BUFFALO, N. Y., [June, 1908].

"My Dear Mr. Hyslop:—

I have not been entirely inattentive to your letter of May, though your recent note gave my purpose a needed jog.

"Mrs. H—— has asked me to lay the following facts and circumstances before you:—

"Her brother died in 1876, at the age of twenty-one, after an illness whose entire course extended intermittently over several years. His grandfather had died when he was a small boy of about five.

"The grandfather's memory was dear to his mother and her family, but during this brother's illness, and especially toward the last when he knew he was dying, it is said that the grandfather's memory was not especially recalled.

"About seven in the evening, after he had been sinking and was supposed to be dying, the family being gathered about him, he opened his eyes and said "Grandfather," and looked as though he saw some one whom he addressed thus. He lingered through the night and died the next morning early.

"So, long a time has elapsed that more detailed incidents are not available, and would scarcely be reliable, I fancy.

"An aunt of Mrs. H—— died a few years after the death of her sister, Mrs. H— —'s mother. As she was dying she in the same manner as though recognizing some One dear to her, said 'Sis'—a title she was accustomed to giving her sister. The bystanders remarked the similarity to the manner and speech of the long-time dead brother of Mrs. H——.

"So far as these incidents are of service you are welcome to make use of them without name, unless necessary for verification of their truthfulness. With kind regards I am,

The following incident came from one of my former students, now a lawyer. His special interest in the matter was not awakened until he lost his wife. At my request he reported the present incident, after narrating it to me personally. The gentleman who might have corroborated it in writing was reluctant to do so, though he confirmed it viva voce [verbally].

March 3, 1908.

"Dear Professor:—

"I wish to give you the written account which you asked for of my observation when my wife died; she was a very spiritual girl and I always imagined in consequence that she did not have a very strong grip on life and was ready— psychologically and not voluntarily—to relinquish her hold. She was the youngest of a large family and was the particular pet of her father when a girl. Both her parents had been dead about ten years. She was not in the habit of mentioning her parents particularly, and all her interests were centered in her home. The last thing she said to me before she died was that she complained of being sleepy and from then on to the end, some two hours, she was not very conscious, as far as we could see, of her surroundings. When she was in the last struggle she called out 'Mama' once or twice, and later 'Papa! Papa! take me up, they are killing me.' (I remember this distinctly.) Shortly afterwards, some ten minutes, she passed away.

"Considering that she did not frequently speak of her parents, that at and shortly prior to her death she was too weak to speak to me, but nevertheless called out in a loud voice just as she was passing away, the incident is interesting as bearing upon the mental states at such transitional periods.

Yours faithfully,

"HARRISON CLARK, JR."

A man died in 1875, leaving a widow and six children. The three eldest children were admitted to an orphanage. Three years afterwards the widow died, and then the three remaining children were admitted to the orphanage. Some visitors came one day; and, as the place was full, the warden took a bed in the little ones' dormitory. In the night he suddenly awoke and saw a soft light in the room. He saw that it was not the gas light from the hall, and, turning round, he saw a wonderful vision. Over the second bed from his, 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. In this bed slept the youngest of the six children. The warden took the trouble to note that he was not dreaming, but went to sleep again. In the morning, while dressing, this youngest child looked at the warden with an extraordinary expression, and said:

"Oh, Mr. Jupp, my mother came to me last night. Did you see her?" The warden did not answer the child, though astonished at the statement, and nothing more was said about it.

 This is practically a case of shared experience, as two persons had an experience at approximately the same time. The following is from the same list by Mrs. Sidgwick. It was received from Mrs. Windridge, whose address was given in the account.

"November 9, 1882.

"About the year 1869, I was much interested in a poor woman who was dying in my neighborhood. I used to visit her frequently, until my friends prevented me from going any more, as the excitement rendered me ill. Eventually, when she died, they concealed the fact from me for some days.

"I was taking my little boy, three years old, up to bed one evening. It was dusk; and, when half-way up the first flight of stairs, I distinctly felt a pressure and a rustling of a dress at my side, as if a woman had brushed past me. There was no one there. On the second flight the pressure was repeated, but more unmistakably. The occurrence made me so nervous that, having put the boy to bed, I decided to remain with him until my husband came in. I accordingly lay down on the bed, facing him.

"Suddenly the boy started up. 'Oh, mother, there is a lady standing behind you!' At the same moment I felt a pressure which I knew to be that of my friend. I dared not look round.

"When my husband returned, I heard for the first time that my friend had died three days before."

Again the experience was shared, and bears the marks of purpose. The next has a human interest and is from the same collection. It was recorded by the Rev. C. C. Wambey.

 "During my residence in B. C., as curate in charge, it was my custom in the summer evenings to walk over the neighboring downs.

"On the evening of Sunday, August 20, 1874, I was strolling on the downs skirting Maricombe Hill, composing a congratulatory letter, which I proposed to write and post to my very dear friend W., so that he might have it on his birthday, the twenty-second, when I bhard a voice saying, 'What, write to a dead man; write to a dead man!' I turned sharply round, fully expecting to see some one close behind me. There was no one. Treating the matter as an illusion, I went on with my composition. A second time I heard the same voice, saying, more loudly than before, 'What, write to a dead man; write to a dead man!' Again I turned round. I was alone, at least bodily. I now fully understood the meaning of that voice; it was no illusion.

"Notwithstanding this, I sent the proposed letter, and in reply received from Mrs. W. the sad, but to me not unexpected, intelligence that her husband was dead."

Here is another brief instance from the same collection; it was the only experience of Mrs. Haly, who reported it.

 "On waking in broad daylight, I saw, like a shadowed reflection, a 'Very long coffin stretching quite across the ceiling of my room, and as I lay gazing at it, and wondering at its length and whose death it could foreshadow, my eyes fell on a shadowy figure of an absent nephew, with his back towards me, searching, as it were, in my book-shelf. That morning's post brought the news of his death in Australia. He was six foot two or three inches in height, and a book, taken from that very bookcase, had been my last present to him on his leaving England.

 "I have nothing to add to my 'true ghost story' in 'Temple Bar.' As to dates, be died on Thursday, September 19, 1866. I saw his appearance on Sunday, September 22, and officiated at his funeral on Wednesday, September 25.

"My wife's mother had in her service a coachman named P., with one son, James Henry P., who had been brought up by friends at a distance, and was apprenticed to a trade in London. His father had only twice casually mentioned him to me, and he had almost entirely slipped out of my mind, for, with a large seaside parish on my hands, of which I was curate, my time and attention were fully taken up with matters nearer home. I mention this, lest in the course of the following story my readers should chance to think that a deep impression, previously made on my own mind, had predisposed me to see what I saw, and afterwards to regard it in a supernatural light. I cannot, therefore, too emphatically repeat that I knew next to nothing about James Henry P., my friend's son; that I had never seen him; and seldom, if ever, thought of him at all.

 "It was a hot and bright afternoon in summer, and, as if it were only yesterday, I remember perfectly well walking down the broad bright street in the broad bright afternoon. I had to pass the house of P. I remarked indeed that all his window blinds were drawn carefully down, as if to screen his furniture, of which his wife was inordinately proud, from the despoiling blaze of the afternoon sun. I smiled inwardly at the thought. I then left the road, stepped up on the side pavement, and looked over the area rails into the front court below. A young man, dressed in dark clothes, and without a hat, and apparently about twenty years of age, was standing at the door beneath the front steps. On the instant, from his likeness to my friend P., I seemed to recognize his son. We both stood and looked very hard at each other. Suddenly, however, he advanced to that part of the area which was immediately below where I was standing', fixed on me a wide, dilated, winkless sort of stare, and halted. The desire to speak was evidently legible on his face, though nothing audible escaped from his lips. But his eyes spoke; every feature in his countenance spoke, spoke, as it were, a silent language, in which reproach and pain seemed equally intermingled. At first I was startled; then I began to feel angry. 'Why,' I said to myself, 'does he look at me in that manner?' At last, annoyance prevailing over surprise, I turned away with the half-muttered thought: 'He certainly knows me by sight as a friend of his father, and yet has not the civility to salute me. I will call on the first opportunity and ask his reason for such behavior.' I then pursued my way and thought no more of what had just occurred.

"On Wednesday it was my turn to officiate at the local cemetery. On my asking who was to be buried, I was told that it was a young man from my quarter of the town, who had died of consumption. I cannot give the reason, but immediately I felt startled and ill at ease. It was not that I had the least suspicion that anything extraordinary was about to happen. I had quite forgotten young P. The feeling which I think was uppermost in my mind was annoyance at the fact that anyone should have died of such a slow disease in my parish, but without my knowledge. I asked without delay for the registrar's certificate. My eyes fell on the words, 'James Henry P., aged twenty-one years! I could scarcely believe my own senses.

"I lost but little time before calling on P. and his wife. I found the latter at home, and what she had to say only made me more uncomfortable still. James Henry P. bore such a close resemblance to his father that all who saw him remarked on the striking likeness. In addition to this, during the last three months of his life, which he spent under his father's roof, he had often wondered that I did not come to see him. His longing for an interview with me had been most intense; and every time he saw me pass the house without going in he had both felt and expressed a keen disappointment. In fact, he died terribly in earnest, wishing in vain to the last that I would come. That thought pierced me through and through. I had not gone to him, but he had come to me. And yet I would have gone, if I had but known. I blame the doctor for not telling me; I blame the parents for not sending for me; and with that awful look he gave me in my remembrance, I blame myself, though I cannot tell why.

"James Henry P. had died on the Thursday before the Sunday on which I had seen him. He had died, too, in the front room, on a level with the area, into which its window opened. He had also lain there till the Wednesday following, awaiting burial. His corpse then was lying in that very room on that very Sunday, and at the very moment, too, when I had seen his living likeness, as it were, in the area outside. Nobody, I found, had passed through the area that day; the door there had been locked and unused all the Sunday. The very milkman, the only person who called, had come by the front steps to the house; and P. and his wife were the only inmates at the time."

Mr. Myers quotes from the "Census of Hallucinations," Volume X of the English "Proceedings," a case of which that report says: "Unless we accept the hypothesis of chance coincidence, the evidence for the agency of the dead is certainly strong, because any other explanation compatible with the veracity of the narrators requires a very complicated and improbable hypothesis." The following is the narrative [p. 3831:

"Rio DE JANEIRO, March 12, 1892.

[After relating his first meeting, in June, 1886, with "Deolinda," a child whom he had found in great poverty and had taken charge of, and her death from consumption shortly afterwards, Senor Cabral continues:—]

"Some months passed, and my family (which now included my wife's other sister, Amelia) went to stay at a plantation belonging to friends. I escorted them thither, and returned to attend to my obligations in the city. In order not to be alone, I accepted the invitation of my friend, Barboza de Andrade, and went to live with him in S. Christovam. One!month afterwards, a sister of Barboza's, who was ill, came into his house. She grew daily worse, and after the lapse of a few months had sunk so low that we had to sit up with her at night.

"One night when I had taken my turn at nursing, I felt sleepy, and went to lie down. Two sisters, Donnas Anna Ignez Dias Fortes and Feliciana. Dias (now deceased), took my place. I had made their acquaintance but a few days before. After stretching myself on the bed, I was filled with a feeling of unbounded joy. I was happy, and could not imagine what was the cause of my happiness. I had a sensation as if some one were holding my head and placing something round it.

"Astonished at my experience, I called to the ladies who were watching in the next room, and Donna Feliciana, though from the place where she was seated she could not see me, answered me back, 'I see at your bedside a spirit child clothed in white. She places on your head a crown of roses. She says her name is Deolinda, and she comes to thank you for the kindness and charity with which you behaved to her.' I was amazed at such a declaration, for that very day was the anniversary of Deolinda's death, and neither I nor any other person in the house had recollected this. Besides, I had never spoken on the subject.

"ULYSSES CABRAL."

The two ladies write that they knew nothing of the story of Deolinda and confirm the narrative as told. The incident is especially interesting as involving a tactual phantasm by Senor Cabral himself, veridical in nature, and probably affected by the condition of the dying woman, as it is possible that phantasms of the kind require some energy supplied by the living who are in a state to generate it, a state on the borderland of death.

The next case is remarkably interesting, as it is not only a phantasm of the dead, but is accompanied by the account of a phantasm of another person definitely related to the decedent and appearing to other persons as a premonition of her death, and is also a vision of the dying person, so that it combines three characteristics of great interest. It also is quoted by Mr. Myers from the "Census of Hallucinations." Mrs. B. is the writer of the narrative.

April, 1892.

At Fiesole, on March 11, 1869, I was giving my little children their dinner at half-past one o'clock. It was a fine hot day. As I was in the act of serving macaroni and milk from a high tureen, so that I had to stand to reach it, and give my attention to what I was doing, on raising my head (as much from fatigue as for any purpose), the wall opposite me seemed to open, and I saw my mother lying dead on her bed in her little house at ——. Some flowers were at her side and on her breast: she looked calm, but unmistakably dead, and the coffin was there.

"It was so real that I could scarcely believe that the wall was really brick and mortar, and not a transparent window—in fact, it was a wall dividing the hotel in which we were living from the Carabinieri. "I was in very weak health—suffering intensely with neuralgia—having gone through 'a bad confinement, brought on by traveling, the baby was almost still born, on January 31.

"Owing to a family quarrel, I had left England without telling my people where I was going; but I was so fond of my mother that, when in Paris, I made an excuse to write to an old servant, who lived with my mother, to ask her for a toy which we had left with her,—the object being to get news of my mother. Reply came that for years she had not been so well and strong; thus I had no reason for imagining her to be dead.

"I was so distressed at the vision, that I wrote to her (my mother) to give her my address, and entreat her to let me know how she was. By return of post came the statement that she had died on March 5, and was buried on the eleventh. At the hour I saw her, she was removed from her home to Kensal Green Cemetery. She had wished to see me so much that letters had been sent to a great many continental cities, hoping I might be found; but I never got a letter from my sister till long after I had received the news of my mother's death.

"When I was married, my mother made me promise, as I was leaving home, to be sure to let her know in any way God permitted if I died, and she would try to find some way of communicating to me the fact of her death—supposing that circumstances prevented the usual methods of writing or telegraphing. I considered the vision a fulfilment of this promise, for my mind was engrossed with my own grief and pain—the loss of baby, and my neuralgia, and the anxieties of starting a new life.

"My youngest sister, since dead, was called to my mother and left Devonshire, where she was staying with friends, to come home. When she arrived at home, she entered the drawing-room, but rushed out terrified, exclaiming that she had seen godmamma, who was seated by the fire in my mother's chair. Godmamma had been dead since 1852. She had been my mother's governess—almost foster­mother; had lived with her during her married life, been godmother to her eldest girl, and when my father died had accepted the duty of taking his place as far as possible in the family, to shield her from trouble and protect her—a duty which she fulfilled nobly.

"My other sister went into the drawing-room to see what had scared K——, and saw the figure of godmamma, just as K—— had. Later in the day, the same figure stood by, then sat on the edge of my mother's bed, and was seen by both my sisters and the old servant, looking just as she had when alive, except that she wore a gray dress, and, as far as we could remember, she had always worn black. My mother saw her, for she turned towards her and said 'Mary'—her name."

This is also an instance of what the English investigators call a it compact case," which means an instance in which the parties concerned had made a promise between them to return. George Pelham was a case of the kind and Mr. Myers enumerates twelve such cases. But I turn now to some American instances of the kind; I shall only summarize the first case.

 A man died on April 12,1905. On the twentieth of May following, the sister-in-law was washing the dishes in the kitchen, and her sister was playing the piano, when the sister in the kitchen saw an apparition of her brother-in-law lying in bed straight in front of her just where she had seen him for the last month of his life. The music played on the piano was the same that the sister had played for him during his last illness.

The next case I must also abbreviate, as it is very long. It is reported by Dr. Heysinger, who took it from the autobiography of Captain Little, of the merchant service out of Baltimore. The book was entitled, "Life on the Ocean; or, Twenty Years at Sea."

 It was a clear night. All had turned in. About midnight the captain was called by the sailor on the watch, who said that there was on deck a woman dressed in black, who was calling for him. Believing the sailor to be half drunk, as was generally the case at that period, the captain drove him away; but the sailor persisted in his statement and pointed out the place where he had seen and talked with the woman. Diligent search revealed nothing and they all turned in again. About two hours later another sailor, who was a perfectly sober man, called the captain again with the same story of a woman calling for the captain. The crew corroborated his testimony. Search was made again but without effect. The sailors, being somewhat superstitious, wanted to be discharged, but the captain would not listen to it. They felt that the apparition was a premonition that the ship was going down. On the captain's stubborn refusal they went to work, and the ship stood out to sea. On the second day they encountered a terrific storm and all were fearful of the consequences. At midnight, precisely, the ghostly visitor appeared again, but neither Captain C—— nor the narrator of the story saw it. The vessel reached Martinique safely and went thence to Guadaloupe, where yellow fever seized some of the crew; during the raging of this malady the same visitor was seen again by the crew. On reaching home after the return voyage, Captain C—— received a letter saying that his wife was dead.

On comparing the time of her demise with that of the first appearance of the lady in black, while the ship Jay in Annapolis Roads, he found that the time exactly corresponded.

But for the subsequent apparitions this case would be classified with phantasms of the living or of those just dying. The next instance is a "compact case" and was reported to me by the Rev. A. B. Weymouth, a missionary in the Hawaiian Islands.

"LAHAINA, HAWAIIAN ISLANDS, October 24, 1910.

Dear Dr. Hyslop:

"When I was living in Los Angeles, California, I became acquainted with Mrs. Jennie D—— who seemed to be a congenial soul. In the autumn of 1888, Mrs. D—— and I made a verbal agreement that the one who should first enter the spiritual world should return (d.v.) and appear to the other. In the spring of 1898, the lady became seriously ill and after a few months of suffering passed away. As no tidings came from the deceased, I supposed that some unexpected obstacle prevented her return. But at last the long silence was broken. On Saturday evening, October 22, 1910, I retired to rest soon after nine o'clock. After refreshing sleep I awoke with the impression that something unusual was about to happen. Then I distinctly heard a voice saying: 'Jennie D. is coming.' A few moments later, something like a bright cloud appeared in my bedroom.

In the midst of the cloud I recognized the form of my long lost friend. While hovering in the air she sang two verses sweetly. Then other spirit forms appeared (the faces not recognized) and joined in the refrain.

I had never heard the words or the music before; and I regret that I cannot recall the words. They were very beautiful and so was the melody.

When the music ceased, the bright cloud and the celestial visitors disappeared and my room was dark again. I arose immediately, lighted a lamp, looked at my watch and made a record of the incident. The time of the vision was 12.30 on Sunday morning.

Sincerely yours,

"A. B.WEYMOUTH."

"I left the library, and found I had missed my train. Next morning I mentioned what I had seen to a local clergyman who, on hearing my description, said, 'Why, that's old Q!' Soon after I saw a photograph (from a drawing) of Q., and the resemblance was certainly striking. Q. had lost all his hair, eyebrows and all, from (I believe) a gunpowder accident. His walk was a peculiar, rapid, high-shouldered shuffle.

 Mr. Edmunds then asked R. whether, when Q. was alive, he was accustomed to hear in this library any sound that at all resembled the ringing; he replied that he was. Upon that spot on the table whence the sound appeared to proceed there used to stand an old cracked gong, which when Q. wanted one of his boys, he used to strike; it sounded like the vibration which the three men had heard. Thus, on the fifth anniversary, to the very hour, of the old man's death, a phantasmal bell reminded them of his presence.

 A number of experiments were then held, and the alleged Q. was interrogated with some success. But the important fact is, that a series of shared experiences and of real or alleged messages came, strengthening the significance of the first apparition; it is only the phantasmal phenomena that are important in this connection.

 The following incident has a romantic and perhaps pathetic interest.

It was in the collection of Dr. Hodgson, which came to me after his death; and, as I knew the person who had reported it, I took the pains to have it fully confirmed. It was written out by the lady herself and reported to Dr. Hodgson in 1904. Mrs. Howell did not date her account.