I have, from time to time, witnessed many manifestations which I believe to have been superphysical, both from the peculiarity of their properties, and from the effects their presence invariably produced on me—an effect I cannot associate with anything physical.
One of the first occult phenomena I remember, appeared to me when I was about five years of age. I was then living in a town in the West of England, and had, according to the usual custom, been put to bed at six o'clock. I had spent a very happy day, playing with my favourite toys—soldiers—and not being in the least degree tired, was amusing myself with planning a fresh campaign for the following morning, when I suddenly noticed that the bedroom door (which I distinctly remembered my nurse carefully latching) was slowly opening. Thinking this was very curious, but without the slightest suspicion of ghosts, I sat up in the bed and watched.
The door continued to open, and at last I caught sight of something so extraordinary that my guilty conscience at once associated it with the Devil, with regard to whom I distinctly recollected to have spoken that afternoon in a sceptical, and I frankly admit, very disrespectful manner. But far from feeling the proximity of that heat which all those who profess authority on Satanic matters ascribe to Satan, I felt decidedly cold—so cold, indeed, that my hands grew numb and my teeth chattered. At first I only saw two light, glittering eyes that fixed themselves on me with an expression of diabolical glee, but I was soon able to perceive that they were set in a huge, flat face, covered with fulsome-looking yellow spots about the size of a threepenny bit. I do not remember noticing any of the other features, save the mouth, which was large and gaping. The body to which the head was attached was quite nude, and covered all over with spots similar to those on the face. I cannot recall any arms, though I have vivid recollections of two thick and, to all appearances, jointless legs, by the use of which it left the doorway, and, gliding noiselessly over the carpet, approached an empty bed, placed in a parallel position to my own. There it halted, and thrusting its misshapen head forward, it fixed its malevolent eyes on me with a penetrating stare. On this occasion, I was far less frightened than on any of my subsequent experiences with the occult. Why, I cannot say, for the manifestation was certainly one of the most hideous I have ever seen. My curiosity, however, was far greater than my fear, and I kept asking myself what the Thing was, and why it was there?
It did not seem to me to be composed of ordinary flesh and blood, but rather of some luminous matter that resembled the light emanating from a glow-worm.
After remaining in the same attitude for what seemed to me an incalculably long time, it gradually receded, and assuming, all of a sudden, a horizontal attitude, passed head first through the wall opposite to where I sat. Next day, I made a sketch of the apparition, and showed it to my relatives, who, of course, told me I had been dreaming. About two weeks later I was ill in bed with a painful, if not actually dangerous, disease. I was giving an account of this manifestation at a lecture I delivered two or three years ago in B., and when I had finished speaking was called aside by one of my audience who very shyly told me that he, too, had had a similar experience. Prior to being attacked by diphtheria, he had seen a queer-looking apparition that had approached his bedside and leaned over him. He assured me that he had been fully awake at the time, and had applied tests to prove that the phenomenon was entirely objective.
A number of other cases, too, have been reported to me, in which various species of phantasms have been seen before different illnesses. Hence I believe that certain spirits are symbolical of certain diseases, if not the actual creators of the bacilli from which those diseases arise. To these phantasms I have given the name of Morbas. I have seen two other morbas in addition to the one I have already described. The first case happened to me when I was in Dublin, reading for the Royal Irish Constabulary at the then well-known Queen's Service Academy, Ely Place. I lodged in Merrion Street, and above my rooms were those of a Mr. Charles Clifford, at that time a briefless barrister, but who afterwards established a big reputation in the West Indies, where he eventually died. I became very friendly with Mr. Clifford, whose father had been a contemporary with several of my relations—also barristers—at Trinity College. One particularly mild evening,—if I remember rightly it was in the beginning of September—I was chatting away with him in his sitting-room, when he suddenly complained of feeling extremely cold, and asked me if I would mind shutting the window, as I was nearest to it. As I got up in order to carry out his wishes, I noticed that the curtain on the near side of the recess (it was a bay window) was rustling in a very peculiar manner, and I was just going to call my friend's attention to it when I perceived the most odd-looking, yellow hand suddenly emerge from the drapery. Sick with fear, but urged on by a curiosity I could not restrain, I approached the curtain, and, pulling it aside vigorously, found myself confronted by the tall, nude, yellow figure of something utterly indefinable. It seemed to me to be wholly composed of some vibrating, luminous matter. Its head was large and round, its eyes light green, oblique and full of intense hatred. I did not notice any other features. Its awful expression of malignity so fascinated me that I could not remove my gaze from its face, and I was standing still and staring at it helplessly, unable to move or speak, when Clifford asked what in the world was the matter. The moment he spoke the phenomenon vanished, and the spell which its appearance had cast over me being thus broken, I shut the window and returned to my seat.
I did not mention what I had seen to Clifford, as he was of an extremely nervous temperament, and, like the majority of Irishmen, very superstitious. I made, however, a note of the occurrence in my diary, and was not surprised when, eight or nine days later, Clifford was ill in bed with a malignant disease.
The second instance happened when I was on tour with No. 1 Company of "The Only Way." We were performing in Plymouth, and I was sharing rooms with an actor of the name of Cornelius, who had lately joined us from a Dramatic School in Oxford Street. Saturday night, as every one in the profession knows, is the most tiring night in the week, for apart from there being a matinÉe that day, there is packing to be done after the evening performance, and one rarely, if ever, leaves the theatre before half-past twelve or one o'clock. On the Saturday night I am about to speak of, Cornelius, who did not appear in the last act, had gone home before me, and on my leaving the theatre an hour or so later, I found the streets in the vicinity of our lodgings silent and deserted. I was hastening along, thinking, I admit, of the good things that awaited us at supper, for Cornelius, who arranged the meals, was an excellent caterer, when, just as I was turning in at our gate, I saw a tall figure come out of the house and approach me with a peculiar, gliding motion. A cold terror at once ran through me, for I instinctively felt that the figure was nothing human. Overcoming, with a desperate effort, a sudden sensation of helplessness, I moved aside, and, as I did so, the figure halted; I then perceived that it was exactly like the yellow phantasm I had seen in Dublin some nine or ten years previously. It remained stationary for, perhaps, forty seconds, when it seemed to dissolve into the mist. I then pushed open the gate and entered the house. I made a note of the vision, and learned some few weeks later that an actor, who was then in the rooms we had occupied, had fallen a victim there to the same malady that had attacked Clifford.
From the numerous cases that have been related to me, as well as from my own experience, I have come to the conclusion that certain species of phantasms prefer to appear to children, and only under exceptional circumstances manifest themselves to adults.
One of these species bears a slight resemblance to Pixies, inasmuch as they are exceedingly diminutive; but there the likeness ends. For whereas Pixies, from most of the statements I have heard regarding them, are an intelligent race of fairies that prefer places remote from the haunts of men, these phantasms do not seem to possess any intelligence or feeling at all, and are frequently to be seen in houses occupied by living people. Their visits, apparently, have no object—they are merely forms consisting of matter without mind. Night after night, when I was a little boy, I used to lie awake watching half a dozen or so of these tiny phantasms moving about the floor or turning round and round on the top of a wardrobe that faced the bed. In appearance they were more or less like men—never women—but always grotesque, with big heads, long beards, and something odd in the shape of their limbs and bodies. Their faces were uniformly white, and utterly devoid of expression. I was never in the least degree afraid of them, but often felt very much annoyed because they did not do anything sensible. On the slightest sound or movement on my part they instantly vanished, and would not appear again till the following evening.
I daresay some writers on Occultism would classify them with Nature Spirits, but I prefer to designate them a species of the genus "Elemental"—that is to say, a species of the phantasm that has never inhabited any kind of earthly body.
One afternoon in May, many years ago,—I was a very young child at the time,—I happened to be staying with some friends in the country, and on running to the nursery window to look at what I thought was one of the household behaving in a very odd manner in the garden, I perceived to my astonishment the figure of a woman with a long beard, rolling about on the lawn as if in great agony.
There was something so odd, both in her appearance and actions, that I was too fascinated to remove my gaze from her, and in breathless silence watched her slowly rise up and approach the window. I then saw that her face was hardly like that of a human being, but resembled rather some very grotesque kind of animal, and that her fingers, which she kept opening and shutting, were short and webbed. She did not impress me as being either horrible or malignant, and I was noticing, with the keenest interest, the peculiarities of her formation when one of the servants entered the nursery, and she instantly vanished.
How to classify this phenomenon, I must confess I am somewhat puzzled. It does not appear to me to belong altogether to the order of Vagrarian, and yet I know of no other species of phantasm to which it is more nearly allied. This type of ghost, i.e., the Vagrarian, is very often seen by children. It is a species of Elemental, and is in my opinion a survival (or descendant) of the earliest attempts at life on this planet—possibly an experiment in forms of life half physical, half superphysical—prior to the creation and selection of animal and vegetable life as it is known to us.
In addition to the power of materialising and dematerialising at will, Vagrarians can, at times, exercise a certain amount of physical force. I have heard of them, for example, moving furniture, banging on doors and walls, and making all sorts of similar disturbances. I have used the expression, "or descendants," with regard them because I think it is quite feasible that Vagrarians are mortal, and that they possess some especial means of generating.
They are generally to be met within lonely places—country lanes and spinneys, empty houses, isolated barns, and on moors, commons, and hill-tops. In appearance they are caricatures of man and beast—sometimes compounds of both—and would seem to possess a great diversity of form. I have, for example, had them described to me as tall, thin figures with tiny, rotund, or flat, rectangular, or wholly animal heads, and again as short, squat figures with a similar variety of heads. They are probably the most terrifying of all apparitions, as, apart from the grotesqueness of their bodies, the expression in their eyes is invariably diabolical; they seem, indeed, to be animated with an intense, an absolutely unlimited, animosity to every form of earthly life. Why, I cannot, of course, say, unless it is that they are jealous of both man and beast, whom they might possibly regard as the usurpers of a sphere which was at one time strictly confined to themselves. My first experience of this kind of phantasm occurred when I was a boy. I was staying with some friends in a large old country house in the Midlands, and being, even at that early age, fond of adventure, I frequently used to wander off alone in order to explore the adjacent neighbourhood. On one of these peregrinations I arrived at a farm which, for some reason or other, happened just then to be untenanted. Delighted at the prospect of examining the empty buildings, I scaled a gate, and, crossing a paved yard, entered a large barn. The sight of one or two rats scurrying away at my approach made me wish I had my friend's terrier with me, and I was turning to look for a stone or some missile to throw at them, when a noise in the far corner of the building attracted my attention. It was now twilight, and the only windows in the place being small, dirty, and high from the ground, the further extremities of the barn were bathed in gloom, and in a gloom that made me feel nervous. Following the direction of the sound, I looked and saw to my inconceivable horror a tall, luminous something with a white rectangular head, crouching on the floor. As its long, glittering, evil eyes met mine it sprang up (I then perceived that it was fully seven feet high and perfectly nude), and, with its spidery arms poised high in the air, darted forward. Shrieking at the top of my voice, I flew, and my wild cries for help being overheard by some of my friends, who chanced to be returning home that way, they at once came to my assistance. I shall never forget their faces, for I am sure my cries frightened them almost as much as the apparition had frightened me. To assure me it must have been my imagination, they searched the building, and, of course, saw nothing, as the phantasm had, doubtless, dematerialised. I made enquiries, however, on the quiet about the farm, and learned that it had always borne the reputation for being haunted, and that it was on that account that it was then untenanted. Needless to say, I never ventured there again alone!
When I was in Dublin in 1892, I stayed for a while at a boarding-house in Leeson Street. The house, which was large and gloomy, impressed me from the very first with a sense of loneliness, and I intuitively felt that all its denizens were not of flesh and blood. I occupied a bedroom on the first floor, on which at the time of my visit there were only two other people, both of whom slept in rooms opposite to mine, on the other side of the landing. The shape of my room was rendered somewhat peculiar owing to the deep window recess on the one side, and the still deeper alcove, in which my bed stood, on the other. In the twilight, whilst the former of these recesses was filled with the weirdest shadows imaginable, the latter was so bathed in gloom as to be hardly discernible at all. The furniture, which reflected the past glories of the proprietress, who, like so many people in that position in Dublin, belonged to an at one time wealthy family of landed proprietors, consisted of a massive mahogany four-poster, handsomely carved and draped in faded yellow tapestry, a huge, mahogany wardrobe, an ottoman, covered with tapestry, adorned at irregular intervals with the most grotesque arabesque figures; a bog-oak chest, richly carved and always kept locked; two antique, big, oaken chairs, and several rather damaged and painfully modern cane-bottomed ones; a threadbare carpet that might have been a Brussels, and just the necessary amount of ordinary bedroom articles, several of which were very much the worse for wear.
I never liked the room, for, apart from its habitual darkness—a darkness that seemed to me to be quite independent of the daylight—there was in it an atmosphere of intense oppression, an oppression that seemed to arise solely and wholly from an evil influence. Night after night my sleep was disturbed by the most harrowing dreams, from which I invariably awoke with a start to find my heart beating violently, and my body bathed in perspiration. Those sort of dreams were quite unusual to me; indeed, I had seldom had them since I was a child; they certainly could not be in any way accounted for by my state of health, which was quite normal, nor by my food, which was of the simplest and most digestive nature. Though ashamed to admit it, I at last grew to dread going to bed on account of those dreams, and I accordingly requested the proprietress of the establishment to give me another room. This she somewhat reluctantly promised to do the following day. Overjoyed at the prospect of so speedy a deliverance from a room I so cordially feared and detested, I went to bed that night with a comparatively light heart, assuring myself gleefully that it would be the last time I should sleep there. I can remember even now my thoughts as I undressed. What an inadequate light my candle gave as I placed it on the chimney-piece, and watched its feeble, flickering flame vainly trying to dissipate the heavy folds of darkness that seemed to roll in on me from the surrounding nooks and crannies with unprecedented intensity! How unusually bright the surface of the mirror looked, and with what remarkable clearness it reflected the bog-oak chest! The bog-oak chest! I could not remove my eyes from it, and as I stared at its image in the glass, I saw to my horror the long-locked, heavy cover slowly begin to rise. Gradually, very gradually, it opened, until I fancied I could detect something grey and evil peering out at me. My terror was now so great that I dare not turn round to look at the actual chest, but was compelled by an irresistible fascination to keep my attention riveted on the mirror, upon the surface of which there suddenly fell a dark and fantastically shaped shadow that, apparently proceeding from the chest, moved stealthily towards my bed, and disappeared in the innermost recesses of the dimly-lighted alcove. I was so unnerved by this incident that it was only after a series of severe mental efforts that I could persuade myself to make a thorough examination of the room, and so satisfy myself that what I had seen was in all probability the result of my imagination. With timid footsteps I first of all approached the chest—it was still locked. I then advanced more complacently to the bed, and, falling on my hands and knees, peered under it—there was nothing to be seen! Endeavouring to persuade myself now that there were absolutely no grounds for fear, and that mere shadows—for whichever way I turned, the room was full of them—could do me no harm, I undressed, and, blowing out the candle, got into bed. Having spent the day fishing off the Mugglestone Rocks, near Dalkey (in company with two of my fellow students at the Queen's Service Academy), I felt healthily tired, and, after a few preliminary turns and twists to get into a comfortable position, was soon fast asleep. I awoke with a violent start, just as the clock on the landing outside solemnly struck two. The house was wrapped in complete silence, and, beyond a few occasional creakings on the stairs and in—so I fancied—the recess of the window, I could hear nothing. The sky, which had been covered with a thick coating of grey mist all the day, had cleared, and a silvery stream of moonlight, pouring in through the open window, flooded that side of the room on which stood the bog-oak chest. Again my eyes involuntarily wandered to the mirror, which was exactly opposite to where I lay, and again, with even greater horror than before, I watched the lid of the chest slowly begin to rise. Wider and wider it opened, until, with a faint click, it fell back on its hinges and struck the wall. I then saw a tall, grey shape climb out of it, and, with a snake-like movement of its long limbs, advance silently towards me. Though it was in the full glare of the moonbeams, I cannot say definitely what it was like, saving that it impressed me with a strong sense of its utter grotesqueness, a grotesqueness that at once pronounced it a Vagrarian. Paralysed with terror, and unable to move or utter a sound, I was constrained to sit bolt upright and await its approach. Though I could see no distinct eyes, I felt they were there, and that they were fixed on me all the time with insatiable glee and malice. Nearer and nearer it drew, until, gliding round the foot of the bed, it passed along by me, accompanied by a current of icy cold air that made every tooth in my head chatter. I then became conscious of some powerful magnetic force drawing me backwards, and as I sank gasping and panting on the pillow, a hideous, nude form rose quivering over me, and I lost consciousness. When I regained my senses the greyness of dawn was struggling for mastery with the moonbeams, and the Vagrarian had gone. That night, as I passed the door of the now vacated room on the way to my new and somewhat brighter quarters, I heard a soft chuckle proceeding, as I felt certain, from the bog-oak chest—but I did not stop to investigate.
Oddly enough, that same year I had another experience of a similar nature, whilst staying with some relatives of mine in a town many miles remote from Dublin.
My bedroom on this occasion, however, was a cheerful contrast to the one in which I witnessed the phenomenon in Dublin, and from the fact that the colour of its wallpaper, carpet, curtains, bed-hangings, and furniture was emerald, was appropriately termed the Green Room. Its windows, large and low down, overlooked a garden that had been at one time, so I was told, a morass, and this garden, which was even now, at certain seasons of the year, excessively damp, was, in my opinion, the only drawback to an otherwise charming place. The first time I saw it, which was in my early childhood, I felt a cold, apprehensive chill steal over me, nor did I, subsequently, ever pass by it without experiencing a sensation of extreme horror and aversion. Consequently, much as I liked the Green Room itself, I would have infinitely preferred sleeping on the other side of the house. For the first few nights, however, I slept well, and the room was so warm and sunny that I was even beginning to get over my antipathy to its prospect, when I received a rude shock. I had gone to bed at about eleven o'clock as usual, and, being unable to sleep, was formulating in my brain plans for the morrow, when I suddenly felt the bed violently agitated. My first thought was that some one was playing a practical joke on me, but I quickly pooh-poohed that idea, since, with the exception of one of the servants, I was by far the youngest person in the house, and my relatives were much too staid and sensible even to think of doing such a stupid thing. I next thought of burglars, and being a great deal younger and, I admit, pluckier than I am now, I struck a light, and, jumping out of bed, looked under it. There was nothing there. Greatly relieved, I hastily got into bed again, and, blowing out the candle, lay down. For some minutes all was still, and then the foot of the bed rose several inches from the ground, and, falling down with a dull crash, was shaken furiously. I was now very much frightened, for I knew the disturbance was due to nothing purely physical. Just at that very moment, too, a strong gust of air blowing in through the window transported the atmosphere of the garden, and simultaneously I was seized with a sense of utter loneliness and despair. Lying back on my pillow, I now perceived the glistening white figure, quite nude, of what looked like an abnormally tall, thin man, with a cylindrical-shaped head, crawl from beneath my bed, and, suddenly assuming an erect position, bound to the window, through which he vanished to the darkness beyond.
The following day I made some excuse, and returned to Dublin; nor have I ever slept in the Green Room since. From the general appearance of the phenomenon, though I did not see its face, I have no hesitation in saying that it was a Vagrarian, and that the primitive nature of the garden attracted it thither.
That the famous Irish Banshee, like the Drummer and Pipers of Scotland, the Death Candles of Wales, and the various English Family Ghosts, is the work of a species of Elemental, to which I have given the name, "Clanogrian," I have no doubt. The Celtic word Banshee, meaning the woman of the barrow, may in all probability account for the popular idea that whenever a member of one of the old Irish clans dies, their doom is foretold (to any or every member of the family but themselves) by a series of wails, in a woman's voice, the phantasm of the woman herself being sometimes seen. But as a matter of fact there is a great variety of form in these death-warnings peculiar to the Irish, and each historic family has its own particular banshee. I have experienced the O'Donnell Banshee (that Banshee that has ofttimes been heard in Spain, Italy, France, and Austria, wherever, in fact, a member of the clan lives) on one occasion. I was living at the seaside at the time, and had been in bed about an hour, when I heard, as I thought, outside my door, not a series, but just one wail, which, beginning in a low key, ended withal in a scream so loud and agonising that my blood froze. Instinctively I knew it was the Banshee. Scrambling out of bed, I opened the door, and the moment I did so, several other doors opened, and a troup of terrified figures, in night attire, came timidly out on to the landing. One and all had heard the sound, which they, too, recognised as the Banshee, but we saw nothing. That night a near relative of mine died!
As I have already hinted, our clan is numerous, and as many of its members are now scattered throughout Europe, it is not often I come in touch with them. Last year, however, I met one of my kinsmen, who was at that time M.P. for a London constituency, and in the course of a long conversation with him, I was interested to hear that on the eve of his father's death both he and his brother had heard the single wail of the Banshee (just as I had done) outside the door of the room in which they were sitting. They both rushed out, as one naturally does on hearing it, but saw nothing. Their father, it is needless to say, had been quite unconscious of the Banshee, though he was keenly sensible of every other sound.
I think any one, who is acquainted with the history of Ireland, in which my clan figures so prominently, will not be at all astonished that I have been visited by so many psychic phenomena.
The last experience, in connection with Elementals, to which I will allude here, happened to me some years ago, when I was renting a house in the extreme West of England. The house, though new—I was the first occupant—was not only close to a ridge of rocks, where it was alleged that wreckers used to carry on their nefarious work until quite recently, but was within walking distance of an ancient Celtic settlement. Furthermore, from comparatively close at hand, several skeletons, supposed to belong to the Neolithic Age, had recently been disinterred.
I entered the house with a perfectly unbiassed mind; indeed, the thought that it might be haunted never for one moment entered my mind. Being at that time unmarried, I had a housekeeper, who soon complained to me of heavy, queer noises. Not wishing to lose her, I pooh-poohed the idea of there being anything wrong with the place, and suggested that the sounds were produced by the wind. It was a big, oddly-constructed place, full of long, dark passages and gloomy nooks and cupboards. I occupied a room on the top landing, separated from my housekeeper's by a sepulchral-looking corridor. Facing my door was that of a room connected by means of a low doorway with a big loft, the furthest extremities of which were totally obscured from view by a perpetual shroud of darkness, a darkness that the feeble rays of sunlight, filtering through the tiny skylight in the slanting roof, entirely failed to dissipate. This loft certainly did suggest the superphysical, and I felt that if any ghostly presence walked the house, it had its headquarters in that spot.
Still, I heard nothing, nothing beyond the occasional banging of a door and loud creakings on the staircase. My housekeeper, however, left me, and her successor, who, to all appearances, was a practical, matter-of-fact sort of woman, had not been with me many days before she, too, gave notice.
"I never believed in ghosts till I came here," she told me, "but I am certain there are such things now. For every night I hear not only the strangest noises in my room, but the pattering of stealthy footsteps in the passage—sounds which I feel certain could neither be produced by rats nor the wind. Indeed, sir, I can't bear being left alone in the basement of the house after dusk, as I have the feeling that something uncanny walks about the house."
The housekeeper, who succeeded her, speedily gave notice for precisely the same reason, and every one, who subsequently slept in the house, complained that they had the most unpleasant sensations as soon as it was dark, and heard the most extraordinary and harrowing noises.
One woman, an ex-Salvation Army officer, whom I left in charge of the house during my temporary absence, told me she had been awakened in the night by the sounds of shuffling footsteps that had stopped outside her door, the handle of which was then slowly turned.
"I was awfully frightened," she said, "for I knew at once it was a devil; but screwing up courage, I sang as loud as my parched throat would allow me, 'Washed in the blood of the Lamb,' when the evil spirit ceased its disturbances and I heard the sound of its steps in full retreat up the staircase."
When the summer season was at its height, the manageress of one of the adjacent hotels asked me if I would mind letting her have a room for the night, in my house, as she really did not know where to put all her visitors; there was no accommodation left for them in the town. I consented, and the visitor, who happened to be a middle-aged lady, told my housekeeper the following morning that she was sure the house was haunted, as she had been awakened about two o'clock from the most revolting dreams to hear the most curious footsteps—like those of some big animal—approach her door. She then heard the sound of heavy breathing, and watched the door handle gradually turn. "I then crossed myself and prayed with all my might," she said, "when the thing retired, and I heard its soft footsteps die away in the distance."
One morning, between three and four o'clock, I awoke from a very nasty dream, in which I had seen a tall figure with a grey, evil face come bounding up the stairs, three steps at a time, and along the passages to my bedroom. I was so shocked at the appearance of this thing in my dreams, that for several minutes after recovering conscious my heart palpitated violently. I then heard the sound of stealthy footsteps coming along the passage parallel with my bed. Nearer and nearer they came, until they halted outside my door, on the top panels of which there suddenly came a crash so tremendous that every article in the room quivered. I jumped out of bed, threw open the door, and saw—nothing. The passage was silent and empty.
The following night, taking various precautions to satisfy myself and others that the noises were due to superphysical agencies, I covered the floor of the passage outside my room with alternate layers of chalk, flour, and sand, fastened wires across it, and blocked it up at one end with a table, on the edge of which I carefully balanced a bottle of ink.
At the same time in the morning, however, the footsteps again came. First of all they came to the table, when I distinctly heard the ink-bottle hurled to the ground with a crash; then, passing through the wires and over the chalk, flour, and sand, they drew up to my door. Sick with suspense I awaited the crash, and the moment it came, sprang out on the landing. There was nothing there, save an almost preternatural hush and the cold grey of dawn, but the instant I withdrew into my room, every wall and beam throughout the house shook with Satanical laughter! I was now so horrified that I never kept vigil in the place again, but left it shortly afterwards.
I subsequently heard from two entirely independent sources that an apparition had been seen on the site of the house some years previously. My first informant, Mrs. T., said: "One night, at about twelve o'clock, as I was coming home from a party, I saw, just about the place where your house now stands, the tall figure of a man with a tiny, rotund head. It seemed to rise out of the ground, and, striding forward with a slightly swaying motion, vanished over the cliff exactly opposite your front door. The night being moonlight, I saw the thing distinctly, and can well recall the horrible expression in its light, round eyes and leering mouth. It had small, bestial features, close-cropped hair, and a very grey complexion. Its arms and legs were abnormally long and thin. I should think it stood fully seven feet. I am sure it was nothing subjective, because when I rubbed my eyes it was still there; neither could it have been any one masquerading, as the cliff at that particular spot is fully forty feet high, and to have jumped, or even dropped over it, could not have been done without incurring serious injury. I did not learn till long afterwards that the cliff has long borne a reputation for being haunted."
My other informant, who had certainly neither met this lady nor heard her story, gave me an account of a similar experience she had had in the same place. Hence I am inclined to think that the house was haunted by an Elemental, either a Vagrarian or Vice Elemental, that had been attracted thither either by the loneliness of the locality, or the barrow (to which I have alluded), or by the crimes formerly perpetrated on the cliff by wreckers.
It was in this house that I witnessed a manifestation prior to the death of a near relative of mine. As I have seen a similar apparition since, and have heard of a thing answering to the same description being seen separately by members of my family, I am inclined to classify it with Family Elementals, rather than to associate it with the Elemental I have just described.
The incident took place one morning at about four o'clock. My attention being drawn to a bright object in one corner of my room, I sat up in bed and looked at it, when to my horror I saw a spherical mass of vibrating, yellow-green light suddenly materialise into the round head of Something half human, half animal, and wholly evil! The face was longer than that of a human being, whilst the upper part, which was correspondingly wide, gradually narrowed till it terminated in a very pronounced and prominent chin. The head was covered with a mass of tow-coloured, matted hair; the face was entirely clean-shaven. The thin lips, which were wreathed in a wicked leer, displayed very long, pointed teeth. But it was the eyes, which were fixed on mine with a steady stare, that arrested and riveted my attention. In hue they were of a light green, in expression they were hellish, for no other word can so adequately express the unfathomable intensity of their diabolical glee, and, as I gazed at them in helpless fascination, my blood froze. I do not think the manifestation lasted more than a few seconds, though to me, of course, it seemed an eternity. It vanished simultaneously with a loud and utterly inexplicable crash (as if countless crockery was being smashed) in the passage outside my door. In the morning I learned of the death of a near relative who had died just at the time I witnessed the phenomenon.
A striking instance of another kind of phantasm, which I can only conclude is an Elemental of the order of Clanogrians, occurred quite recently. In a work of mine entitled "The Haunted Houses of London," published last year, I narrated an instance of a lady who, prior to the death of her husband, heard a grandfather clock (there being no clock of that description in the house), first of all, strike thirteen, and then, at intervals, several other numbers, which were subsequently found to denote the exact date of her husband's death.
Some months after the appearance of this book, I went to see "The Blue Bird," and found myself seated next but one to the lady who experienced the phenomenon of the clock. In between the acts she leaned forward to speak to me, and said: "Isn't it odd, I have heard that clock again, Mr. O'Donnell, and it struck thirteen just as before? And what is still more strange, a few days ago, as I was sitting in my drawing-room, I heard a gong—I have no such thing in my house—very solemnly strike a certain number of times, quite close to me. Unfortunately, I did not count the strokes; but what do you think it means?"
I replied that I did not know; possibly, perhaps, the death of some relative. At the same time, I instinctively felt that the sounds foretold her own doom—a presentiment which, alas! was only too true, as Mrs. —— was killed a few days afterwards in a somewhat extraordinary taxi-cab collision in Portman Square. As Mrs. —— was a lady well known in Society, the accident was fully reported in several of the leading London dailies—in fact, that was how I first heard of it.
CHAPTER II.
PHANTASMS OF THE LIVING AND DEAD—DEATH WARNINGS AND DREAMS.
In one of my works I have alluded to the case of Miss D. (a signed account of which appeared in the October number, 1899, of the "Magazine for the Society of Psychical Research"), who unconsciously projected her superphysical body into the presence of four witnesses, including myself, and once when I was staying in Northampton a rather amusing incident with regard to projection happened to me. I went to Castle Street Station to see Mrs. W., a connection of mine, off, and as the train steamed out of the "bay," I was very much surprised to see her lean out of the window and wave to me. Of course, I waved back, but thinking such a proceeding on her part was most extraordinary, as I knew her to be extremely dignified, and averse to anything "tripperish," I made a note of the circumstance, and resolved to allude to it when next we met. I did so, but although I made use of all the tact I possess, Mrs. W. was intensely annoyed, and, of course, indignantly denied having done such a thing. Now, was this a case of unconscious projection, or merely of suggestion? I am inclined to think the former.
The same thing happened at Temple Mead Station, Bristol, when I was again seeing Mrs. W. off to her home. This time I rubbed my eyes, and still her phantom was at the window, waving vigorously until the train had travelled some distance!
In an article specially written for "Cassell's Magazine" last year, I described how, on certain nights in the year (New Year's Eve for example), I have seen the phantasms of people destined to play some more or less important rÔle in my subsequent life. I have referred to this peculiar form of phenomenon, too, in my book, "The Haunted Houses of London," and I am now afforded the opportunity of quoting a third instance. One New Year's Eve a few years ago I was at a small country station in the Midlands, waiting for the Birmingham train. As the weather was very cold and wet, there were few travellers, and the platform, gloomy and streaming with water, presented a singularly forlorn and forbidding appearance. Having been confined indoors all day, I was glad to snatch any opportunity for stretching my limbs, and was pacing up and down in the rain, when I narrowly avoided collision with a very elegantly—though unseasonably—dressed lady. Apart from being pretty, she had a decidedly intellectual face, and I was so struck with her, that I admit I wheeled round with the intention of passing her again, when to my astonishment there was no one to be seen, and on my enquiring both of the station-master and solitary porter who the lady was, it was positively asserted that no such person had entered the station. Some months later, when taking tea at a club in Knightsbridge, I was introduced to Lady ——, whom I immediately recognised as the lady I had seen on New Year's Eve. I mentioned the incident to her, and she laughingly told me she had never been to such a place. Lady —— is now a great friend of mine.
Also the phantasms of people, who have at any time deeply impressed me, appear to me frequently. Some years ago I was always seeing the phantasm of H., a boy to whom I had the strangest aversion when I was at C. College. I recollect the first time I witnessed the phenomenon was in the High Street, Falmouth. I was walking with an old school friend, now Major F., of the —— Regiment. Seeing H. suddenly cross the road very slowly in front of us, I exclaimed, "Why, how extraordinary! If that isn't H.! You remember H. at school, don't you? He hasn't altered in the slightest."
F. laughed. "What are you talking about?" he said. "I certainly do remember H., but he's not here. Whatever makes you think of him?"
I looked again, and the figure of H. had completely disappeared. Within that year I saw the phantasm of H. five or six times, but always in different places, and always when my thoughts were far removed from him. The question now arises as to whether what I saw was subjective or objective; if the former, whether it was due to telepathy, suggestion, or hallucination; if the latter, whether it was superphysical or illusionary? And here again, I am inclined to attribute the phenomenon both to the objective and superphysical.
I have alluded in one of my former works to the only really satisfactory instance in which I have consciously projected my superphysical body, though I have made various attempts. My failures are, I think, due to the difficulty I experience in obtaining the necessary conditions of perfect tranquillity of mind and absolute physical silence. An interesting experiment I have tried, and in which I hope eventually to succeed, is as follows:—I lean my forehead against the door of a room in which several people are seated with cameras. Concentrating tremendously hard, I bring before my mind a vivid picture of the contents of that room. The picture becomes clearer and clearer, until I can see every little detail in it, when I suddenly find myself passing through the door into the brilliantly illuminated space beyond. An instant more, and I feel my presence would be revealed to the sitters, but at the critical moment something mysterious happens, and my superphysical ego is sharply recalled to my physical body.
Before I refer to my experiences with phantasms of the Dead, I think some allusions to death warnings by dreams and otherwise may be of interest.
When I was a little boy, I well remember a Miss C. coming into the room in which I was sitting, and observing to my companion, "I am sure something is going to happen to my mother, for as I was crossing the road just now I distinctly saw her standing on the edge of the pavement beckoning to me. As I approached, she suddenly vanished."
Two hours later Miss C. again came into my room. This time she was holding a telegram in her hand, and crying bitterly. "I was sure something would happen," she said: "my mother is dead. She died just about the time I saw her."
The house in which I was then staying was in Bath, and Miss C.'s mother died in Worcester.
The next instance of a phenomenon of this nature occurred years later, when I was an assistant master in a Preparatory School for the Royal Navy. I was chatting with the principal one night in his study, which was in the rear of the house, overlooking a somewhat dreary back garden. The headmaster was making some remark on the new regulations that were shortly to come in force with respect to the Entrance Examination to the Britannia, when he suddenly stopped short, and with a kind of gasping cry that made my blood run cold, pointed to the white window blind. "See!" he said, "see! it's my father! He's in his grave-clothes, signalling to me. Oh! my God! he must be dead!" He then sank back in his chair, breathing heavily. For some seconds there was a silence which to me, at any rate, was most painful; he then exclaimed, "It's gone now. Did you see it?"
I replied that I had not seen anything except a violent agitation of the blind, which agitation, curiously enough, he had not noticed. The next morning he received a telegram saying his father was dead; the latter had died about the time his phantasm had been seen by his son.
Though I cannot say I have any great faith in the majority of omens, such as spilling salt and seeing magpies, nevertheless there are some to which I do attach importance. The same Miss C., to whom I have just referred, told me one evening that she had just seen a winding-sheet in the candle, and that it pointed towards her. That same night she dreamed one of her teeth came out, and on it was a portrait of her brother Jack. The following day she received a telegram to the effect that Jack had died suddenly from an attack of apoplexy.
I have frequently seen phantasms of the dead both in haunted houses and elsewhere. One of the best friends I ever had was "K.," who was a fellow student with me when I was reading in Dublin. K., who came of a very distinguished military family, and was the great-nephew of the Baroness B., used often to chat with me about the possibilities of the future life.
"Look here," he said to me one night, "I'll make you a promise. If anything happens to me within the next few years I'll appear to you."
I laughingly told him I should be very pleased to see his ghost, and that I would do all I could to make it feel thoroughly at home. Some months later, "K." went to South Africa, where he eventually joined one of the Mounted Police Forces. One evening, when I was sitting alone in my room in D., I suddenly felt very cold, and on glancing towards the window saw a figure standing in the recess. Though the figure was misty, luminous, and not at all clearly defined, I had no difficulty in recognising it as the phantasm of "K.," who had certainly not been in my thoughts for some long time. He appeared to be wearing a khaki uniform, which was very much torn and blood-stained. His face was deathly white and shockingly mutilated, and his eyes, which were wide open and glassy, were fixed on me with a blank stare. It was a horrid spectacle, and I was so shocked that I fell back in my chair, feeling sick and faint. I do not think the manifestation lasted more than a minute at the most. A few days later, I read in the papers that Major Wilson's party had been ambushed and cut to pieces on the Shangani River, and among the names of the victims was that of "K."
Another experience of this nature happened to me whilst I was staying in Northamptonshire. I was cycling along a road one very hot summer day, when I suddenly perceived, pedalling steadily away ahead of me, a cyclist in a grey suit. How he had got there was a mystery, for the road was straight, there were no turnings, and I had not seen him pass me. Moreover, there was something very odd both about the rider and his machine, for despite the dryness of the day, the man's clothes and bicycle were splashed with mud and dripping with water. Curious to see his face, I tried my hardest to overtake him, but fast as I went, the distance between us never seemed to decrease, although he apparently did not alter his pace. At last we came to a steep hill marked Dangerous, and I saw lumbering slowly up it a heavy drayman's cart. Without slacking speed the grey cyclist rode recklessly down, and, to my intense horror, dashed straight into the cart. Jumping off my machine, I placed it against the hedge, and ran to the cart, fully expecting to see the mangled remains of the foolhardy rider. To my astonishment, however, there were no signs of him anywhere, and the driver of the vehicle was politely incredulous when I told him what I had seen. I subsequently learned, though not, I admit, on very reliable authority, that a cyclist had been killed on that hill two or three years previously, but whether the accident took place on a wet day, or whether the cyclist was clad in a grey suit, I could not ascertain.
An incident which I have omitted to mention in the proper order, namely, among phantasms of the Living, happened to me in a village near Yarmouth. I was on tour at the time, and had gone for a long walk on Sunday afternoon in the country. On my way back I arrived at the village of E., and as I was passing a very pretty thatched-roof cottage, saw, to my astonishment, an actress I had known on tour (and whose professional name was Ethel Raynor) standing on the path. She was holding both hands outstretched towards me, and in each of them was a large bunch of snowdrops. I saw her very distinctly, as she seemed to give out a light of her own, a bright white glow which emanated from every part of her body. Her features—she was a singularly handsome girl—were perfectly life-like, though the total absence of colour made her appear unnatural. Her eyes, which were dark and beautiful, were fixed on me with an expression of the utmost intensity, and from the slight movement of her lips I felt sure she wanted to say something. I stepped forward with the intention of addressing her, and the instant I did so, she vanished. On arriving at my rooms, I made a note of the occurrence in my diary, and was very surprised to hear that, instead of dying, Miss Raynor had married—her marriage taking place on the day I had seen her phantasm. Within a year, however, her husband deserted her, and she committed suicide!
With reference to dreams, there is a vast field for speculation. In a subsequent chapter I shall state a few of my theories regarding them. It will suffice here merely to enumerate a few instances from my own experience.
I once recollect having a very vivid dream in which I saw a man, with whom I was slightly acquainted, thrown from his horse and terribly mutilated. The horse looked so evil, and acted with such an extraordinary amount of diabolical cunning, that I have always felt suspicious of horses since. The dream was literally fulfilled. I have often been warned against certain people in dreams, and found that these warnings were fully justified. For example, when I was the solitary guest of a man (who, by the way, was the nephew of a celebrated peer) abroad, I dreamed that my host came into my room and drew the picture of a crown on my mirror with a piece of red chalk. He then retraced his steps in silent glee, and as he closed the door behind him, the glass in the mirror gave a loud crack, and fell on the floor with a crash. I was so impressed with the dream that I became prejudiced in no slight degree against my host, and when the latter, a few days later, tried to persuade me to invest money in a mining enterprise in Cornwall, I refused; and it was very fortunate I did so, for the mine which had been opened with so much show and flourish failed, and nearly all the shareholders were ruined.
Many years ago I visited the State of B——, and shortly after my arrival at a farm, situated some distance from any settlement, I made the acquaintance of a neighbouring farmer and his wife, of the name of Coney. The Coneys, perceiving that I did not like my present surroundings, suggested that they should take me to the next Province in their waggon. I was to pay them one and a half dollars a day, in return for which I was to receive such sleeping accommodation as the waggon could afford and full board. The route, they took very good care to assure me, was both beautiful and interesting. Crossing the C—— Mountains, and passing within sight of a famous crater lake and Lake D——, they would go through mile after mile of forest, teeming with big game and lovely scenery. As I was young (I was comparatively fresh from a Public School) and very fond of adventure, the prospect of seeing so much new country and of doing a little shooting appealed to me very strongly. Consequently, though I was by no means favourably impressed with the looks either of the farmer (a squat, beetle-browed man) or of his wife (a dark, saturnine woman with sly brown eyes and a cruel mouth), I was on the whole inclined to accept their offer. For the rest of the day after their visit I deliberated what I should do, and that night I had a very vivid dream. I saw myself lying asleep in a waggon which was standing close to the edge of a tremendous abyss. The horses, which had been taken from the shafts, were tethered to the trunks of two lofty fir trees, and close to them, engaged in earnest confabulation, were the farmer and his wife. The moonbeams, falling direct on their faces, rendered both features and expressions clearly visible, and as I gazed into their eyes and recognised the intensity of their evil natures, my soul sickened—they were plotting to murder me. Gliding over the red-brown soil with noiseless feet, they crept up to the waggon, and seizing the individual I identified as myself by the head and feet, they hurled him into the chasm. There was the sound of a splash in the far distance—and—I awoke. My mind was now made up. I would remain where I was for the present, at least. And very thankful I am for the warning, since I afterwards learned that the Coneys bore a very sinister reputation, and that had I gone with them there is but little doubt they would have robbed and murdered me.
A friend of mine, who is an officer in the —— Regiment, dreamed three times that he was descending a road, at the bottom of which was a bridge overhead. When he came to the bridge, a man who was in hiding there rushed out and shot him. The scene was so real and the details so graphic that my friend was greatly impressed. One day, when he was walking in the South of Spain, he came to a dip in the road, and there, before him, lay the scene he had seen so often in his dreams. He was now in some doubt as to whether he should go on, as he felt sure the person he had dreamed of would dash out on him. After some hesitation, however, he proceeded, and eventually arrived at the bridge. There was no one there, nor did he suffer any molestation whatsoever on his way home. It is impossible to explain why the dream should only have been verified in part.
I have many times dreamed I have been fishing in a wood by a waterfall, and so vividly has the scenery been portrayed that I have got to know every stick and stone in the place. So far, however, I have never come across the objective counterpart of that cascade. In other instances I have found myself visiting the actual spots I have seen in my visions. For instance, I constantly dreamed of a curious-looking red and white ship with two funnels, side by side, three masts and a hull, very high out of the water. Something always told me the vessel was for some peculiar use, but I could never discover what, neither could I make out the name which was written on her bows. I could read the first three letters, but no more. On arriving at a seaside town in the West of England shortly after one of these vivid nocturnal visions, I saw a steamer in the bay which I instantly identified as that of my dreams, whilst to make me still more certain, the letters on her bows corresponded with those I had seen in my sleep. She had been specially designed as an Atlantic Cable boat!
Before going to America I distinctly recollect dreaming that I was standing by myself in the corridor of an enormous hotel. I saw no other visitors, only one or two porters in very faded uniforms, and instinctively felt that I was the only guest in the place. This feeling filled me with awe, and I was dreading the idea of spending a night on one of the deserted landings, when I awoke. On arriving in San Francisco some months later, I was conducted by a passenger agent to an hotel, which I at once recognised as the hotel of my dreams. There was the same tier upon tier of empty galleries, the same almost interminable succession of gloomy, deserted corridors and row upon row of gaping doors leading into silent, tenantless rooms, whilst to complete the likeness the hall porters wore exactly similar uniforms. From a variety of causes I was, so the clerk at the booking-office informed me, the only visitor in the building. If dreams of present-day places have their objective counterparts, and dreams of future scenes are fulfilled, is it not feasible that dreams of the past should be equally veritable? I see no reason why it should not be so. I have often dreamed of ancient cities teeming with people clad in loose, flowing drapery and turbans, or tight hose and armour. I have rubbed shoulders with red-crossed knights, and followed in the wake of bare-headed monks and light-footed priests. I have gazed admiringly into the faces of fair ladies whose shining hair was surmounted with lofty, conical hats, and I have moved aside to make way for great dames on milk-white palfreys.
In my dreams I have lived in all ages, breathed all kinds of atmospheres, seen all kinds of events. One or two of these dreams haunt me now. I remember, for example, dreaming that I was in a very quaint old town covered with cobblestones. I had a lady with me who was very near and dear to me, and my object was to protect her from the crowds of hustling, jostling merrymakers who crowded the thoroughfares. From the style of dress I saw on all sides, and which both I and my companion wore, I knew we were in the Middle Ages. But where we were and what was going on I could not tell. After threading our way through endless narrow streets, lined with gabled wooden houses, whose upper storeys projected far over their entrances, we at length arrived at a big square in which a vast number of people were watching a show. There were three actors—a devil in a tight-fitting black costume and mask, and two imps in red, whilst the show consisted of the acrobatic performance of a number of tricks played by the imps on the devil, who apparently tried his level best to catch his tormentors, but always failed. Though my companion and I thought it extremely stupid, the crowd enjoyed it thoroughly, and I saw one or two stout red-faced women and several burly men-at-arms convulsed with laughter.
Suddenly, however, when the performance was at its height, there was an abrupt pause—two priests, with knit brows and glittering eyes, glided up to a girl, and, placing a hand on each of her arms, led her despairingly away, the crowd showing their approval of the act by shaking their fists in the poor wretch's face. Seized with a terrible fear lest my companion should likewise be taken, I hurried her away, and as we hastened along I heard the most fearful screams of agony. On and on we went, until we came to an open space in the town, void of people, and surrounded by dark, forbidding-looking houses. I halted, and was deliberating which direction to take, when my companion clutched me by the elbow. I turned round, and saw, a few yards behind us, three priests, who, fixing their eyes malevolently on us, darted forward. Catching my companion by the hand, I was preparing to drag her into one of the houses opposite, when my foot slipped, and the next moment I saw her struggling in the hands of her relentless captors. There was a long, despairing cry—and I awoke. I have had this same dream, detail by detail, five times, and I know the faces of all the principals in it now as well as I know my own.
Curiously enough, I have dreamed of the same place, but at a different period. I have found myself walking along the quaint streets with a girl, whom I instinctively knew was my wife, past crowds of laughing, frolicing people dressed in the costume of the French Revolutionary period. We have come to the open space with the dark, forbidding houses, when I have slipped just as two savage-looking men in red caps have dashed out on us. My companion has attempted to escape; they have pursued her, and with the wails of her death-agony in my ears I have awakened. Can it be that these dreams are reminiscences of a former existence, of scenes with which I was once familiar? Or have they been vividly portrayed to me by an Elemental? I fancy the latter to be the more likely.
Occasionally I have a peculiarly phantastic dream, in which I find myself in the depths of a dark forest, standing by a rocky pool, the sides of which are covered with all kinds of beautiful lichens. As I am gazing meditatively at the water, a slight noise from behind makes me look round, when I perceive the tall figure of a man in grey hunting costume, À la Robin Hood, with a bow in one of his hands and a quiver of arrows by his side. His face is grey, and his eyes long and dark and glittering. He points to the root of a tree, where I perceive a huge green wooden wheel, that suddenly commences to roll. In an instant the forest is alive with grey archers, who fire a volley of arrows at the wheel, and endeavour to stop it. An arm is thrown round me, I am swung off the ground, and when I alight on the earth again it is to find myself on a flight of winding stone steps, in what I suppose is a very lofty tower. The walls on either side of me are of rough-hewn stone, and on peering through a small grated window, I can see, many feet beneath me, the silvery surface of a broad river and a wide expanse of emerald grass. I ascend up, up, up, until I arrive in a large room, brilliantly illuminated with sunbeams. Hanging on a wall is a picture representing a woman gazing at a grey door, which is slowly opening. On the door something is written, which I feel is the keynote to Life and Death, and I am endeavouring to interpret it when a hand falls on my shoulder. I look round, and standing beside me is the grey huntsman. I awake with his subtle, baffling smile vividly before me. A moment more and I might have been initiated into the great mystery I have long been endeavouring to solve.
I have little faith in dreams of marriages and deaths. They so seldom portend what they were once supposed to do. In my opinion, they are the suggestions of mischievous Elementals.
In concluding this chapter, I will describe a dream I had comparatively recently. I fancied it was late at night, and that I was on the Thames Embankment. The only person in sight was a well-dressed man in a frock-coat and silk hat, who was leaning over the parapet. Feeling certain from his attitude that he was contemplating suicide, I yielded to impulse, and, walking up to him, said, "You seem to be very unhappy! Can I do anything for you?" Raising his head, he looked at me, when to my astonishment I at once recognised the grey huntsman I had seen in the dream which I have previously narrated. Complexion, hair, eyes, mouth, were the same—the expression alone differed. On this occasion he was sad. "You need not be afraid," he said. "I cannot put an end to my existence. I wish I could." "Why can't you?" I enquired with interest. And I have never forgotten the emphasis of his reply. "Because," he responded, "I am an Evil Force, a Vice Elemental."
Some months after this, when I was travelling one night from Victoria to Gipsy Hill, I had as my sole companion a well-dressed man in a soft Panama hat, who appeared to be occupied in a novel. I did not pay the slightest attention to him till the train stopped at Wandsworth Common, when he proceeded to get out. As he glided by me on his way to the door, he stooped down and, smiling sardonically, passed out into the darkness of the night. It was the man of my dreams, the huntsman and the would-be suicide!