUMN V.
    H = Husband. w = Wife.
    F = Father. m = Mother.
    S = Son. d = Daughter.
    B = Brother. s = Sister.
    U = Uncle. a = Aunt.
    N = Nephew. n = Niece.
    C = Cousin (male). c = Cousin (female).
    G = Grandfather or Grandson. g = Grandmother or Granddaughter.
    FR = Friends.1 1 It has not been possible to draw the line between acquaintance and
    friendship with precision. The percipient and agent have been classed as friends in cases where the account indicates some strength of attachment on both sides or on one side. Where there is no clear sign of such attachment, the more general designation of acquaintances has been adopted. [This and the following superscript refer to the same footnote. —Ed.]
    ST = Strangers.
    AC = Acquaintances.1 1It has not been possible to draw the line between acquaintance and friendship with precision. The percipient and agent have been classed as friends in cases where the account indicates some strength of attachment on both sides or on one side. Where there is no clear sign of such attachment, the more general designation of acquaintances has been adopted. [This and the preceding superscript refer to the same footnote. —Ed.]

    In column V., the first letter indicates the percipient, the second the agent. Letters indicating females are in small type.

    The large majority of the names, of which only the initials are here given, appear in full at the pages indicated.

    NO. PAGE.
    VOL. I.
    PERCIPIENT AND AGENT. NATURE OF IMPRESSION
    RELATIONSHIP OF P. TO A.
    1 88 Blind Man — Dr. E. Hypnotic sleep A C
    2 89 Miss C. — Rev. J. L. S. M a C
    3 90 Patient — Mr. B. M a C
    4 90 Mr. N. D.—Mesmerist M A C
    5 90 Mrs. T. — Mr. H. S. T. M f R
    6 91 Miss L. F. C. — Mr. H. S. T. M c C
    7 93 Miss V. — Mr. S. H. B. M f R
    8 94 E. C. — Rev. L. L. I a C
    9 96 Mrs. W. — Mr. G. A. S. I or V a C
    10 98 Friends — Mr. H. S. T. S F F R
    11 98 Girl — Son of Rev. L. L. I a C
    12 99 Friends — Mr. H. S. T. I F F R
    13 103 Rev. W. S. M. — Friend V A F r
    14 104
    Miss L. S. V.
    Miss E. C. V.
    } — Mr. S. H. B
    V ff R
    15 106 Mrs. L. — Mr. S. H. B. V T a C
    16 108 Miss V. — Mr. S. H. B. V T f R
    17 188 Mrs. A. S. — Mr. A. S. S w H
    18 190 Mrs. N. — Rev. P. H. N 0 w H
    19 191 Rev. J. D. — Miss J. W. I F r
    20 194 Mrs. B. — Mrs. G. I or V d m
    21 196 Mr. K. — Mrs. K. I H w
    22 197 Miss M. — Mrs. K. E c c
    23 199 Mr. F. W. — Mr. R. W. B. D B B
    24 202 Mrs. W. — Sir J. C. D d F
    {ii-708}
    25 204 Mrs. C. — Mr. J. C. V m S
    26 207 Mr. G. M. — Mr. R. K. V c c
    27 209 Mr. R. R. —Mr. X. I or V FR
    28 210 Mr. N. J. S. — Mr. F. L. V F R
    29 212 Mr. A. B. — Mrs. F. V A c
    30 214 F. R. — Mrs. A. (?) A V s t
    31 216 Capt. J. C. — Mr. J. V N U
    32 218 Rev. R. B. — Mrs. B. V S m
    33 221 MissS. — Capt. J. B. A f R
    34 222 Mr. A. Z. Mr. S. B. A F R
    35 225 Mrs. N. — Rev. P. H. N. AT. D f R
    36 227
    Mr. J. D.
    Miss R. S.
    } —Mrs. E.
    A F f r
    37 234 Col. L. A. — Sir L. G. I F R
    38 235 Mr. K. — Herr S. I F R
    39 236 Miss B. —Mrs. B. I d m
    40 236 Count G. —Mr. R. B. I S T
    41 237 Miss C. B. M. — Jeweller E s T
    42 239 Miss C. E. S. — Mr. W. B. S. I s B (?)
    43 240
    R.
    E.
    } —Miss ——
    { E
    E
    s s
    s s
    44 242
    Mr. L. H. S.
    Mrs. L. H. S.
    } — Miss M. R. or Mr. A. F.
    I F f R r
    45 243 Mrs. H. D. — Mr. C I a C
    46 244 Miss A. S. J. — Miss M. L. J. I s s
    47 245 Mr. M. — Miss J— I C c
    48 246 Miss A. O. — Mr. D. A. I c C
    49 247 Mrs. A. — Rev. A. W. A I A w H
    50 247 Bishop W.—Son. I F S
    51 249 Mrs. S. — Mr. T. W. S. I w H
    52 249 Mme. O. — Mons. O. I w H
    53 251 Mrs. G. — Mr. G. I or V m S
    54 253 Miss M. E. P. — Mr. J I f R
    55 253 Mr. R. C. — Mr. J. C. I B B
    56 255 Mr. J. G. K. — Mother-in-law I or V F r
    57 256 Miss M. E. P. — Sister I s s
    58 257 Mr. J. H. — Mrs. H. or Miss H. I or V S m or B s
    59 258 Miss G. — Mr. H. G. I or V s B
    60 260 Mrs. J. — Mr. W. R. I or V s B
    61 261 Mr. J. A. W. — Mr. T. W. or Mr. G. W. I or V B B
    62 262 Mrs. L. — Mr. A. I or V f R
    63 263 Mrs. B. —Friend I or V f R
    64 264 Lady L. — Sir B. L. I or V w H
    65 265 Miss L. Mr. I or V f R
    66 267 “F. R. C. P.” — Landlord I or V A C
    67 271 Mr. A. C. —Sister E B s
    68 271 Hon. Mrs. P. — Sister E s s
    69 272
    Mr. J. D. H. { — Brother
    — Uncle
    — Mother
    }
    E
    { B B
    N U
    S m
    70 273 Mrs. R. —Mr. S. R. E w H
    71 274 Dr. E. L. F. — Grandmother E G g
    72 275 Mrs. B. — Rev. J. J. E d F
    73 276 Mr. — — Mrs. — E H w
    74 277 Mrs. S. — Mr. S. E w H
    75 278 Dr. J. D. — Father ED S F
    76 280 Rev. J. M. W. —Twin brother E B B
    77 281 Mr. J. C. — Twin brother E B B
    {ii-709}
    78 283 Mr. A. J. M. — Twin brother E B B
    79 283 Rev. E. D. M. — Father M S F
    80 284 Mrs. C. — Mr. C. M w H
    81 285 Mr. A. S. — Mrs. S. M H w
    82 286 Mrs. W. — Father M d F
    83 287 Mr. P.—Father M S F
    84 288 Mrs. V.—Mr. V. M w H
    85 288 Major K. — Father M S F
    86 291 Mr. R. R. — Rev. T. H. M F R
    87 293 Mdlle. B. — Mdlle. M. M f r
    88 314 Mr. E. P. T. —Mrs. T. D H w or w H
    89 315 Rev. J. P. H. — Mrs. H. D H w
    90 315 Mr. J. M. F. —Mrs. F. D H w or w H
    91 316 Mr. M. —Mrs. M D H w
    92 316 Mr. W. — Mrs. W. D H w
    93 317 Mrs. C. — Mr. C D w H
    94 318 Miss C. S. B. -Miss K. E. D (?) f r
    95 321 Mr. C. — Mrs. C. D H w
    96 322 Mr. C. — Mrs. C. D H w
    97 322 M. H. — Miss M. M. D f r
    98 324 Mr. D. B. W. S. — Father D S F
    99 325 Mr. T. J. H. — Mrs. W. D F r
    100 327 Mr. J. A. — Lieut. O D I F R
    101 328 Mrs. M. —Mr. M.? D w H (?)
    102 329 Mrs. L. — Mr. J. C D f R
    103 330 Coriolanus — Mr. E. C. B. D F R
    104 331 Miss E. J. M. — Rev. A. B. M D c C
    105 333 Mrs. H. — Mr. H. H. D m S
    106 335 Mrs. S. — Son D m S
    107 336 Mr. A. A. — Son D F S
    108 338 Rev. Canon W. — Mr. A. W. D B B
    109 339 Mrs. F. — Mr. F. D w H
    110 339 Mrs. C. L. — Mother D d m
    111 342 Miss B. — Navvy D f R
    112 342 Mr. G. G. — Mrs. S. D A c
    113 343 Mrs. G. — Son D m S
    114 345 Rev. W. D. W. R. — W. E. D F R
    115 346 Mrs. F. —Mr. C. F. D m S
    116 347 Mrs. S. —Mrs. C. R. S. D f r
    117 349 Herr von R. — Capt. von P. D A C
    118 350 Miss L. K. D. — Friend D f R
    119 350 MissK. G. —Mr. M. D a C
    120 352 Mrs. J. — Mr. G. J. H. D f R
    121 353 Mr. E. J. H. — Father D S F
    122 355 Mrs. F. — Mr. F. D w H
    123 355 Mrs. F. — Mr. F. E. F. D m S
    124 357 Miss C. A. — Mr. L. (?) D a C
    125 358 Mr. J. W. —Mrs. W. D S m
    126 359 Mrs. H. B. — Colonel F. D a C
    127 362
    Mrs. M.
    MissV.
    } Mrs. A.
    { D
    D
    f f r
    128 363 Brigade Surgeon W. — Mother D S m
    129 364 Rev. C. C. W. — Mr. W. D F R
    130 365 Mrs. M. — Mr. W. D s B
    131 366 Mrs. H. — Mr. J. M. D s T
    132 366 Mrs. H. —Mr. J. G. D a C
    133 369 Miss R. H. B. D ?
    134 370 Mrs. S. — Mr. H. D s B
    {ii-710}
    135 373 Miss P. — Mr. J. T. M. P. D s B
    136 374 Mrs. M. M. — Major P. D f R
    137 375 Mrs. M. M. — Friend D f r
    138 375 Mrs. G. — Miss A. D a n
    139 377 Miss S. S. P. — W. T. D a C
    140 378 Miss L. A. W. — Brother D s B
    141 380Mrs. H. — Sister-in-law D f r
    142 381 Dr. Y. — Tenants D A C
    143 383 Mrs. M. — Dr. H. D n U
    144 383
    Dr. B.
    Mrs. S.
    } — Mr. —
    { A D
    D
    F R
    s B
    145 386 Mrs.V. S. — Son D m S
    146 395 Lord B. — G. V F R
    147 397 Mrs. K. — Mr. E. K. M m S
    148 399 Dr. R. — Grandmother M G g
    149 400 Mr. W. D. — Miss D. D (?) F d
    150 403 Lord L. — Brother A B B
    151 404 Mrs. P. — Brother A s B
    152 406 Mrs. R. — Son A m S
    153 407 Rev. A. J. — Mrs. M.J A F r
    154 408 Miss T. —Mr. H S. A f R
    155 409 Mr. E. — Mrs. E. A S m
    156 410 Mr. — — Father A S F
    157 411 Mr. H. C. F. — Mrs. F. A S m
    158 413 Mrs. S. — E. M. A f r
    159 414 Archdeacon F. — Friend V F R
    160 415 Major M. — Miss S. M. V B s
    161 416 Miss B. — Captain C. M V c C
    162 416 Mr. J. A. S.—Dr. M. V A C
    163 417 Rev. W. J. B. — Mr. R. D. V F R
    164 418 Rev. C. C. W. — Mr. B. V F R
    165 419 Mrs. — — Captain P. V f R
    166 420
    Mrs. W.
    Mrs. N.
    } — Captain W.
    { D V
    V
    w H
    s T
    167 424 Mr. W. de G. — Mr. H. de G. V B B
    168 425 Mrs. T. — Mr. N. V f R
    169 427
    Miss T. J. C.
    Mr. C. B.
    } — Mr. —
    { V
    V
    s T
    F R
    170 428 Mrs. S. — Aunt V n a
    171 429 Mrs. R. — Mr. F. V a N
    172 430 Mrs. D. — Miss G. V f r
    173 431 Mrs. B. — Captain G. V f R
    174 431 Miss C. P. — Major G. V a C
    175 433 Mr. T. R. — Mr. J. H. H. D V F R
    176 434 Mrs. W. — Mr. W. T V w H
    177 435 Mrs. B. — Brother V T s B
    178 436 Miss E. A. S. —Mr. S. V T d F
    179 437 Mr. W. — Mr. G. B. T V F R
    180 439 Mr. G. J. C. — Mrs. R. T V N a
    181 440 Mrs. W. — F. W. T A m S
    182 441 Miss K. J. — Miss B. A V f r
    183 443 Mrs. R. — General R. V A w H
    184 444 Mr. J. G. K. —I. K. A V F S
    185 445 Mrs. S. — Mr. S. P. T V A s B
    186 447 Miss B.—Grandfather V A g G
    187 448 MissH. — R. VA f r
    188 449 Mrs. P. — M. P. V A m S
    189 451 Mrs. W. — Mrs. H. A V f r
    {ii-711}
    190 453 Mrs. L. — Mrs. R. A V f r
    191 523 Mr. T. W. G. — Mrs. — V F r
    192 524 Mr. B. — Mrs. R. V Ac
    193 525 Canon —— — Mr. —— V F R
    194 527 Miss R. — Captain W. V f R
    195 528 Miss R. — Mrs. M. V g g
    196 530 Mr. J.G. F. R. — Mrs. — V N a
    197 531 Miss B. — J. N. V A f R
    198 532 Mrs. S. — B— A .V f R
    199 534 Mr. B. — Friend A V F r
    200 540 Miss C. — Mr. T. C. V s B
    201 542 Mrs. B. — R. V f R
    202 544 Miss S. — Mrs. A. V f r
    203 548 Mrs. A. — Mrs. C. V d m
    204 549 Mrs. C. — Mrs. — V f r
    205 549 Lady C. — Father H. V f R
    206 551 Colonel J. — Miss J. V B s
    207 552 Mrs. L. — A. C. A V f r
    208 553 Mrs. R. —Mr. E. R. A w H
    2101 1 The number 209 has been accidentally omitted. 556 Captain C. — Lieut. O. C. V B B
    211 559 Miss L. — Great Uncle V n U2 2 Great Uncle.
    212 560 Dr. B. — Mr. J. M V B B
    213 561 Mr. J. H. — Mrs. P. V A c
    214 563 Mrs. J. — Mrs. R. V a n
    215 566 Mr. J. R. — Mrs. W. V F r
    216 567 Mrs. P. — Brother V s B
    217 568 Mr. T. C. — Rev. J. C. V S F

    VOL. II.
    218 30 Mr. H. H. H. — Great Uncle I or V N U2 2 Great Uncle.
    219 31 Mr. A. — Mrs. A V H w
    220 31 Mr. F. G. — Mr. C. T. V F R
    221 34 Lady C. — Mrs. L V d m
    222 35 Mr. R. S. — Mrs. S. V H w
    223 37 Mrs. T. — Mr. W. V n U
    224 38 Mdme. B. — Mons. d’E. V f R
    225 40 Mrs. R. — Miss L. B. V a c
    226 41 General H. — Miss H. V B s
    227 42 M. — Friend V F r
    228 44 Rev. F. B. — Aunt V N a
    229 45 General F. — Friend V F R
    230 46 Mr. J. E. — Twin brother V B B
    231 47 Mr. S. S. — Hon. R. G. V F R
    232 49 Miss E. H. H. — Mrs. W. V f r
    233 50 Mrs. G. — Brother V s B
    234 51 Mrs. S. — Mr. H. S. V m S
    235 51 Col. S. — Lieut. J. D. S. V B B
    236 52 Miss B. — Mr. W. B. V s B
    237 54 E. M. G. — Friend V f r
    238 55 Mrs. D. — D. D. V w H
    239 57 J. M. — Mr. W. V F R
    240 59 Mrs. E. -Mr. J. S. V f R
    241 59 Mr. S. J. M. — Friend V F r
    {ii-712}
    242 61 Nurse — Mr. J. B. V s T
    243 63 Chevalier S. F. — Mr. C. F. E V B B
    244 66 Major O. — Mr. J. E. H. V C C
    245 67 Rev. W. E. D. — Friend V FR
    246 68 Mr. A. I. —Mr. E. P. V F R
    247 69 Mrs. — — Son V m S
    248 70 Mr. A. L. — Professor C. V A C
    249 71 Mr. T. H. C. — Mr. X. V F R
    250 72 Mr. R. S. — M. M. V A c
    251 74 Mrs. W. — F. W. V m d
    252 75 Rev. J. W. — Pupil V F R
    253 76 Mr. S. M. S. — Nurse S. V F r
    254
    { 78
    80
    81
    Miss D.
    Mrs. M.
    } — Mrs. H.
    Caroline — Mrs. H.
    Mr. E. H. — Mrs. H.
    V
    V
    V
    c c c
    a c
    S m
    255
    { 82
    82
    82
    Mrs. W. — Rev. T. L. W.
    Miss W. — Rev. T. L. W.
    Parishioner — Rev. T. L. W.
    V
    V
    V
    w H
    d F
    f R
    256 83 Four Friends — Miss H.
    { V
    V
    V
    V
    a c
    F r
    f r
    a c
    257
    { 85
    85
    85
    Sister-in-law — Mrs. S.
    Miss J. S. — Mrs. S.
    Mrs. S. — Mrs. S.
    V
    V
    V
    f r
    n a
    f r
    258
    { 86
    88
    88
     
    89

    90
    Mrs. C. — Mr. B.
    Miss S. — Mr. B.
    Mrs. G. — Mr. B.
    Dr. P.
    Mrs. P.
    } — Mr. B.
    Mrs. G. — Mr. B.
    I
    T V A
    V
    V
    V
    f R
    f R
    f R
    Ff R
    f R
    259 91 Capt. B. — Mrs. B. V H w
    260 92 Capt. B. — Mrs. B. V Fr
    E. B. — Mrs. B. V a c
    261 93 Mrs. B. —Mrs. G. V f r
    262 94 Col. B. — Col. R. V F R
    263 96 J. C. — Twin Brother V B B
    264 97
    Rev. W. M.
    Mr. C.
    Mrs. C.
    Miss C.
    } — Mr. R. C. or Mrs. R. C.
    V ?
    265 100 Mr. J. S. — Mr. D. S. A B B
    266 100 Mrs. R. — Mr. S. R. A m S
    267 102 Mrs. S. — Mr. S. A m S
    268 103 Mr. R. F. —Mr. J. T. F. A B B
    269 104 Dr. — — Brother A B B
    270 105 Miss G— — Sister A s s
    271 105 Servant — Mr. J. P. A a C
    272 107 Mr. L. T. — Son A F S
    273 108 Mr. G. A. W. — Brother A B B
    274 109 Mrs. S. — Mr. S. A m S
    275 110 Mr. W. T. B. — Mr. B. A S F
    276 111 Mrs. H. — Mr. H. A w H
    277 112 Miss B. — Mrs. B. A d m
    278 113 Mrs. W. — Sister A s s
    279 114 Mrs. W. — Mother, and (?) other relatives A d m
    280 115 Mr. G. — Miss — A F r
    {ii-713}
    281 116 Mrs. W. — Cousin A c C
    282 116 Mrs. W. — E. A f r
    283 117 Miss H. — Mrs. H. A Dd m
    284 119 Rev. R. H. K. — “Etta” I or A F d
    285 120 Count G. — Mr. V. I or A S T
    286 122 Rev. —— — Friend S I F R
    287 123 Dr. J. S. — J. G. (?) A A C
    288 124 Mr. B. — Mrs. B. A S m
    289 127 Mr. —— — Friend E A F r
    290 130 Miss V. — Mrs. D. A f r
    291 132 Mrs. —— — Mr. J— S m S
    292 134 Mrs. H. — Captain W— T n U
    293 135 J. G. — Mrs. G. T A S m
    294 136 Rev. P. H. N. — W. B. T A F R
    295 137 Mrs. R. L. — Mr. R. L. A T V f R
    296 139 Rev. J. A. H. — Mrs. P. A V F r
    297 141 Miss P. — Mr. M. P. V A s B
    298 143 Mrs. B. — Friend A V f R
    299 144 D. B. — W. H. P. (?) V A F R
    300 146 E. S. — Father V A S F
    301 147 Mr. H. O. — Miss K. A. O. V A B s
    302 149
    Mr. H. B. G.
    and others
    } — Rev. T. H.
    { V, A
    A
    F R
    s s s T
    303 154 Mr. J. H. W. — Mrs. W. D. D (?) G g
    304 156 Miss M. — Mr. J. T. M. P. V. (?V) f R
    305 158 Miss —— — Mr. V. D. D f R
    306 159 Miss B—— — Mrs. S. V T A. D f r
    307 162 Mrs. P.— Mr. L. V. I a C
    308 164
    Mrs. S.
    Mrs. R
    } — Mr. E. W.
    { A
    A
    } .I or V
    { s B
    f R
    309 173
    Mrs. B.
    M. W.
    } — Mrs. J.
    { E
    D
    s t
    s t
    310 174
    Rev. C. C. T. F.
    Major C.
    } — Captain C.
    { A
    A
    F R
    F R
    311 176
    Mrs. E.
    Captain B.
    } — Mr. B.
    { V
    A
    s T
    S F
    312 178
    Mrs. P.
    Servant
    } — Mrs. G.
    { V
    V
    f r
    a c
    313 179
    C. M.
    Mrs. M.
    } — Susan ——
    { E
    A V T
    A c
    f r
    314 181
    Mrs. C.
    Mrs. B.
    Mrs. ——
    } — Mrs. W.
    { V
    V
    V
    f r
    a n
    s s
    315 182
    Mr. de G.
    Mr. E.
    } — Miss de G.
    { V
    V(?D)
    B s
    s s
    316 193
    Mrs. W.
    Mr. E. M. W.
    }
    { V
    V
    ?
    317 196
    Miss V. M.
    Miss S. M..
    C.
    }
    { V
    V
    V
    ?
    318 198
    Lord C.
    Lady C.
    }
    { V
    V
    ?
    319 199
    Rev. ——
    Dr. C.
    }
    { V
    V
    ?
    320 200
    Surgeon-Major S.
    Mrs. R.
    }
    { I V
    I V
    ?
    321 202
    Rev. D. W. G.
    Mrs. G.
    }
    { V
    V
    ?
    {ii-714}
    322 203
    Lady C.
    Miss T.
    }
    { V
    A
    ?
    323 204
    Mr. B.
    Mrs. B.
    Miss B.
    }
    { V
    V
    V
    ?
    324 205
    Mrs. B.
    Sister
    }
    { SV (?)
    V
    ?
    325 208
    Capt. N.
    Mr. J. A.
    }
    { V
    V
    ?
    326 209
    Mrs. R.
    and others
    } — Rev. —— (?)
    { V
    V
    d d F
    A C
    327 210
    Mrs. M.
    Friend
    } — Mr. —— (?)
    { V
    V
    }
    f f R
    328 210
    Mrs. H.
    Miss M. H.
    } — Miss H. (?)
    { V
    V
    m d
    s s
    329 211
    Mr. M.
    Mr. R.
    } — Rev. M. H. (?)
    { V
    V
    }
    F F R
    330 213
    Mr. J. C.
    Son
    }
    { V
    V
    ?
    331 213
    Mr. L.
    and others
    }
    { V
    V
    ?
    332 215
    Rev. C. J.
    Child
    }
    { V
    D (?)
    ?
    333 217
    Mrs. H.
    Mr. H.
    and others
    } — Mrs. H. (?)
    { V
    V
    V
    ?
    334 218
    Miss G.
    Miss L.
    }
    { A
    A
    ?
    335 219
    Mrs. S.
    Two servants
    }
    { A
    A
    ?
    336 220
    Rev. W. R.
    Miss R.
    }
    { A
    A
    ?
    337 221
    Mr. S.
    Mrs. S.
    and others
    }
    { A
    A
    A
    ?
    338 223
    Mrs Y.
    Mrs. B.
    }
    { A
    A
    ?
    339 226
    Mr. B.
    Mrs. B.
    and others
    } — Miss S.
    { A
    A
    A
    }
    F F F ff r
    340 227
    Mr. L.
    Mrs. L.
    } — W. L.
    { A
    A
    F S
    m S
    341 227
    Mrs. A.
    The Misses A
    } — Commander A.
    { A
    A
    m S
    sss B
    342 228
    Mr. W.
    Mrs. W.
    } — D. M. A.
    { A
    A
    F R
    s B
    343 230
    Mrs. P.
    Miss P.
    } — A. D.
    { A
    A
    }
    ff R
    344 234
    Miss L.
    Miss J. L.
    } — Aunt
    { A
    A
    }
    n n a
    345 235
    Child — Mr. ——
    Mrs. C. — Mr. ——
    }
    V
    V A
    S F
    s B
    346 236
    Mr. T. D.
    Mrs. T. D.
    Friend
    } — Mrs. D.
    { V T
    V
    V
    S m
    f r
    F r
    347 237 Mrs. R. — Mr. ——
    Mrs. A. — Mr. ——
    V
    V
    n U
    s B
    {ii-715}
    348
    Mrs. E.
    Miss D.
    } — Mr. ——
    { V
    V
    f R
    s T
    349 241
    Mr. W.
    Miss K. W.
    } — P. W.
    { V
    V
    F S
    s B
    350 244
    M. J. F.
    and 2 others
    } — Mrs. R.
    { V
    V
    s t
    f f r
    351 247
    Mrs. B.
    Miss A. B.
    } — Mr. P. M.
    { V
    V
    }
    a a C
    352 248
    A. F.
    Mr. S. S. F.
    } — Rev. F.
    { V D
    V
    G G
    S F
    353 250
    Mrs. ——
    Mr. ——
    } — Mr. ——
    { V
    V
    s T
    B B
    354 253
    Miss D. E. W.
    Miss L. C.
    } — Miss M. C.
    { V
    V
    n a
    a c
    355 256
    Captain A.
    Mr. H.
    } — Mr. H.
    { AV
    A
    S T
    S F
    356 257
    Mr. B.
    Mr. E.
    } — Mr. W.
    { V
    V
    }
    F F R
    357 259
    Sir J. S.
    Colonel W.
    } — Mr. J. W.
    { V
    V
    S T
    B B

    CASES IN THE SUPPLEMENT.

    NO. PAGE.
    VOL. II.
    PERCIPIENT AND AGENT. NATURE OF IMPRESSION
    RELATIONSHIP OF P. TO A.
    358 325 A. M. — Rev. C. H. T. T S a C
    359 326 Mrs. S. — Dr. E. G T O a C
    360 328 Boy — Professor J. S. G A C
    361 329 A. D. — Mons. M. S F R
    362 332Patient — Mons. C. R. M a C
    363 333 Patient — Professor B. I A C
    364 334 Patient — Dr. G. I E a C
    365 334 Patient — Dr. G. I a C
    366 336 Miss M. N. — Mrs. P. I G T E f r
    367 344 Mrs. J. E. — Captain B. I T O G f R
    368 346 Patient —Dr. P. I f R
    369 347 Miss C. — Serjeant C. and others I s B, &c.
    370 349 Mrs. M. — Mrs. —— I f r
    371 350 Mr. C. — Coachman I (?) F R
    372 350 Rev. J. B. — Rev. J. S. B. I F S
    373 351 Mr. —— — Dr. —— I F R
    374 353 Mr. H. — Father I S F
    375 354 Miss B. — Madame H. I F r
    376 354 Professor W. — Mr. R. W. I B B
    377 356 Mrs. C. — G. C. or Brother I m S
    378 356 Mr. J. W. S. — Mrs. —— E F r
    379 358 Mrs. Dr. S. I f R
    380 360 Rev. Mr. B. — Brother I or V B B
    {ii-716}
    381 360 Miss C. — Mrs. —— E s s
    382 361 Mr. —— — Miss E—— and others I F d, &c.
    383 362 Miss —— — Miss E—— I s s
    384 363 Mrs. G. — Mr. G. I mS
    385 364 Mrs. W. — Insane patient (?) I s T
    386 364 Mr. J. C. — Mr. —— I A C
    387 368 Mr. J. A. E. —? I E ?
    388 369 Mr. N. C. —? I E ?
    389 370 Rev. —— — Son E F S
    390 371 Mr. J. P. — Mr. B. I F R
    391 371 Mr. —— — Mr. C. E F R
    392 372 Mrs. —— — Mr. —— and others E n U, n U,
    f R
    393 373 Mrs. —— — Sons E m S, m S
    394 374 Mr. F. H. P. — Mrs. P. E S m
    395 374 Mrs. D — Ada —— E f r
    396 375 Mr. S.N. W. — Mr. —— E F R
    397 376 Mr. F. M. — Mrs. M. M S m
    398 377 Dr. E. L. F. — Patient M A c
    399 377 Mr. W. B. — Son M F S
    400 378 Herr von S. — Frau von S. M S m
    401 379 Mr. N. — Miss N. M F d
    402 380 Mr. A. A. W. — Mrs. W. D S m
    403 380 Mr. F. — Mrs. F. D H w
    404 381
    Rev. P. T. D.
    Miss D.
    } — Negress
    { D
    D
    }
    A a c
    405 382
    Mr. F. M.
    Brother
    } — Mrs. M.
    { D
    D
    }
    S S m
    406 382
    Mrs. S.
    Mr. W. S.
    Mr. J. S.
    } — Mrs. S.
    { D
    D
    D
    }
    S S S m
    407 383 Miss J. W. — M. H. D f r
    408 385 Mrs. H. — Miss H. D m d
    409 385 Mrs. S. — Mr. S. D m S
    410 386 Servant — Mr. E. C. T. D a C
    411 387 Miss A. G. — Mr. G. D s B
    412 387 Mrs. O’S. — Hon. J. L. O’S. D m S
    413 388 General B. — Mrs. B. D H w
    414 388 Mrs. B. — Servant D f r
    415 389 Miss A. J. M. — Mr. M. D s B
    416 390 Mrs. B. — Mr. J. B. D m S
    417 391 Dean C. — Rev. E. T. C. D B B
    418 392 Mr. A. S. — Mr. S. S. D B B
    419 393 Mrs. —— — Mr. —— D m S
    420 393 Rev. W. B. B. — Mrs. B. D F r
    421 394 Miss C. D. G. — Mrs. G. D g g
    422 395 Colonel V. — Mr. A. V D F S
    423 396 Mrs. S. — Frau S. D f r
    424 396 Mrs. W. — Mr. —— D s B
    425 397 Mrs. D. — Mrs. W. D f r
    426 398 Miss C. — Mr. —— D f R
    427 399 Miss G. — Rev. —— D a C
    428 400 Mrs. H. — Mr. J. J D a C
    429 400 Mr. F. M. — Mr. M D S F
    430 400 Rev. F. R. H. — Mr. —— D C C
    431 402 Miss D. — Rev. S. D s T
    432 403 Mrs. B —— Professor T. D s B
    433 404 Mr. F. T. D. — Mr. —— D N U
    {ii-717}
    434 404 Mr. H. W. D. — Mrs. D. D S m
    435 405 Mr. G. U. — Mr. R. U. D B B
    436 406 Mrs. T. —? D ?
    437 406 Mrs. H. — Mr. J. M. D n U
    438 407 Mrs. D. — Mr. —— D s B
    439 408 Mons. J. C. — Mons. H. C. D B B
    440 408 Mons. L. —Mons. L. D S F
    441 408 Mr. A. G. S. — Mr. D. L D F R
    442 409 Mrs. S. — Rev. S. H. S. D w H
    443 411 Mr. J. D. B. — Mrs. —— D G g
    444 412 Mr. H. — Lieut. A. E. H. D F S
    445 412 Rev. J. M. — Mrs. —— D(?) F r
    446 413 Mrs. P. — Miss —— D s s?
    447 414 Fraulein M. L. — Herr L. D d F
    448 415 Mr. W. B. — Mr. J. B. D B B
    449 416 Mme. A. — Dr. A. F. S. D (?) f R
    450 417 Miss A. E. R. — Mr. X. D f R
    451 418 Rev. G. L. F. — Dr. H. H. F. D B B
    452 419 Mr. T. — Mrs. T. D S m
    453 420 Miss —— — Mr. —— D n U
    454 421 Mr. —— — Major —— D S F
    455 422 Mr. G. H. F. P. — Miss E. B. D Ac
    456 423 Miss M. — K. A. H. (?) D s t
    457 423 Mrs. —— — Mrs. M. D f r
    458 424 Mrs. W. — Mr. W. G. D n U
    459 425 Miss E. F. H. — (?) D ?
    460 427 Mrs. B. — Mr. B. C. and others D c C, f R,
    f r, w H
    461 428 Mrs. F. — Mr. W. H. or Miss H. D f R or f r
    462 429 Mr. J. R. — Mr. J. M. D F R
    463 430 Miss A. G. — Mrs. —— D f r
    464 431 Miss B. — Mr. —— D f R
    465 431 Mr. J. W. B. — Dr. B. D S F
    466 432 Mrs. F. — Mrs. L D m d
    467 432 Mme. S. (hypnotised) — Father D d F
    468 433 Mr. R. — J. R. T. D UN
    469 434 E. G. — Woman D a c
    470 435 Miss M. — Mr. M D d F
    471 436 Mrs. S. — W. S. D m S
    472 437 Mrs. W. — Mr. G. E. D s B
    473 438 Mrs. —— — Mrs. W. D f r
    474 439 Mdlle. R. — Mme. R. D d m
    475 440 Mrs. H. — Mme. —— D d m
    476 441 Mrs. D. S. — Mr. T. P. D d F
    477 442 Miss M. — Capt. F. D f R
    478 443 Mr. L. H. S. — Mr. H. S. (?) D B B (?)
    479 443 Mr. R. R. — E. G. D A C
    480 444 Mr. R. R. — W. T. D A C
    481 444 Mr. C. — Rev. S. H. I. D F R
    482 445 Mrs. P. — Mrs. B. D n a
    483 446 Mr. E. W. P. — Clerk (?) D S T (?)
    484 447 Miss —— — Mrs. G. D s t
    485 449 Mr. R. H. D. — Miss —— V F r
    486 450 Mrs. L. — M. T. V c c
    487 451 Mrs. H. — Mr. A. V s B
    488 452 Mr. W. G. — Mr. G. V B B
    489 453 Mrs. N. — Capt. N. V A f R
    490 454 Lady C. — Mr. J. D. V A s T
    {ii-718}
    491 455 Mrs. C. — Mr. R. V d F
    492 456 Mrs. G. G. — Col. S. V d F
    493 457 Mr. F. — Mr. F. F. V F S
    494 458 T. P. — Mrs. P. V S m
    495 459 Mr. G. W. — Mrs. B. V A N a1 1 Great Aunt.
    496 459 Mr. G. W. — Miss M. —— A F r
    497 460 Mrs. F. — Mrs. —— A s s
    498 460 Miss E. B. — Mr. H. A. D. V A f R
    499 461 Rev. W. B. L. — Mr. L. V S F
    500 462 Mrs. —— — Mr. —— V w H
    501 463 Mrs. B. — Miss G. B. V f r
    502 464 Mrs. W. — Mother and others V,D,A d m, s s, s s
    503 467 Mrs. D. — Mr. —— V s B
    504 468 Mons. M. — Mons. M., Mme. M. T A V S F, S m
    505 469 Miss H. W. — Maurice —— V a N
    506 470 Miss L. — Mr. —— A s T
    507 471 Mr. F. A. S. — Mrs. R. A C c
    508 473 Mrs. H. — Mrs. —— T A d m
    509 473 Mrs. S. — Mrs. G. A V d m
    510 474 Rev. S. M. — Archbishop of T. V A F R
    511 475 Herr A. — Frau V N a
    512 475 Mrs. J. B. — Mr. R. M. V T f R
    513 476 E. H. — J. S. and others A V T, &c.
    { f R, s B,
    s B, na, n U
    514 477 Mrs. S. — Miss A. H. V f r
    515 477 Mrs. S. — Mrs. G. V s s
    516 479 Miss E. C. — Mrs. C V d m
    517 480 LadyR. — Hon. J. V. V c C
    518 481 Mme. C. — Mons. R.
    Mme. V. — Mons. G.
    V A
    A
    f R
    d F
    519 482 Mrs. F. — Mrs. M V A s s
    520 482 Dr. C. — Mrs. C V A S m
    521 483 Mrs. C. — Mr. J. C V mS
    522 485 Rev. J. C. — Mrs. B. V A F r
    523 486 Mr. B. — Mr. V A C
    524 486 Miss S. — Sir L. S. V d F
    525 488 Mrs. B. — Miss B. B. V m d
    526 488 Commander C. — J. F. J.
    Commander C. — T.
    V A
    V A
    F R
    F R
    527 490 Mrs. H. — D. H. V A(? D) m S
    528 491 Miss M. N. — Lieut. E. M. N. A V s B
    529 491 Mrs. N. — J.N. V m S
    530 492 Mr. W.J.— Mr. J V S F
    531 493 Mrs. —— — Mr. —— V a N
    532 494 Mr. W. — Mr. W. V B B
    533 494 Mr. J. M. — Mr. A. M V T F R
    534 495 Mr. C. — Miss C. V B s
    535 495 Mr. —— — Father V S F
    536 495 Servant — Farm Lads V a C
    537 496 Lieut. C. — Lieut. L. V F R
    538 497 J. P. — Mrs. P. A S m
    539 498 Hon. R. H. — Mr. L. A V F R
    540 499 Mr. —— — Mr. B. A V F R
    541 501 Mrs. —— — Son. I or V m S
    {ii-719}
    542 502 Mrs. A. — Rev. F. A V m S
    543 502 Mrs. O. — Mr. O V m S
    544 502 S. S. — Mrs. F. V s t
    545 503 Miss H. P. — Hon. J. P. V d F
    546 504 Mr. B. — Mr. C. F. S. V F R
    547 505 J. R. — Mons. G. V A f R
    548 506 Mrs. B. — Dr. —— I or V f R
    549 507 T. — Mr. J. P. V AC
    550 509 Mr. J. A. C. — J. H. V F R
    551 510 Farmer — Capt. W. V A C
    552 511 Mrs. R. — Mr. —— V f R
    553 511 Mrs. H. — Z. V f R
    554 512 Mrs. H. — Mrs. —— V m d
    555 513 Mrs. P. — Mother V d m
    556 513 Miss —— — Mrs. —— V d m
    557 514 Miss M. C. — Mrs. S. V a c
    558 515 Rev. W. J. — Daughter (?) V F d
    559 515 Mr. T. H. — Mrs. H. V S m
    560 516 Mr. T. H. — Mr. E. H. V B B
    561 516 Rev. H. A. H. — Mrs. B. V F r
    517 Rev. H. A. H. — Mr. R. V F R
    562 519 W. S. — Capt. S. V S F
    563 520 J. B. — Father V d F
    564 520 Mrs. P. — Mrs. —— V f r
    565 520 G. — Father V d F
    566 521 Mrs. M. — G. V c C
    567 522 Mrs. A. — Mrs. W. V d m
    568 522 Mr. V. T. E. — Mrs. E. V S m
    569 523 A. — Mr. A. J A T V F R
    570 524 M. V. — Capt. de L. V f R
    571
    { 525
    526
    Mr. H. W. — Mrs. W.
    Mr. H. W. — Mrs. W.
    V
    E
    S m
    S m
    572 526 Miss H. C. — Mr. —— V f R
    573 527 Mrs. B. — Mr. H. V a C
    574 528 Mr. J. H. J. — Mr. —— V F R
    575 529 Mrs. W. — Mrs. —— V d m
    576 529 Mrs. C. — Mrs. ——(?) V a c
    577 530 Dr. C. M. — Mr. M. V A C
    578 531 Lord D. — Mrs. P. C. V F d
    579 532 Mrs. —— — Mrs. —— V d m
    580 533 Lieut. W. C. B. — Mrs. B V S m
    581 533 Miss J. C. — H. C. V s B
    582 534 Col. C. — W. C. or J. C. V A C
    583 536 Mrs. M. — Capt. P. V f R
    584 537 General M. — Laundress V A c
    585 538 Mr. H. — Dr. G. V F R
    586 538 Mrs. F. — General F. V w H
    587 539 Mr. J. D. — Mrs. F. V B s
    588 540 Mrs. R. — Mr. D. V f R
    589 541 Mr. G. — Miss R. V Ac
    590 542 Mr. —— — Mrs. —— V S m
    591 543 Bishop E. — Mr. C. VF R
    592 543 Rev. G. — Lord K. V F R
    593 544 Mrs. de S. — Sister V s s
    594 545 Mr. —— — Mrs. —— V H w
    595 545 Child — Frau —— V S m
    596 546 Mrs. W. — G. W. V m S
    {ii-720}
    597 547 J. —— — J. M. V F R
    598 547 Major H. — Capt. H. V B B
    599 548 Miss M. — Sir J. Y. V f R
    600 549 Officer — Lieut. G. V A C
    601 550 Mr. M. — H. M. V F S
    602 550 Mrs. P. — Mr. —— V d F
    603 551 Mr. A. — J. A V F S
    604 552 Mr. J. W. — Mrs. W. V H w
    605 553 General K. — Mrs. K. V H w
    606 553 Mr. J. S. — Mrs. S. V H w
    607 555 Child — Officer V d F
    608 556 Mate — Brother V B B
    609 556 Mr. F. L. M. — Mr. S. V C C
    610 557 Maori — Brother V B B
    611 558 Mrs. G. — Son V m S
    612 558 Mrs. A. — Mrs. G. V a c
    613 561 Mr. M. P. S. — Mr. S. A F S
    614 562 Mrs. R. — G. R. A m S
    615 563 Herr D. — Mr. G. S. A F R
    616 564 Miss B. — Dr. H. A a C
    617 564 Rev. C. C. F. — Mrs. F. A S m
    618 565 Miss S. — Mrs. —— A f r
    619 566 Mrs. M. — Sister and mother A ss, ss, dm
    620 567 Rev. J. W. — Rev. T. C. E. A F R
    621 568 Mrs. M. — Mr. —— A s B
    622 570 Mrs. M. — Tom —— A f R
    623 570 Mrs. M. — W. M A m S
    624 572 Miss C. — Mr. J. A f R
    625
    { 573
    573
    Miss H. — Nephew
    Miss H. — Nephew
    A
    A
    a N
    a N
    626 574 Mr. C. — Mr. C. T S F
    627 574 “Master of Marines” — Father T S F
    628 575 Mrs. W. — Mrs. De M. V T s s
    629 576 Miss S. W. — Mr. W. T f R
    630 576 Mr. F. C. — Mrs. C. S H w
    631 578 Colonel M. T. — Miss —— V A F r
    632 579 Capt. —— — Mme. —— V A H w
    633 580 Miss —— — Lieut. B. V A f R
    634 581 Child — Mother V A d m
    635 582 M. —— — Mrs. —— A V d m
    636 583 Mme. E. — Mons. E. A V m S
    637 583 Miss S. P. — Mrs. W. V A s s
    638 584 Colonel T. — Mr. J. T. A V B B
    639 585 Mrs. W. — Mr. W. A V w H
    640 586 Mrs. E. — W. E. V A w H
    641 590 Miss —— — Rev. —— I or V. I f R
    642 591 Mr. —— — Miss L. A. W. D. D S t
    643 593 Mrs. A. W. — Major F. M. M. D. D s T
    644 595 Mrs. W. — Mr. W. D. V T w H
    645 597
    Miss ——
    Miss E.
    } — Mrs. T.
    { V
    V
    } D
    s s s
    646 598
    Mrs. M. —
    Mrs. ——
    } — Mrs. ——
    { A
    A
    } D
    n a
    s s
    647 600
    Lady G.
    Sister
    } — Mrs. ——
    { E
    E
    d d m
    648 600
    Miss S.
    Mrs. P.
    } — Mr. J. P.
    { D
    D
    c C
    m S
    {ii-721}
    649 602
    Mrs. P.
    Mrs. C.
    } — Mrs. ——
    { T
    T
    d m
    d m
    650 603
    Mrs. H.
    Nurse
    Miss E. H.
    } — Mrs. M.
    { V
    V
    V
    f r
    a c
    a c
    651 604
    Mr. S.
    W. B.
    } — Mr. T. S.
    { V
    V
    F S
    A C
    652 605
    C. F.
    Nurse
    Mrs. R.
    Capt. R.
    } — Capt. F.
    { I
    V
    V
    V
    S F
    a C
    f R
    F R
    653 606
    Miss S. ——
    Miss J. ——
    } — Mrs. ——
    { V A
    V
    s s
    s s
    654 607
    Miss R.
    Servant
    } — Mr. ——
    { V
    V
    a N
    s T
    655 609
    Miss S.
    Miss M. S.
    } — Mrs. S.
    { V
    V
    d m
    d m
    656 610
    Mrs. S.
    Miss F.
    } — Mrs. J. S.
    { V
    V
    a C
    a C
    657 610
    Mrs. R.
    Mrs. ——
    } — Mr. ——
    { A V
    V
    d F (?)
    658 611
    Miss E. ——
    Miss H. ——
    } — M. S.
    { V
    V
    f r
    f r
    659 612
    Herr C.
    Fräulein C.
    } — Herr J. H. C.
    { D V
    V
    B B
    s B
    660 613
    Mr. R.
    Mr. J. C. R.
    } — a lady
    { V
    V
    Ac
    A c
    661 613
    Miss ——
    Colonel W.
    and others
    } — Capt. ——
    { V
    V
    V
    f R
    F R
    F F f R
    662 615
    Mrs. ——
    Mary ——
    John ——
    } — Ellen ——
    { V
    V
    V
    m d
    s s
    B s
    663 616
    Mr. C.
    Mrs. C.
    and 2 Children
    } — Mrs. C.
    { V
    V
    V
    S m
    f r
    G G g
    664 617
    Miss W.
    Miss — W.
    } — Mr. W.
    { V
    V
    d d F
    665 617
    Admiral C.
    Mr. G. B. C.
    } — Mr. C.
    { V
    V
    S S F
    666 619
    Miss A. S.
    Miss E. F.
    Page
    } — Miss S.
    { V
    V
    A
    s t
    s t
    S t
    667 622
    Mr. T. S.
    Mrs. ——
    Child
    Miss S.
    } — Mr. ——
    { V
    V
    V
    V
    F R
    w H
    S F
    f R
    668 623 Two Ladies1 1 Described by the agent as “relations” simply. — Dr. B. V ?
    Mrs. B.
    Miss. B.
    } — Mrs. C.
    { V
    V
    f f
    669 625
    Miss A.
    Miss B.
    } — Mr. G. H.
    V
    V
    f f R
    670 626 2 servants — Miss L. V a a c
    671 627
    Mrs. B. and
    3 others
    } — Miss W.
    V F f f f r
    {ii-722}
    672 628
    Rev. ——
    Mrs. ——
    } — Mrs B. (?)
    { V
    V
    B s
    f r
    673 629
    Miss E. B.
    Miss S. B.
    } — Miss C. B. (?)
    V s s s
    674 631
    Mrs. F.
    and others
    } — Miss F.
    { A
    A
    m d
    s s
    675 632
    Mrs. Y.
    Capt. A.
    } — Mr. A.
    { A T
    A
    d F
    S F
    676 633
    “A. B.”
    and others
    } — Mr. ——
    { A
    A
    N U
    s s T (?)
    677 634
    Mr. H. H. E.
    Mr. E.
    } —?
    { A
    A
    ?
    678 635
    Mr. M. P. S.
    Mrs. S.
    } — Child
    { A
    A
    F r
    a n
    679 635
    Mrs. ——
    and others
    } — Mr. ——
    { A
    A
    d F, g G,
    a C
    680 636
    Mr. C. H. K.
    Mr. K.
    Mrs. K.
    } — Mr. K.
    { A
    A
    A
    B B
    F S
    m S
    681 636
    Mr. H. C. H.
    Miss S.
    } — Mrs. S.
    { A
    A
    S t
    a n
    682 636
    Mr. W. H.
    Mrs. H.
    } — Mr. R. ——
    { A
    A
    C C
    a N (?)
    683 638
    Mrs. W.
    Mr. W.
    } — Mr.H.
    { A
    AT (?)
    f R
    A C
    684 639
    Mr. L.
    and others
    } — Mrs. L. (?)
    { A
    A
    S m
    F f f f f r

    CASES IN THE ADDITIONAL CHAPTER.

    NO. PAGE.
    VOL. II.
    PERCIPIENT AND AGENT. NATURE OF IMPRESSION
    RELATIONSHIP OF P. TO A.
    685 671 Miss —— — Mr. A. H. W. C. V. V f R
    686 675 Fraulein H. — Mrs. R. V s s
    687 676 G. — Mr. E. M. C. M. I F R
    688 679 Mme. B. — Mons. G. Hypnotic sleep, &c. a C
    689 683 Mme. D. — Mons. J. H. Hypnotic sleep, &c. a C
    690 685 Mlle. J. — Dr. D. Hypnotic sleep, &c. a C
    689 683 Mme. D. — Mons. J. H. Hypnotic sleep, &c. a C
    691 687 Mr. L. — Mrs. L. I H w
    692 688 Mr. G. —Mr. E. T. R. I F R
    693 690 Mrs. E. —Mme. H. A f r
    694 692 Mr. J. G. F. R. — Miss Y. A F r
    695 693 Mrs. T. —Mr. W. T. V m S
    696 694 Rev. R. M. H. — Uncle (A?) V N U
    697 695 Mrs. B. — Mr. Z. V a C
    698 696 E. B. — C. Br. V A f R
    699 699
    Dr. A. B.
    J. H.
    } — E
    { V
    V
    A A C
    700 700 Mr. J. M. F. — Mrs. F. D H w
    701 702 Mr. H. E. M. — Miss R. D, V F r
    702 703 Mr. M. S. G. — Mrs. —— D V A F r
    {ii-723}

    An analysis of the above table shows that of 8821 1 Where the same person has been concerned on more than one occasion as percipient or agent, each such experience has been reckoned for the purpose of the calculation as a distinct case. Cases 88 and 90 have been omitted in reckoning the percipients, it being doubtful which of the two persons concerned was the percipient, and which the agent; and cases 44, 88, 90, 133, 264, 316–325, 330–338, 387, 388, 436, 459, 461, 668, and 677 have been omitted in reckoning the agents. [This and the following superscript refer to the same footnote. —Ed.] percipients, 370, or 42 per cent., were males, and 512, or 58 per cent., females. Of 7081 1 Where the same person has been concerned on more than one occasion as percipient or agent, each such experience has been reckoned for the purpose of the calculation as a distinct case. Cases 88 and 90 have been omitted in reckoning the percipients, it being doubtful which of the two persons concerned was the percipient, and which the agent; and cases and cases 44, 88, 90, 133, 264, 316–325, 330–338, 387, 388, 436, 459, 461, 668, and 677 have been omitted in reckoning the agents. [This and the preceding superscript refer to the same footnote. —Ed.] agents, 448, or 63·3 per cent., were males, and 260, or 36·7 per cent., females. The preponderance of female percipients cannot be assumed to indicate any superior susceptibility in that sex to telepathic impressions (see above, p. 3, last sentence of first note). The preponderance of male agents is probably to be accounted for by the fact that men are more liable than women to accidents and to violent deaths, and that a larger proportion of them die at a distance from their nearest relatives and friends.

    Analysing the results of column V, we find that, out of 830 cases, the agent stood to the percipient in the relation of

    Parent or child in 193 cases, or 23·3 per cent.

    Brother or sister in 122 cases, or 14·7 per cent.

    Husband or wife in 52 cases, or 6·3 per cent.

    Cousin, uncle, &c. 75 cases, or 9·0 per cent.

    Friend in 263 cases, or 31·7 per cent.

    Acquaintance in 89 cases, or 10·7 per cent.

    Stranger in 36 cases, or 4·3 per cent.

    It will be seen that only in 47 per cent. of the cases is any blood-relationship known to have existed between the parties; and since in many cases the relatives of the percipient will have naturally belonged also to the circle of his intimate friends, it seems reasonable to conclude that consanguinity, as such, has little if any predisposing influence in the transmission of telepathic impressions. It may be suggested that the comparative infrequency of such transmissions between husbands and wives is probably due to the fact that it is commoner for married persons than for blood-relations to be together, when one of the two dies.

    It is noteworthy that, out of 36 cases in which the agent was a stranger to the percipient, no less than 15 are collective cases in which an intimate friend of the agent was one of the co-percipients, and may be held to have constituted the link between the agent and the stranger percipient. On the other hand, it is possible that the examples that have been given of telepathic affection by strangers show somewhat less than the true proportion; as there may be cases belonging to this category which for evidential purposes must be dismissed, the fact of coincidence, which alone could distinguish them from purely subjective hallucinations, having been unsuspected and unknown.

    {ii-724} {ii-725}

    INDEX.

    N.B. For many topics, the Synopsis at the beginning of each volume forms (with the clue which the titles of the Chapters afford) a ready means of reference; and these are, for the most part, not included in the present Index.

    The page-numbers of the second volume are printed in italics.

    ABERCROMBIE, DR., Case described by, of hallucinations voluntarily originated lxxxi

    After-images 489–91, 502, 505

    Agency, telepathic, Various conditions of, in spontaneous cases 229

    Anonymous testimony, Worthlessness of 167–9

    Anxiety, Effect of, in producing hallucinations 506–9

    “Arrival Cases” 251–4, 517–8, 96–100, 362–4, 530–2, 588–9, 623–7

    Auditory hallucinations, Different proportion of to visual, in the purely subjective and in the telepathic class 22–3

    Numerical estimate relating to, in the two classes 12–6

    of an internal sort 480–2, 119–20

    non-verbal and rudimentary 222–5, 403–5, 502–3, 125–32, 568–74

    due to anxiety 509–10

    due to expectancy 514

    Automatic actions telepathically produced (See Unconscious percipience)

    Awe, Effect of, in producing hallucinations 510–2

    BAILLARGER, DR., on “psycho-sensorial” hallucinations 461–2

    Defects of his view 465–6

    Ball, Prof., on various points connected with hallucinations 467, 470, 479–80

    Case recorded by 476

    Barrett, Prof. W. F., Paper of, read before the British Association in 1876 13

    Experiments of, in thought-transference 20–9, 59–61

    Bernheim, Dr., Experiments of, in hypnotic hallucinations 469–70, 472

    Bell-sounds, Hallucinations of 502–3, 127–9, 233–5

    Binet, A., on certain hypnotic hallucinations 468–70

    Binsfeld, Tractatus de Sortilegiis 175, 183

    Blood, a prominent feature in the telepathic percept 373, 34, 403, 430, 433, 481

    Bodin, Démonomanie 173, 177, 180, 182, 478

    {ii-726}

    Boguet, Discours des Sorciers 178, 180, 183

    Boismont, Dr. Brierre de, Spurious cases of collective hallucination recorded by 186–7

    “Borderland” hallucinations, Various sorts of 389–92

    Importance of distinguishing from dreams 393–7

    Brewster’s view of visual hallucinations 465

    Brougham, Lord, Remarks of, on his own experience 396–7

    CARDAN, De Varietate Rerum 479, 555

    Cards and other objects, Experimental transferences of ideas of 21–9, 31–5, 37, 661–4

    Casaubon, Méric, Of Credulity and Incredulity 184

    Casual experiments 81–85, 655–7, 665

    Census of dreams of death 303–10

    of sensory hallucinations 6–24

    Centrifugal origin of hallucinations, strongly supported by telepathic examples 570–1

    Cevennes, Spurious marvels in the lxxiv–v

    Chambers, Dr. T. King, Case of simultaneous hallucinations recorded by 198–9

    Chance, how far an explanation of the facts adduced (See Probabilities)

    Charcot, Dr., Form of unilateral hallucination recorded by 471–2

    Children, Percipience of, (“collective” cases not included) 245, 246, 235, 248–9, 423, 519, 555, 581

    Chiltoff, Dr. A. M., Experiment of, in thought-transference 665

    Clairvoyance 266–7, 555–6, 286–7

    Difference between telepathic and independent 368–9, 669

    Telepathic, in reciprocal cases 161–2, 289, 303–10

    Independent, often assumed without any sufficient warrant 329–30, 335

    Relation of to collective cases 269, 289–90

    alleged of Swedenborg xlviii

    Cloudy or misty appearance of visual phantasms 521, 526, 527, 557, xxii, 182, 450, 481, 513

    Coincidences, apt to be regarded as either accidental or supernatural 397, 461–2

    significant in virtue of frequency, not of oddness 2

    Tendency to exaggerate the closeness of lxxv–vii, 144–5, 156–7

    Cold, Sensation of, at the time of a telepathic affection 210, 527, 37, 122, 150, 180, 249, 500

    Collectivity of percipience, in what sense a proof of objectivity in the percept 168–70, 190–2

    Collusion, Hypothesis of, in experiments in thought-transference 18–20

    Necessity of, if experiments in thought-transference are to be explained as tricks 22–3

    Community of sensation, first noticed in connection with the hypnotic state 11

    shown in experiments in the transference of tastes and of pains 51–8, 324–31, 339, 344, 666–8

    Compact, previous, between agent and percipient, Possibly [sic] effect of 66

    Instances of 395, 419, 427, 527, 63, 477, 489, 497

    {ii-727}

    Contact, the essential condition for muscular guidance, all possibility of which must be precluded in experiments in thought-transference 17–8

    Contact, Alleged effect of, in certain cases of hallucination 189, 359

    Contemporary evidence, Importance of 13, 274

    Cotta, The Infallible, True and Assured Witch 120, 182

    Creery family, Experiments with the 20–31

    DAGONET, DR., Les Maladies Mentales 476, 480, 484

    D’Autun, L’Incrédulité Scavante 180, 184

    Dead, Phantasms of the, how connected with the present inquiry 190–2, 214

    Evidence for, inconclusive 512

    Death-cases, Large proportion of 303, 25–6

    Deferment or latency of telepathic impressions 56, 70–1, 201–2, 265, 519

    De l’Ancre, Tableau de l’Inconstance des mauvais Anges et Démons 117, 173

    Del Rio, Disquisitiones Magicæ 179, 180, 181, 182

    Dessoir, Max, Experiments of, in thought-transference 642–53

    Development of hallucinations, Gradual, in the purely subjective class 520–2

    in the telepathic class 522–34

    Diagrams, Experiments in the reproduction of 35–51, 642–53

    Disappearance of visual phantasms, Gradual, a feature common to purely subjective and to telepathic specimens 573, 97

    Instances of 444, 446, 454, 521, 527, 552, 96, 176, 182, 214, 246, 453, 467, 503, 512, 522, 628, 629

    Special modes of 432, 559, 573, 239, 605

    on sudden speech or movement, a feature common to purely subjective and to telepathic specimens 573, 91

    Instances of 207, 414, 417, 436, 530, 542, 564, 60, 91, 451, 461, 464, 491, 500, 616

    Door opening or shutting, Hallucination of 214, 454, 532, 459, 492, 497, 543, 612, 626, 633, 694, 697

    “Double Consciousness” 69–70

    Dreams, Relation of, to waking hallucinations 296–7, 484–5, 539, 547

    Evidential weakness of, as a class 298–9

    of death, Census and computation relating to 303–10

    Dress and appurtenances of visual phantasms 540–6, 569–70, 90–6, 294–7

    Drowning-cases, Large proportion of 26

    EDGEWORTH, F. Y., his remarks on the application of the theory of probabilities to certain experimental results 26

    and to certain spontaneous results xxi

    Emotional impressions, Evidential weakness of, as a class 269–70

    Error, Possibility and effects of, in observation 123–5

    in inference 125–6

    in narration 126–9

    in memory 129–31

    Esdaile, Dr., Importance of his testimony 12–3, 88

    Evidence, experimental, Necessity of accumulating 19, 274

    Difference in the nature of, in experimental and in spontaneous cases 114–5

    {ii-728}

    Evidence, for telepathy, contrasted with that for other alleged marvels 115–22

    for phantasms of the living, contrasted with that for phantasms of the dead lxiii–iv, 121–2,512

    Points of, required in a typical case of spontaneous telepathy 131

    of the percipient as to facts 133–8

    as to dates 140–6

    Description of the, admitted to this book: its cumulative strength 158–66

    its deficiencies 167–9

    Expectancy, Effect of, in producing hallucinations 512–7

    Experimental and spontaneous telepathy, Connection between 110–3, 171–2, 271

    Experiments (See under various headings—Community of sensation, Cards, Diagrams, &c.)

    Externalisation of hallucinations, Various degrees in the 480–3, 29–38

    “FACES IN THE DARK473, 479, 492

    Falck, De Dæmonologiâ recentiorum Autorum 462, 168

    Fechner, Experiment of, in hallucination of colour 462–3

    Féré, Dr., Experiments of, in certain cases of hypnotic hallucination 468

    Folie à deux 458, 280

    Fragmentary appearances 416, 504, xxv, 33–4, 59, 512, 526

    GALTON, F., on the sympathy of twins 279

    Gifford, G., Dialogue concerning Witches 176

    Discourse of Subtill Practices 179

    Glanvil, Sadducismus Triumphatus 118, 174, 178–81, 184

    Godelmann, Tractatus de Magiis 175, 179

    Griesinger, Die Pathologic und Therapie der Psychischen Krankheiten 461, 467, 477, 494

    Guthrie, M., Experiments organised by 36–58

    HALLUCINATIONS OF THE SENSES

    Census of 6–24, 133–4

    Proportion of various types of, in the subjective and the telepathic classes 22–5

    Psychological identity of with dreams 484–5, 539, 547, 702

    Resemblances between subjective and telepathic specimens of 496–500, 572–3, xxii

    how far transferable from one person to another 183, 224–5, 279–82

    Epidemic 187

    Hypnotic 187–8

    Traditional 189

    “Particular,” i.e., unshared by persons present with the percipient, frequent in the telepathic class 573, 105

    Visual instances of 210, 218, 552, 560, 42, 43, 61, 163, 212, 287, 256, 455, 484, 495, 513, 517, 522, 542, 555, 557

    Auditory instances of 223, 452, 100, 104, 106, 109, 222, 485, 568, 569, 580, 581, 584

    Hartmann, E. von., on Spiritism 184

    {ii-729}

    Hereditary or family susceptibility to telepathic influence 573, 132

    Herschell [sic], Sir J. F. W., Experience of, in hallucinations 465, 472, 487

    Holland, A Treatise against Witchcraft 175, 179

    Holland, Sir H., Cases of hallucination recorded by 479, 481

    Hutchinson, F., Historical Essay concerning Witchcraft 174, 175, 176, 177, 180, 184

    Hypnotic effects, Telepathic production of 88–91, 332–3, 344, 676–87

    Hypnotism, Importance of, in psychical inquiries xlii–iii

    IDEAS, Experimental transference of, involving more than a single image or word 82, 94–5, 340–3, 345–8

    Illness, Possible effect of, in heightening telepathic susceptibility 360, 397, 424, 147, 162, 164, 176, 345–53, 358, 390, 464–5, 515, 703

    Illusions, Collective, distinguished from hallucinations 184–6

    “Hypnagogic” 390, 400–1, 473–4

    Telepathic, quite conceivable 62–3

    Imagery and symbolism of telepathic percepts 341–68, 539–54, 298–9, 412–27, 497, 612–3

    Inhibition of utterance or of particular movements in another person, by the power of the will 58–62

    JOLLY, PROF. F., Experiments of, in auditory hallucinations 470–1

    KAHLBAUM, Types of hallucination observed by 472, 476, 490, 491, 495

    Kandinsky, View of, on hallucinations 494

    Köppe, on auditory hallucinations 467, 471, 475, 480, 495

    Kraepelin, Ueber Trugwahrnehmungen 490, 495

    Krafft-Ebing, Die Sinnesdelirien 467, 476, 487, 502

    LANG, A., on popular superstitions 122, 550

    Lawson, D., Tryals of the New England Witches 477, 508

    Lecky, W. E. H., on witchcraft 177–9, 183–5

    Liébeault, Dr., Experiments of, in thought-transference 657–60

    Light (See Luminosity)

    Limitation, Arbitrary, of the interval of time in spontaneous telepathic cases to 12 hours 139–40, 511

    Locality, Occasional influence of 268, 301–2

    Loudun, Hysterical epidemic at 119

    Lowell, J. Russell, Features of subjective hallucination described by xxii

    Luminosity, a frequent feature of visual hallucinations, both in the subjective and in the telepathic class 550–1

    Examples of 417, 436, 437, 444, 550, 557, 561, 31, 46, 72, 76, 176, 181, 182, 204, 215, 416, 455, 459, 460, 475, 477, 478, 509, 512, 522, 611, 622, 629, 703–4

    Lyall, Sir A. C., Asiatic Studies 183

    MAYO, DR., Truths contained in Popular Superstitions 8

    McGraw, Dr., Observations of, on some rare features in the “willing-game” 15

    {ii-730}

    Mackenzie, Sir G., The Laws and Customs of Scotland 177, 183

    Magnan, Dr., Record of dramatic hallucinations by 477–8

    Malleus Maleficarum 116, 118, 173

    Marillier, L., Record of subjective hallucinations by 521, 32, 73, 99

    Marshall, Prof. A., on probabilities xxii

    Mather, Wonders of the Invisible World 181, 184, 477

    Maudsley, Dr., on certain alcoholic hallucinations 390

    Maury, Record of an illusion hypnagogique by 390

    Mazzini, Case of collective hallucination described by 188

    Mesmerism, Early connection of thought-transference with 11–3

    Erroneous ideas of the power of (See Hypnotic effects) 87, 92–3

    Mickle, Dr. W. J., on the cerebral seat of hallucinations 488–9

    Misrecognition on the percipient’s part 428, 429, 390, 422–3, 582–3, 633–4

    Mistakes of identity, how far an explanation of alleged telepathic phantasms 62–3, 243–4

    More, Gr., A True Discourse against S. Harsnet 119, 181, 182

    Motor-form of thought-transference, Experiments in the 62–81, 89–94

    Movement, a frequent feature of visual phantasms, both of the purely subjective and of the telepathic class 432, 573

    Musical hallucinations 503, 221–3, 639–41

    NEWNHAM, REV. P. H., Record of experiments by 63–70

    Subjective hallucinations described by 475, 481, 492, 72

    Nicolai’s hallucinations 458–9, 492

    Numbers, Experimental transference of ideas of 25, 34, 653–4, 661–4

    OCHOROWICZ, DR. J., Experiments of, in thought-transference 660–4

    PAIN, Experimental transferences of (See Community of sensation)

    Spontaneous transferences of, rare 189–90

    Parant, Dr. Y., Cases of hallucination recorded by 476, 490

    Paterson, Cases of hallucination recorded by 474, 38, 133

    Paul, C. Kegan, Experiments of, in community of sensation, &c. 666–9

    Percipience, telepathic, Various types of, in spontaneous cases 186–7

    Physical basis for telepathic phenomena very hard to conceive 111–13, 314–5

    discomfort on the percipient’s part 197, 273, 280, 371, 374

    Pick, Dr. A., Records of hallucinations by 472, 487

    Pitcairn, Criminal Trials of Scotland 176, 177

    Pollock, W. H., Case of collective illusion recorded by 185

    Porta, J. Baptista, Magia Naturalis 175

    Prediction, Power of, how far a test of scientific achievement 1–4

    Presence, Alleged feeling of, actual or potential hallucination 483–4, 528, 138

    Probabilities, Theory of, applied to experiments in thought-transference 26, 31–5, 73–6, 653–4

    applied to spontaneous telepathic occurrences 303–10, 12–21

    {ii-731}

    Psychical aspect of telepathic phenomena, that to which this work is confined 113

    Specialised meaning of the term 5

    Research, its peculiar difficulties and obligations 4–6, 130, 107–9, 6–8, 273

    Society for vii–x

    American Society for 35, 51

    Psychologie Physiologique, Société de 332–3, 679

    “Psycho-sensorial” hallucinations 461–4

    Common misunderstanding of the term 479

    RAPP, Die Hexenprocesse 176

    Rapport, Different sorts of 265–9

    Reciprocal telepathic affections 227, 153

    often assumed on quite inadequate grounds 154

    Apparent rarity of, how explicable 167, 303

    Recognised phantasms, Different proportion of to unrecognised, in the purely subjective and in the telepathic class 24–5

    Recognition, Absence of, generally but not always an evidential defect 220, 117, 137, 565

    of a phantasm sometimes delayed 520–7, 71, 82, 464

    Regis, Dr., on unilateral hallucinations 467

    Religious investiture of telepathic impressions 552–3, 414

    Remarks, Interchange of, with hallucinatory figure 476, 460, 505, 524, 584, 607

    Remy, Dæmonolatria 175, 180, 181, 182

    Repeated apparition of the same person 77–90

    occurrence of a telepathic experience to the same person 196, 22, 77

    Repetition of telepathic dreams after an interval 357–8

    Instances of 330, 340, 343, 357, 365, 418, 424, 447, 701

    of telepathic hallucinations after an interval 414–5, 105

    Visual instances of 414, 415, 445, 59, 467, 482, 500

    Auditory instances of 409, 100, 113, 120, 123, 228, 229, 473, 631, 633–4, 635

    Reuss, La Sorcellerie an 16me et 17me Siècle 176, 183

    Richet, Dr. C, his experiments in thought-transference 31–3, 72–81, 664–5

    L’Homme et l’Intelligence 118, 173, 462

    Rink, Tales and Traditions of the Eskimo 550

    Rudimentary hallucinations, visual 73–6

    auditory 125–32, 570–6, 635–9

    Rumour, Possible telepathic spread of 365

    ST. MÉDARD, The Convulsionnaires of 120

    Scot, R., The Discovery of Witchcraft 175

    Second-hand evidence, Defects and errors of lxxvii, 148–57, 496, 539

    Sort of, admitted to the Supplement 322

    “Second sight,” Remarks on 535

    {ii-732}

    Sensation, Community of (see Community)

    Telepathic production of by will 97–109, 671–6

    Sensory and non-sensory telepathic effects distinguished 186–7

    Sidgwick, Prof., on the moral factor in experiments 19–20

    Sikes, Wirt, British Goblins lxxx, 547

    Simon, Dr. Max, on a peculiar type of hallucination 481

    Solidity, apparent, Presence or absence of, in visual hallucinations 37–8

    Spee, Cautio Criminalis 176

    Spina, Quæstio de Strigibus 174, 175

    Sully, J., on a particular type of hallucination 477

    Supernormal and supersensuous, Meaning to be attached to the words xlvi, 7

    Supplement, Position of the, in the evidential case for telepathy 321–3

    TACTILE cases, hard to establish 225

    hallucinations, Rarity of 133–4

    Taine, his special use of the word hallucination 459

    Tamburini, on the physiology of hallucinations 487

    Tartarotti, Del Congresso Nocturno delle Lamie 175–6

    Taste, Experimental transferences of (see Community of Sensation)

    Telepathy, Two distinct branches of—the experimental and the spontaneous 8–9

    Important differences between them, evidentially, and theoretically 110–3, 114–5

    their true theoretic connection 171–2

    Spontaneous, two great divisions of—the sensory and the non-sensory class—which are further subdivided 186–7

    Relation of, to religious and to materialistic conceptions l–lvii

    Theosophy, so-called, Exposure of xlvii

    “Thought-reading,” Spurious exhibitions of 14–5, 17

    Thought-transference, a preferable term to “thought-reading” 10–1

    a less wide term than telepathy 11, 63

    Conditions of satisfactory experiments in, and importance of a cumulative proof 17–9, 85

    Three, Prevalence of the number, in accounts of abnormal phenomena 229

    Transitional cases, (or experiments to which the percipient is not knowingly a party) 86, 110, 671–87

    Importance of 171

    Difficulty of obtaining accounts of 109, 675

    Tuke, Dr. Hack, Case of collective illusion recorded by 185

    Tunes, Possible telepathic transference of 233–4

    Twins, Telepathic transferences between 279–83, 370, 46

    Two (or more) phantasmal figures, Proportion of appearances of, about equal in hallucinations of the purely subjective and of the telepathic class 546

    Instances of 450, 499, 529, 535, 544, 98, 144, 456, 469, 475, 482, 496, 506, 523, 534, 629

    Two or three senses, Different proportion of hallucinations affecting, in the purely subjective and in the telepathic class 23–4

    {ii-733}

    UNCONSCIOUS agency in experimental cases 78–9, 84, 670–1

    percipience 62–81, 84, 293, 379, 670–1

    intelligence lxii, 69–70, 230–1, 313–4

    Unconsciousness of the agent, Frequent, at the time when a spontaneous transference takes place 230–1

    Instances of, (swoon, coma, &c.) 194, 406, 435, 545, 548, 563, 569, 112, 394, 419, 517, 609

    Unrecognised phantasms, Different proportion of to recognised, in the purely subjective and in the telepathic class 24–5

    figures 218, 427, 452, 530, xxi, 61, 236, 256, 468–9, 493, 502, 517, 619, 694

    voices uttering words 227, 409, 553, 100, 114, 115, 116, 117, 119, 120, 122, 123, 137, 164, 470, 473, 561, 563, 565, 568, 584, 692

    VISUAL hallucinations, Different proportion of to auditory, in the purely subjective and in the telepathic class 22–3

    Numerical estimate relating to, in the two classes 16–20

    due to anxiety 506–9

    due to awe 510–2

    due to expectancy 512–4

    Rudimentary 73–6, 192–4

    Voisin, Dr., on various types of hallucination 465, 473, 495

    WAGSTAFFE, The Question of Witchcraft debated 183, 184

    Webster, on “possession” 182

    Wier, De Præstigiis Dæmonum 175, 179, 180, 181, 183

    Will, Relation of, to telepathic experiments 92–3

    Experiments in the silent exercise of 58–62, 89–91, 93–4, 676–7

    Effect of, in the production of the hypnotic state 88, 332–3, 679–87

    “Willing-game,” Results obtained at the, due to the interpretation of slight physical signs 14–5, 642

    Occasional hints of some further cause 15

    Witchcraft, Lack of evidence for the spurious marvels of lxxiii, 116–8, 172–7

    Mr. Lecky’s treatment of 177–9

    Certain genuine phenomena of, how explicable 179–83

    Words and names, Experimental transferences of 23–5, 27–9, 64, 66, 69, 74–9, 82–4, 655–7, 665

    Wundt, on “psychical energy” xli–ii

    on hallucinations 461, 474, 476, 487, 38 [actually 37n2, Ed.]

    {ii-734} {ii-735}

    PROCEEDINGS OF
    THE SOCIETY FOR PSYCHICAL RESEARCH.

    The price of each volume is half-a-guinea; the Parts can be obtained separately.

    VOLUME I.

    CONTAINING PARTS I.–IV.

    Objects of the Society.

    Address by the President at the first General Meeting.

    First Report of the Committee on Thought-Reading.

    Note on Thought-Reading. By PROFESSOR BALFOUR STEWART.

    Note on Thought-Reading. By Rev. A. M. CREERY.

    Appendix to the Report on Thought-Reading. By Professor W. F. BARRETT.


    Address by the President at the second General Meeting.

    Second Report of the Committee on Thought-Transference (with Illustrations).

    Preliminary Report of the “Reichenbach” Committee.

    First Report of the Committee on “Haunted Houses.”

    First Report of the Literary Committee.

    On “Clairvoyance,” by G. Wyld, M.D. (Abstract).


    Third Report of the Committee on Thought-Transference (with Illustrations). First Report of the Committee on Mesmerism. First Report of the “Reichenbach” Committee.

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    Address by the President at the fourth General Meeting.

    Second Report of the Committee on Mesmerism.

    Record of Experiments in Thought-Transference at Liverpool. By MALCOLM GUTHRIE, J.P., and JAMES BIRCHALL. Appendix to the Report on Mesmerism. Note on Muscle-Reading. By the Rev. E. H. SUGDEN. Constitution and Rules of the Society.


    VOLUME II.

    CONTAINING PARTS V.–VII.

    Fourth Report of the Committee on Thought-Transference.

    Third Report of the Committee on Mesmerism.

    An Account of some Experiments in Thought-Transference (with Illustrations). By MALCOLM GUTHRIE, J. P.

    Second Report of the Literary Committee.

    Note on the Existence of a “Magnetic Sense.” By Professor W. F. BARRETT.

    The Stages of Hypnotism. By EDMUND GURNEY.

    Report on Wells Sunk at Locking, Somerset, to Test the Alleged Power of the Divining Rod. By PROFESSOR W. J. SOLLAS, M.A., D.Sc.

    The Divining Rod. By EDWARD R. PEASE.

    Appendix I. Tabular Abstract of Evidence on the Divining Rod, collected by Mr. E. VAUGHAN JENKINS.

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    Third Report of the Literary Committee—A Theory of Apparitions. Part I.

    Second Report of the Committee on Haunted Houses, &c.

    Opening Address at the eighth General Meeting. By the PRESIDENT.

    Fourth Report of the Literary Committee—A Theory of Apparitions. Part II.

    {ii-736}

    Opening Address at the ninth General Meeting. By PROFESSOR BALFOUR STEWART, F.R.S.

    An Account of some Experiments in Thought-Transference. By PROFESSOR OLIVER J. LODGE, D. Sc.

    An Account of some Experiments in Mesmerism. By EDMUND GURNEY.

    Diagrams Illustrative of Thought-Transference.


    Automatic Writing. I. By FREDERIC W. H. MYERS.

    Abstract of the President’s Opening Address at the eleventh General Meeting.

    Account and Criticism of M. Richet’s recent Researches in Thought-Transference. By EDMUND GURNEY. With a Note by Professor OLIVER. J LODGE and ALFRED LODGE.

    The Problems of Hypnotism. By EDMUND GURNEY.


    VOLUME III.

    CONTAINING PARTS VIII. AND IX.

    Automatic Writing. II. By FREDERIC W. H. MYERS.

    Opening Address at the thirteenth General Meeting. By PROFESSOR BALFOUR STEWART, F.R.S.

    Notes on the Evidence, collected by the Society, for Phantasms of the Dead.

    By Mrs. H. SIDGWICK.

    Hallucinations. By EDMUND GURNEY.

    The Calculus of Probabilities applied to Psychical Research.—I. By F. Y. EDGEWORTH.


    Report on Phenomena connected with Theosophy

    (1) Statement and Conclusions of the Committee.

    (2) Account of Personal Investigations in India, and Discussion of the Authorship of the “Koot Hoomi” Letters (with Appendices). By RICHARD HODGSON.

    (3) Report of Mr. F. G. NETHERCLIFT on the Blavatsky-Coulomb Correspondence.

    (4) Note on Certain Phenomena not dealt with in Mr. Hodgson’s Account. By Mrs. H. SIDGWICK.

    (5) Details of the Evidence referred to on page 207. Contents of the Above Report.

    Some Higher Aspects of Mesmerism. By EDMUND GURNEY and FREDERIC W. H. MYERS.

    Further Report on Experiments in Thought-Transference at Liverpool. By MALCOLM GUTHRIE, J. P.

    Local Anæsthesia induced in the Normal State by Mesmeric Passes.

    Report on an alleged Physical Phenomenon.

    Catalogue of the Library (Abridged).


    PART X.

    Human Personality in the light of Hypnotic Suggestion. By FREDERIC W. H. MYERS.

    On some Physical Phenomena commonly called Spiritualistic, witnessed by the Author. By PROFESSOR W. F. BARRETT.

    Results of a Personal Investigation into the “Physical Phenomena” of Spiritualism, with some critical remarks on the Evidence for the genuineness of such phenomena. By MRS. H. SIDGWICK.

    The Possibilities of Mal-observation in relation to Evidence for the phenomena of Spiritualism. By CHARLES C. MASSEY.

    Note on Mr. Massey’s Paper. By PROFESSOR H. SIDGWICK.

    Experiments in Muscle-Reading and Thought-Transference. By MAX DESSOIR.

    On Telepathic Hypnotism, and its relation to other forms of Hypnotic Suggestion. By FREDERIC W. H. MYERS.

    The Calculus of Probabilities applied to Psychical Research.—II. By F. Y. EDGEWORTH.

    {ii-737}