{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_18233/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_18233","id":"gutenberg_18233","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/18233","summary":null,"tags":["Animal ghosts","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Extrasensory perception in animals","Horror"],"text":"Produced by Barbara Tozier, Graeme Mackreth and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\nANIMAL GHOSTS\n\nOR,\n\nANIMAL HAUNTINGS AND THE HEREAFTER\n\nBY ELLIOTT O'DONNELL\n\nAUTHOR OF\n\n\"THE SORCERY CLUB,\" \"WERWOLVES,\" \"BYWAYS OF GHOSTLAND,\" \"SCOTTISH\nGHOSTS,\" \"HAUNTED HOUSES OF LONDON,\" \"HAUNTED HOUSES OF ENGLAND AND\nWALES,\" \"DREAMS AND THEIR MEANINGS,\" \"FOR SATAN'S SAKE,\" \"THE UNKNOWN\nDEPTHS,\" \"DINEVAH THE BEAUTIFUL,\" \"JENNIE BARLOWE,\" \"GHOSTLY PHENOMENA,\"\n\"MRS. E.M. WARD'S REMINISCENCES,\" ETC. ETC.\n\nLONDON\n\nWILLIAM RIDER & SON, LTD.\nCATHEDRAL HOUSE, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.\n1913\n\n_First Published November, 1913._\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nIf human beings, with all their vices, have a future life, assuredly\nanimals, who in character so often equal, nay, excel human beings, have\na future life also.\n\nThose who in the Scriptures find a key to all things, can find nothing\nin them to confute this argument. There is no saying of Christ that\njustifies one in supposing that man is the only being, whose existence\nextends beyond the grave.\n\nGranted, however, merely for the sake of argument, that we have some\nground for the denial of a future existence for animals, consider the\ninjustice such a denial would involve. Take, for example, the case of\nthe horse. Harming no one, and without thought of reward, it toils for\nman all its life, and when too old to work it is put to death without\neven the compensation of a well-earned rest. But if compensation be\nGod's law,--as I, for one, believe it to be--and also the _raison\nd'etre_ of a hereafter, then surely the Creator, whose chief claim to\nour respect and veneration lies in the fact that He is just and\nmerciful, will take good care that the horse--the gentle, patient,\nnever-complaining horse--is well compensated--compensated in a golden\nhereafter.\n\nConsider again, the case of another of our four-footed friends--the dog;\nthe faithful, affectionate, obedient and forgiving dog, the dog who is\nso often called upon to stand all sorts of rough treatment, and is shot\nor poisoned, if, provoked beyond endurance, he at last rounds on his\npersecutors, and bites. And the cat--the timid, peaceful cat who is\nmauled, and all but pulled in two by cruel children, and beaten to a\njelly when in sheer agony and fright it scratches. Reflect again, on the\ncow and the sheep, fed only to supply our wants; shouted at and kicked,\nif, when nearly scared out of their senses, they wander off the track;\nand pole-axed, or done to death in some equally atrocious manner when\nthe sickening demand for flesh food is at its height.\n\nAnd yet, you say, these innocent, unoffending--and, I say,\nmartyred--animals are to have no future, no compensation. Monstrous!\nAbsurd! It is an effrontery to common sense, philosophy--anything,\neverything. It is a damned lie, damned bigotry, damned nonsense. The\nwhole animal world will live again; and it will be man--spoilt,\npresumptuous, degenerate man--who will not participate in another life,\nunless he very much improves.\n\nThink well over this,--you who preach the gospel of man's\npre-eminence;--you who prate of God and know nothing whatsoever about\nHim! The horse, dog, cat,--even the wild animals, whose vices,\nperchance, pale beside your own, may go to Heaven before you. The\nSupreme Architect is neither a Nero, nor a Stuart, nor a clown. He will\nrecompense all who deserve recompense, be they great or small--biped or\nquadruped.\n\nIt is to testify to a future existence for animals and to create a wider\ninterest in it that I have undertaken to compile this book; and my\nobject, I think, can best be achieved in my own way, the way of the\ninvestigator of haunted places. The mere fact that there are\nmanifestations of \"dead\" people (pardon the paradox) proves some kind of\nlife after death for human beings; and happily the same proof is\navailable with regard a future life for animals; indeed there are as\nmany animal phantasms as human--perhaps more; hence, if the human being\nlives again, so do his dumb friends.\n\nBe comforted then, you who love your pets, and have been kind to them.\nYou will see them all again, on the soft undying pasture lands of your\nElysium and theirs.\n\nBe warned, you--you who have despised animals, and have been cruel to\nthem. Who knows but that, in your future life, you may be as they are\nnow--in subjection?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMy task in writing this book has been considerably lightened by the\nextreme courtesy and kindness of Mr. Shirley, Mr. Eveleigh Nash, and the\nProprietors of the _Review of Reviews_, in allowing me to make use of\nextracts and quotations from their most valuable works.\n\nELLIOTT O'DONNELL.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nPART I\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nCATS\n\nPAGE\n\nThe Black Cat of the Old Manor House, Oxenby--Correspondence _re_ Cat\nPhantasms--The Headless Cat of No. ----, Lower Seedley Road, Seedley,\nManchester--The Cat on the Post--Mystic Properties of Cats      3\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nDOGS\n\nThe Case of James Durham--The Grey Dog of ---- House, Birmingham--The\nDog in the Cupboard--How the Ghost of a Dog saved Life--A Precentor's\nAdventure--Phantom Dog seen on Souter Fell--The Jumping Ghost--Dogs seen\nbefore a Death--A Dog scared by a Canine Ghost--The Phantom Dachshund of\nW---- Street, London, W.--An ALL Hallow Eve Ghost--The Strange\nDisappearance of Mr. Jeremiah Dance--Phantasms of Living Dogs--The\nYellow Dog of K---- University--National Ghosts in the form of Dogs--The\nMauthe Doog--Spectral Hounds      57\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nHORSES AND THE UNKNOWN\n\nA Phantom Cavalcade--The Miller on the Grey Horse--A Phantom Horse\nand Rider--The White Horse of Eastover--The Afrikander's Story--Heralds\nof Death--Phantom Coach in U.S.A.--A Story from Marseilles--Summary of\nHorses--Phantasms of Living Horses--Horses and the Psychic Faculty of\nScent--Phantom Policeman and Horse--Phantom Huntsmen and Horses      139\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nBULLS, COWS, PIGS, ETC.\n\nThe Kirk-grim--Phantasm of a Goat--Phantom Hogs of the Moat\nGrange--Sheep--Spectre Flock of Sheep in Germany      212\n\n\nPART II\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nWILD ANIMALS AND THE UNKNOWN\n\nAnimal Phantasms and the Moon--The Case of Martin Tristram--Phantasms of\nCat and Ape--Hauntings by a White Rabbit--John Wesley's Ghost--Psychic\nFaculty in Hares and Rabbits      223\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nINHABITANTS OF THE JUNGLE\n\nElephants, Lions, Tigers, etc.--The White Tiger--Jungle Animals and\nPsychic Faculties      254\n\n\nPART III\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nBIRDS AND THE UNKNOWN\n\n\nCase from _Occult Review_--Bird Hauntings in Russia--Hauntings in\nthe Country Church--Capt. Morgan's Experiences--Addenda--Old Authorities\non Bird Omens      273\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nA BRIEF RETROSPECT      300\n\n\nPART I\n\nDOMESTIC ANIMALS AND THEIR ASSOCIATIONS WITH THE UNKNOWN\n\n\n\n\nANIMAL GHOSTS\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nCATS\n\n\nIn opening this volume on Animals and their associations with the\nunknown, I will commence with a case of hauntings in the Old Manor\nHouse, at Oxenby.\n\nMy informant was a Mrs. Hartnoll, whom I can see in my mind's eye, as\ndistinctly as if I were looking at her now. Hers was a personality that\nno lapse of time, nothing could efface; a personality that made itself\nfelt on boys of all temperaments, most of all, of course, on those\nwho--like myself--were highly strung and sensitive.\n\nShe was classical mistress at L.'s, the then well-known dame school in\nClifton, where for three years--prior to migrating to a Public School--I\nwas well grounded in all the mysticisms of Kennedy's Latin Primer and\nSmith's First Greek Principia.\n\nI doubt if she got anything more than a very small salary--governesses\nin those days were shockingly remunerated--and I know,--poor soul, she\nhad to work monstrously hard. Drumming Latin and Greek into heads as\nthick as ours was no easy task.\n\nBut there were times, when the excessive tension on the nerves proving\ntoo much, Mrs. Hartnoll stole a little relaxation; when she allowed\nherself to chat with us, and even to smile--Heavens! those smiles! And\nwhen--I can feel the tingling of my pulses at the bare mention of\nit--she spoke about herself, stated she had once been young--a\ndeclaration so astounding, so utterly beyond our comprehension, that we\nwere rendered quite speechless--and told us anecdotes.\n\nOf many of her narratives I have no recollection, but one or two, which\ninterested me more than the rest, are almost as fresh in my mind as when\nrecounted. The one that appealed to me most, and which I have every\nreason to believe is absolutely true,[1] is as follows:--I give it as\nnearly as I can in her own somewhat stilted style:--\n\n\"Up to the age of nineteen, I resided with my parents in the Manor\nHouse, Oxenby. It was an old building, dating back, I believe, to the\nreign of Edward VI, and had originally served as the residence of noble\nfamilies. Built, or, rather, faced with split flints, and edged and\nbuttressed with cut grey stone, it had a majestic though very gloomy\nappearance, and seen from afar resembled nothing so much as a huge and\ngrotesquely decorated sarcophagus. In the centre of its frowning and\nmenacing front was the device of a cat, constructed out of black\nshingles, and having white shingles for the eyes; the effect being\ncuriously realistic, especially on moonlight nights, when anything more\nlifelike and sinister could scarcely have been conceived. The artist,\nwhoever he was, had a more than human knowledge of cats--he portrayed\nnot merely their bodies but their souls.\n\n[Footnote 1: I have subsequently met several people who experienced the\nsame phenomena in the house, which was standing a short time ago.]\n\n\"In style the front of the house was somewhat castellated. Two\nsemicircular bows, or half towers, placed at a suitable distance from\neach other, rose from the base to the summit of the edifice, to the\nheight of four or five stairs; and were pierced, at every floor, with\nrows of stone-mullioned windows. The flat wall between had larger\nwindows, lighting the great hall, gallery, and upper apartments. These\nwindows were wholly composed of stained glass, engraved with every\nimaginable fantastic design--imps, satyrs, dragons, witches,\nqueer-shaped trees, hands, eyes, circles, triangles and cats.\n\n\"The towers, half included in the building, were completely circular\nwithin, and contained the winding stairs of the mansion; and whoever\nascended them when a storm was raging seemed rising by a whirlwind to\nthe clouds.\n\n\"In the upper rooms even the wildest screams of the hurricane were\ndrowned in the rattling clamour of the assaulted casements. When a gale\nof wind took the building in front, it rocked it to the foundations,\nand, at such times, threatened its instant demolition.\n\n\"Midway between the towers there stood forth a heavy stone porch with a\nGothic gateway, surmounted by a battlemented parapet, made gable\nfashion, the apex of which was garnished by a pair of dolphins, rampant\nand antagonistic, whose corkscrew tails seemed contorted--especially at\nnight--by the last agonies of rage convulsed. The porch doors stood\nopen, except in tremendous weather; the inner ones were regularly shut\nand barred after all who entered. They led into a wide vaulted and lofty\nhall, the walls of which were decorated with faded tapestry, that rose,\nand fell, and rustled in the most mysterious fashion every time there\nwas the suspicion--and often barely the suspicion--of a breeze.\n\n\"Interspersed with the tapestry--and in great contrast to its\nantiquity--were quite modern and very ordinary portraits of my family.\nThe general fittings and furniture, both of the hall and house, were\nsombre and handsome--truss-beams, corbels, girders and panels were of\nthe blackest oak; and the general effect of all this, augmented, if\nanything, by the windows, which were too high and narrow to admit of\nmuch light, was much the same as that produced by the interior of a\nsubterranean chapel or charnel house.\n\n\"From the hall proceeded doorways and passages, more than my memory can\nnow particularize. Of these portals, one at each end conducted to the\ntower stairs, others to reception rooms and domestic offices.\n\n\"The whole of the house being too large for us, only one wing--the right\nand newer of the two--was occupied, the other was unfurnished, and\ngenerally shut up. I say generally because there were times when either\nmy mother or father--the servants never ventured there--forgot to lock\nthe doors, and the handles yielding to my daring fingers, I\nsurreptitiously crept in.\n\n\"Everywhere--even in daylight, even on the sunniest of mornings--were\ndark shadows that hung around the ingles and recesses of the rooms, the\ndeep cupboards, the passages, and silent, winding staircases.\n\n\"There was one corridor--long, low, vaulted--where these shadows\nassembled in particular. I can see them now, as I saw them then, as they\nhave come to me many times in my dreams, grouped about the doorways,\nflitting to and fro on the bare, dismal boards, and congregated in\nmenacing clusters at the head of the sepulchral staircase leading to the\ncellars. Generally, and excepting at times when the weather was\nparticularly violent, the silence here was so emphatic that I could\nnever feel it was altogether natural, but rather that it was assumed\nespecially for my benefit--to intimidate me. If I moved, if I coughed,\nalmost if I breathed, the whole passage was filled with hoarse\nreverberating echoes, that, in my affrighted ears, appeared to terminate\nin a series of mirthless, malevolent chuckles. Once, when fascinated\nbeyond control, I stole on tiptoe along the passage, momentarily\nexpecting a door to fly open and something grim and horrible to pounce\nout on me, I was brought to a standstill by a loud, clanging noise, as\nif a pail or some such utensil were set down very roughly on a stone\nfloor. Then there was the sound of rushing footsteps and of someone\nhastily ascending the cellar staircase. In fearful anticipation as to\nwhat I should see--for there was something in the sounds that told me\nthey were not made by anything human--I stood in the middle of the\npassage and stared. Up, up, up they came, until I saw the dark,\nindefinite shape of something very horrid, but which I could not--I dare\nnot--define. It was accompanied by the clanging of a pail. I tried to\nscream, but my tongue cleaving to the roof of my mouth prevented my\nuttering a syllable, and when I essayed to move, I found I was\ntemporarily paralysed. The thing came rushing down on me. I grew icy\ncold all over, and when it was within a few feet of me, my horror was so\ngreat, I fainted.\n\n\"On recovering consciousness, it was some minutes before I summoned up\ncourage to open my eyes, but when I did so, they alighted on nothing but\nthe empty passage--the thing had disappeared.\n\n\"On another occasion, when I was clandestinely paying a visit to the\nunused wing, and was in the act of mounting one of the staircases\nleading from the corridor, I have just described, to the first floor,\nthere was the sound of a furious scuffle overhead, and something dashed\ndown the stairs past me. I instinctively looked up, and there, glaring\ndown at me from over the balustrade, was a very white face. It was that\nof a man, but very badly proportioned--the forehead being low and\nreceding, and the rest of the face too long and narrow. The crown rose\nto a kind of peak, the ears were pointed and set very low down and far\nback. The mouth was very cruel and thin-lipped; the teeth were yellow\nand uneven. There was no hair on the face, but that on the head was red\nand matted. The eyes were obliquely set, pale blue, and full of an\nexpression so absolutely malignant that every atom of blood in my veins\nseemed to congeal as I met their gaze. I could not clearly see the body\nof the thing, as it was hazy and indistinct, but the impression I got of\nit was that it was clad in some sort of tight-fitting, fantastic\ngarment. As the landing was in semi-darkness, and the face at all events\nwas most startlingly visible, I concluded it brought with it a light of\nits own, though there was none of that lurid glow attached to it, which\nI subsequently learned is almost inseparable from spirit phenomena seen\nunder similar conditions.\n\n\"For some seconds, I was too overcome with terror to move, but my\nfaculties at length reasserting themselves, I turned round and flew to\nthe other wing of the house with the utmost precipitation.\n\n\"One would have thought that after these experiences nothing would have\ninduced me to have run the risk of another such encounter, yet only a\nfew days after the incident of the head, I was again impelled by a\nfascination I could not withstand to visit the same quarters. In sickly\nanticipation of what my eyes would alight on, I stole to the foot of the\nstaircase and peeped cautiously up. To my infinite joy there was nothing\nthere but a bright patch of sunshine, that, in the most unusual fashion,\nhad forced its way through from one of the slits of windows near at\nhand.\n\n\"After gazing at it long enough to assure myself it was only sunshine, I\nquitted the spot, and proceeded on my way down the vaulted corridor.\nJust as I was passing one of the doors, it opened. I stopped--terrified.\nWhat could it be? Bit by bit, inch by inch, I watched the gap slowly\nwiden. At last, just as I felt I must either go mad or die, something\nappeared--and, to my utter astonishment, it was a big, black cat!\nLimping painfully, it came towards me with a curious, gliding motion,\nand I perceived with a thrill of horror that it had been very cruelly\nmaltreated. One of its eyes looked as if it had been gouged out--its\nears were lacerated, whilst the paw of one of its hind-legs had either\nbeen torn or hacked off. As I drew back from it, it made a feeble and\npathetic effort to reach me and rub itself against my legs, as is the\nway with cats, but in so doing it fell down, and uttering a half purr,\nhalf gurgle, vanished--seeming to sink through the hard oak boards.\n\n\"That evening my youngest brother met with an accident in the barn at\nthe back of the house, and died. Though I did not then associate his\ndeath with the apparition of the cat, the latter shocked me much, for I\nwas extremely fond of animals. I did not dare venture in the wing again\nfor nearly two years.\n\n\"When next I did so, it was early one June morning--between five and\nsix, and none of the family, saving my father, who was out in the fields\nlooking after his men, were as yet up. I explored the dreaded corridor\nand staircase, and was crossing the floor of one of the rooms I had\nhitherto regarded as immune from ghostly influences, when there was an\nicy rush of wind, the door behind me slammed to violently, and a heavy\nobject struck me with great force in the hollow of my back. With a cry\nof surprise and agony I turned sharply round, and there, lying on the\nfloor, stretched out in the last convulsions of death, was the big black\ncat, maimed and bleeding as it had been on the previous occasion. How I\ngot out of the room I don't recollect. I was too horror-stricken to know\nexactly what I was doing, but I distinctly remember that, as I tugged\nthe door open, there was a low, gleeful chuckle, and something slipped\nby me and disappeared in the direction of the corridor. At noon that day\nmy mother had a seizure of apoplexy, and died at midnight.\n\n\"Again there was a lapse of years--this time nearly four--when, sent on\nan errand for my father, I turned the key of one of the doors leading\ninto the empty wing, and once again found myself within the haunted\nprecincts. All was just as it had been on the occasion of my last\nvisit--gloom, stillness and cobwebs reigned everywhere, whilst\npermeating the atmosphere was a feeling of intense sadness and\ndepression.\n\n\"I did what was required of me as quickly as possible, and was crossing\none of the rooms to make my exit, when a dark shadow fell athwart the\nthreshold of the door, and I saw the cat.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"That evening my father dropped dead as he was hastening home through\nthe fields. He had long suffered from heart disease.\n\n\"After his death we--that is to say, my brother, sisters and self--were\nobliged to leave the house and go out into the world to earn our living.\nWe never went there again, and never heard if any of the subsequent\ntenants experienced similar manifestations.\"\n\nThis is as nearly as I can recollect Mrs. Hartnoll's story. But as it is\na good many years since I heard it, there is just a possibility of some\nof the details--the smaller ones at all events--having escaped my\nmemory.\n\nWhen I was grown up, I stayed for a few weeks near Oxenby, and met, at a\ngarden party, a Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler, the then occupants of the Manor\nHouse.\n\nI asked if they believed in ghosts, and told them I had always heard\ntheir house was haunted.\n\n\"Well,\" they said, \"we never believed in ghosts till we came to Oxenby,\nbut we have seen and heard such strange things since we have been in the\nManor House that we are now prepared to believe anything.\"\n\nThey then went on to tell me that they--and many of their visitors and\nservants--had seen the phantasms of a very hideous and malignant old\nman, clad in tight-fitting hosiery of mediaeval days, and a maimed and\nbleeding big, black cat, that seemed sometimes to drop from the ceiling,\nand sometimes to be thrown at them. In one of the passages all sorts of\nqueer sounds, such as whinings, meanings, screeches, clangings of pails\nand rattlings of chains, were heard, whilst something, no one could ever\nsee distinctly, but which they all felt to be indescribably nasty,\nrushed up the cellar steps and flew past, as if engaged in a desperate\nchase. Indeed, the disturbances were of so constant and harrowing a\nnature, that the wing had to be vacated and was eventually locked up.\n\nThe Wheelers excavated in different parts of the haunted wing and found,\nin the cellar, at a depth of some eight or nine feet, the skeletons of\nthree men and two women; whilst in the wainscoting of the passage they\ndiscovered the bones of a boy, all of which remains they had properly\ninterred in the churchyard. According to local tradition, handed down\nthrough many centuries by word of mouth, the house originally belonged\nto a knight, who, with his wife, was killed out hunting. He had only one\nchild, a boy of about ten, who became a ward in chancery. The man\nappointed by the Crown as guardian to this child proved an inhuman\nmonster, and after ill-treating the lad in every conceivable manner,\neventually murdered him and tried to substitute a bastard boy of his own\nin his place. For a time the fraud succeeded, but on its being\neventually found out, the murderer and his offspring were both brought\nto trial and hanged.\n\nDuring his occupation of the house, many people were seen to enter the\npremises, but never leave them, and the place got the most sinister\nreputation. Among other deeds credited to the murderer and his\noffspring was the mutilation and boiling of a cat--the particular pet of\nthe young heir, who was compelled to witness the whole revolting\nprocess. Years later, a subsequent owner of the property had a monument\nerected in the churchyard to the memory of this poor, abused child, and\non the front of the house constructed the device of the cat.\n\nThough it is impossible to determine what amount of truth there may be\nin this tradition, it certainly seems to accord with the hauntings, and\nto supply some sort of explanation to them. The ghostly head on the\nbanisters might well be that of the low and brutal guardian, whose\nspirit would be the exact counterpart of his mind. The figure seen, and\nnoises heard in the passage, point to the re-enaction of some tragedy,\npossibly the murder of the heir, or the slaughter of his cat, in either\nof which a bucket might easily have played a grimly significant part.\nAnd if human murderers and their victims have phantasms, why should not\nanimals have phantasms too? Why should not the phenomenon of the cat\nseen by Mrs. Hartnoll and the Wheelers have been the actual phantasm of\nan earthbound cat?\n\nNo amount of reasoning--religious or otherwise--has as yet annihilated\nthe possibility of all forms of earthly life possessing spirits.\n\nLETTER FROM MY WIFE\n\nI heard the foregoing account from my husband when first I met him years\nago, and I know it to be true. I have seen the rooms, etc. in the Old\nManor House, Oxenby, where the incidents Mrs. Hartnoll mentions took\nplace.\n\n                    ADA B. O'DONNELL.\n\n_July_ 2, 1913.\n\nTo further substantiate my views with regard to a future existence for\nanimals, I reproduce (by permission of the Editor) the following letters\nand articles that have appeared from time to time in the _Occult\nReview_:--\n\n\nLetter 1\n\n_That other Cat_\n\nOne evening about four years ago I was in my drawing-room with two\nfriends; we were all standing up on the point of going to bed, and only\nwaiting till the old cook had succeeded in inducing the grey Persian cat\nto come in for the night. This was sometimes difficult, and then cook\ncame up as on this occasion and called him from the balcony, and the\nFrench window was wide open, when a cat rushed in at the window and\nthrough the door.\n\n\"What was that?\" we said, looking at one another. It was not Kitty, the\ngrey Persian, but darker, and was it really a cat, or what? My friend\n\"Ruegen\" has written the account of what she saw before seeing what I\nhave said. \"Iona\" confirms our description. What I saw seemed dark and\nshadowy and yet unmistakably a cat. It seemed to me like the predecessor\nof Kitty, which was a black Persian; he had the same habit of coming in\nat night by this window, and he constantly rushed through the room, and\ndownstairs, being in a hurry for his supper. A moment or two afterwards\nthe grey cat walked slowly in, and though we searched the house, we\ncould find no other.\n\n                    \"THANET.\"\n\n\nLetter 2\n\n\n_Fraeulein Mullet's Story_\n\nThree or four years ago, Iona and I were sitting in the drawing-room on\na Sunday evening, when cook came in to ask for Kitty (a silver-grey\nPersian cat) to settle him in the kitchen for the night. Kitty was still\nin the garden, and cook went to the balcony calling him.\n\nSuddenly I saw a black cat flying in and disappearing behind or under a\nseat. First, I did not take much notice of this. But when a minute after\nKitty slowly and solemnly stepped in, followed by cook, it struck me\nthat the dark something could not have been Kitty, and Thanet and Iona\nmade the remark simultaneously. Now we began to look for the dark one\nall over the place without any result. Cook had not seen any cat passing\nher on the balcony, but Kitty the grey one. Thanet had had a black\nPersian cat, which died before Kitty came.\n\n                    \"RUeGEN.\"\n\n\nLetter 3\n\n\nI can entirely corroborate the accounts written by \"Thanet\" and \"Ruegen.\"\n\nI remember that I saw something like a dark shadow move very quickly and\ndisappear in front of a cottage piano. I exclaimed simultaneously with\nmy friends \"What was that?\" and shared their surprise when no black cat\nwas found, and the grey Persian walked in unconcernedly through the open\nwindow.\n\n                    \"IONA.\"\n\n\nLetter 4\n\n\n_What Kitty saw_\n\nCook said, \"I wish you would come downstairs and see how strangely Kitty\nbehaves as soon as I open the cupboard. There is nothing in it but the\nwood; I turned it all out to see what might be the reason--not even a\nmousehole can I find.\" Some days previously cook had told me that\nnothing could induce Kitty to sleep in his basket, and one day he would\nnot eat any food in the kitchen, and his meals had to be given him\noutside. So I went down to please cook. Kitty was picked up, and while\ncook petted and stroked him, she knelt down and opened the cupboard.\nKitty, stretching his neck and looking with big, frightened eyes into\nthe cupboard's corner, suddenly turned round; struggling out of cook's\nhold and rushing over her shoulder, he flew out of the kitchen. Getting\nup, Cook said: \"That's always what he does, just as if he was seeing\nsomething horrible!\"\n\nNext day I encouraged cook to talk of Ruff, the former black cat, which\nhad been a great favourite of hers, and which she had been nursing when\nhe was dying. \"Oh, poor thing, when he was ill, he would creep into dark\ncorners, so I put him in his basket into the cupboard, making it very\ncomfortable for him, and there he died\"--pointing to the very corner\nwhich caused such horror to Kitty.\n\n\n                   \"RUeGEN.\"\n\n\nLetter 5\n\n\n_Captain Humphries's Story--A Materialized Cat_\n\nMy son had the following experience at the age of four years in our\nWorcestershire home.\n\nHe was an only child and spent much of his time in the company of a cat\nwho shared his tastes and pursuits even to the extent of fishing in the\nRiver Weir with him, the cat being far more proficient at the sport than\nthe boy. When the cat died we none of us dared to break the news to the\nchild, and were much surprised when he asked us to say why his cat only\ncame to play with him at nights nowadays. When we questioned him about\nit, he stoutly maintained that his cat was there in bodily form every\nnight after he went to bed, looking much the same but a little thinner.\n\nAt about the same age, one evening after being in bed one hour, I heard\nhim cry out, and going upstairs (his maid also heard and ran up) and\nasking him what was the matter, he said that an old gentleman with a\nlong grey beard like his grandfather came into his room, and stood at\nthe front of his bed. At the very moment, the former had a seizure in\nhis carriage while driving through the streets of Birmingham, from which\nhe died without regaining consciousness; later on he recognized a\nphotograph of his grandfather as being the person he saw at the foot of\nhis bed. My wife, the maid, and myself can vouch for the accuracy of\nthese statements, also friends to whom we have related these facts.\n\n                    \"MUNSTER.\"\n\n\nLetter 6\n\n\n_Mrs. E.J. Ellis's Story--\"The Old Woman's Cat\"_\n\nMy wife, writes Mr. Ellis, who was brought up in Germany, and who is not\nsufficiently confident about her English to attempt to put down anything\nfor publication in that language, tells me the following story for the\n_Occult Review_:--\n\n\"When I was a little girl living with my family near Michelstadt in the\nOdenwald, I remember an old woman like an old witch, whose name was\nLouise, and who was called 'Pfeiffe Louise,' because she exhibited pipes\nfor sale in her cottage window, along with the cheap dress-stuffs,\nneedles and threads, and simple toys for children which were her\nstock-in-trade. She had a favourite cat which was devoted to her, but\nits attachment doesn't seem to have been enough to make her happy, for\nshe married a young sergeant named Lautenschlager, who might have been\nher son--or indeed her grandson--and who, as everyone said, courted her\nfor her money. She died as long ago as 1869, and during her last illness\nthe devoted cat was always with her. It kept watch beside the body when\nshe was dead, and refused to be driven away. In a fit of exasperation\nLautenschlager seized it, carried it off, and drowned it in the little\nRiver Mumling, at a place where the road from Michelstadt to the\nneighbouring village Steinbach runs near the water's edge. It was\nbordered with poplars then, but chestnut trees shade it now.\n\n\"Soon after his first wife was buried Lautenschlager married again, and\nopened an eating-house in Steinbach, where he established his second\nwife. He had a sister whom he placed in the cottage of poor 'Pfeiffe\nLouise.' She carried on the business, and every day Lautenschlager used\nto walk over from Steinbach to see how she was getting on, returning in\nthe evening to his wife, who used to relate to my mother that he\nfrequently came home terrified and bathed in perspiration, for as he\npassed the place where he had drowned the cat, its ghost used to come\nout of the river and run beside him along the dark road, sometimes\nterrifying him still more by jumping in front of him.\n\n\"After a few years of married life the second wife died, and\nLautenschlager married a third. The little cottage business had\nprospered, and in its place he now had a considerable draper's shop in\nMichelstadt. He continued to walk over from Steinbach, where now the\nthird wife lived in the eating-house, and the ghost of the cat continued\nto frighten him by appearing at nightfall as he walked beside the river.\n\n\"I can remember hearing his third wife describe his dread of it, and my\nmother has told me how both the sister and the second wife used to say\nthe same thing, though I was too young then for them to tell me about\nit. Lautenschlager used also to complain to the country people who came\nto dine at his eating-house. He considered himself an ill-used man, and\nfelt that the supernatural powers were treating him very hardly, and\nsubjecting him to a real persecution. I have only the conversation of\nhis wife and the gossip of the village to vouch for his sincerity, and\nthe genuineness of the apparition is supported only by Lautenschlager's\nword, but his evident anger and agitation were accepted as genuine, and\nno one dreamed of doubting his word. He was not at all a dreamy or\nimaginative man, and did not drink. His passion was merely momentary. He\nwas not only a draper and caterer but a usurer, and realized something\nof a fortune by lending money on good security to peasants and farmers\nwho, it was said, did not consider how they bound themselves when they\nsigned the papers he put before them.\n\n\"Lautenschlager continued to be haunted by the cat-ghost at irregular\nintervals for more than twenty years, and it made a marked change in his\ncharacter. He became serious, and during the latter part of his life\nwould only talk about religion and read sacred literature. He died about\nten years ago.\"\n\n                    \"FELINE.\"\n\n\nLetter 7\n\n\n_A Spectral Fox-terrier_\n\nTwo or three years ago I visited a medium (Mrs. Davies of 44 Laburnum\nGrove, Portsmouth). I had been seated only a few minutes when a little\npug-dog of hers looked up in the direction of my knees and down towards\nmy feet, growling and howling in a most strange manner.\n\n\"What on earth is he looking at?\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"Oh,\" said the medium, \"there is a little fox-terrier lying across your\nfeet; one half of his face is quite dark and the other half white, but\nhe has such a peculiar black patch over the eye that one would almost\nthink it was a black bruise.\" Now, sir, I had such a little dog in\nIndia, but this lady did not know of him, and would never have known had\nhe not, as I afterwards found, died out there. This is not only a case\nof the appearance of an animal after death, but also a case in which it\nwas seen by another animal, as also by the medium. I am also told that\nthe pug-dog who had this vision of my dog was once seen to pounce upon\nwhat seemed to the medium to be several cats, near the copper in the\nscullery of the same house. The medium asked a neighbour if the previous\noccupants had had any cats. \"Oh, yes,\" replied the neighbour, \"and badly\nthe poor things were served, for they were cruelly thrown into the\ncopper, which was full of boiling water.\"\n\n                    \"SIMLA\" (M. Conder).\n\n\nLetter 8\n\n\n_Killed by a Street Car, but walks in at the Front Door_\n\nSome five years ago we had a little puppy about six months old. I used\nto train him to always go round the back way to come into the house. One\nday he got hurt and run over, being instantly killed by a street car. A\nday or two after the accident I was going in my front door and I saw the\ndog go up the steps in front of me, as plain as I ever saw him in my\nlife. It seemed he knew that I had taught him he must not go in the\nfront way, because he would go a few steps and then turn round and look\nat me, as though he wanted to see how I was taking it, and I positively\nsaw him go to the full length of the hall into the house, a distance of\nabout twenty feet, before he disappeared. I saw him do this at least\nthree times in two months that we stayed in that flat. I told at least a\nhalf-dozen people of the incident at the time it happened, and I can\nvouch for its authenticity.\n\n     I remain, yours truly,\n\n                    \"MAJILTON\"\n    (Chas. A. Thompson, Chicago, Ill., U.S.A.).\n\n\nLetter 9\n\n\n_Mrs. Vincent Taylor's Experience. A Spirit Purr_\n\nOne evening in February, 1906, my son and I were quietly reading, in\nfull gaslight, our small grey cat lying on the sofa a short distance\nfrom where I sat. Suddenly I saw on my knee a large red and white cat\nwhich belonged to us in India, which was a very dear family friend and\nas fond of us as a child.\n\nOn leaving India we were obliged to give him to a friend, and in the end\nhe shared the usual fate of pets in that country, making a meal for some\nwild animal.\n\n\"Rufie-Oofie,\" in his spirit shape, purred vigorously, rubbing his head\nagainst me and giving every sign of delight at seeing us again. I did\nnot speak, but in a few minutes my son looked up and said, \"Mother,\nRufie-Oofie is on your knee,\" when the spirit cat jumped down and went\nto him to be petted. Then he returned to me, and walked along the sofa\nto where our present cat, \"Kim,\" was asleep. The spirit cat, with a look\nof almost human fun, patted Kim's head, the latter awaking with a start.\nRufie-Oofie continued to make playful dabs at Kim's ears, Kim following\neach movement with glaring eyes, distinctly seeing and realizing that\nanother cat was invading his sofa, but not in the least angry with him\nand quite ready to play. After a few minutes the spirit cat came back to\nmy knee, whereupon the earth cat displayed jealousy which Rufie-Oofie\nresented, but before they came to actual \"words\" the spirit cat retired\nbehind the veil.\n\n                    \"ARJUeNA.\"\n\n\nLetter 10\n\n\nSIR,\n\nThe following notes of psychological experiences with animals may be of\ninterest:--\n\nI had a collie who lived to a good old age. She was deaf and infirm, and\none hind-leg was paralysed, so that it dragged as she walked. I was\ntaken ill, not seriously, nor so as in any way to affect my brain, but\nas my poor old dog would insist on coming and lying in my room the\ndoctor insisted on her being destroyed. I felt that her life was no\npleasure to her, and she was killed with chloroform. Three days\nafterwards in the afternoon I heard her come upstairs with her dragging\nhind-leg. I heard her steps come along the long passage which had my\nroom at the end, and lost them about half-way up. On the third day I\ncalled her and spoke to her, putting out my hand as if she would come\nand put her head under it, and told her all was right. I never heard her\nany more.\n\nI believe that on one occasion she told me by thought transference that\nshe had no water in her pan. The pan was always filled, and I knew that\nshe wanted something, but thought of all other wants but water. She made\nher eyes protrude, and looked at me intently, and \"water\" flashed into\nmy mind. I looked and found the pan empty. It is, of course, possible\nthat the suggestion came from my own subconscious mind. I never saw the\naura of a human being, but I once had a kind of vision of this dog,\nwhich experts have told me was her aura. I was sitting by the fire,\nsomewhat somnolent, and he was lying on the hearthrug. All at once his\ngolden brown coat disappeared, and I saw a mass of reddish brown or\nperhaps I should say brownish red, and on one side of it was an\nirregular patch of fleecy white, bordered with sapphire blue. I was told\nthat the brownish red represented the dog's animal instincts, the pearly\nwhite his animal innocence, and the sapphire blue his devotional\ninstinct, in his case directed to me as his deity. Whether any of your\nreaders have had similar experiences and explain them similarly, I do\nnot know.\n\nI had to go abroad one summer and my dog was ill with eczema, and as I\ndid not very much trust the maid I was leaving in charge, I sent him to\nthe vet's to be treated. As soon as I reached my destination I wrote to\na friend to go and inquire how he was. She replied that the dog was\nperfectly miserable, and that he had an enormous wound on his back, that\nhe had eaten nothing for a week, that he was too weak to stand, and that\nif he were hers, she would have him put out of his misery at once. I\nwrote at once to the vet, telling him to telegraph \"Curable\" or\n\"Hopeless,\" and to act accordingly. Meanwhile, I sat that afternoon in\nthe Buergerpark by myself and imagined the dog upon my lap, and myself\nstroking and healing him. After this I found myself fully believing that\nhe would get better. The telegram I received was \"Curable,\" and my\nfriend wrote a second letter and said it was a miracle, for the dog was\nquite convalescent. He recovered perfectly. Here, again, however, it may\nhave been that he was breaking his heart for a friend, and that my\nfriend's visit cheered him. Or may not both causes have had their\neffect?\n\n                    \"AMBROSE ZAIL MARTYN.\"\n\nHere is another case in the veracity of which I have every confidence. I\nwill call it\n\n\n_The Headless Cat of No. ---- Lower Seedley Road, Seedley, Manchester_\n\nIt was related to me by Mr. Robert Dane, who was at one time a tenant of\nNo. ---- Lower Seedley Road, Seedley. I quote it as nearly as possible\nin his words, thus:--\n\n\"When we--my wife and I--took No. ---- Lower Seedley Road, no\npossibility of the place being haunted crossed our minds. Indeed ghosts\nwere the very last things we reckoned on, as neither of us had the\nslightest belief in them. Like the generality of solicitors, I am stodgy\nand unimaginative, whilst my wife is the most practical and\nmatter-of-fact little woman you would meet in a day's march. Nor was\nthere anything about the house that in any way suggested the\nsuperphysical. It was airy and light--no dark corners nor sinister\nstaircases--and equipped throughout with all modern conveniences. We\nbegan our lease in June--the hottest June I remember--and nothing\noccurred to disturb us till October.\n\n\"It happened then in this wise. I will quote from my diary:--\n\n\"_Monday, October 11th_.--Dick--that is my brother-in-law--and I, at 11\np.m., were sitting smoking and chatting together in the study. All the\nrest of the household had gone to bed. We had no light in the room--as\nDick had a headache--save the fire, and that had burned so low that its\nfeeble glimmering scarcely enabled us to see each other's face. After a\nspace of sudden and thoughtful silence, Dick took the stump of a cigar\nfrom his lips and threw it in the grate, where for a few moments it lay\nglowing in the gloom.\n\n\"'Jack,' he said, 'you will think me mad, but there is something deuced\nqueer about this room to-night--something in the atmosphere I cannot\ndefine, but which I have never felt here--or indeed anywhere--before.\nLook at that cigar-end--look!'\n\n\"I did so, and received a shock. What I saw was certainly not the stump\nDick had had in his mouth, but an eye--a large, red and lurid eye--that\nlooked up at us with an expression of the utmost hate.\n\n\"Dick raised the shovel and struck at it, but without effect--it still\nglared at us. A great horror then seized us, and unable to remove our\ngaze from the hellish thing, we sat glued to our chairs staring at it.\nThis state of affairs lasted till the clock in the hall outside struck\ntwelve, when the eye suddenly vanished, and we both felt as if some\nintensely evil influence had been suddenly removed.\n\n\"Dick did not like the idea of sleeping alone, and asked if he might\nkeep the electric light on in his room all night. Tremendous\nextravagance, but under the circumstances excusable. I confess I\ndevoutly wished it was morning.\n\n\"_Tuesday, October 12th._--I was awakened at 11.30 p.m. by Delia saying\nto me, 'Oh, Edward, there have been such dreadful noises on the landing,\njust as if a cat were being worried to death by dogs. Hark! there it is\nagain.' And as she spoke, from apparently just outside the door, came a\nseries of loud screeches, accompanied by savage growls and snarls.\n\n\"Not knowing what to make of it, as we had no animals of our own in the\nhouse, but concluding that a door or window having been left open, a dog\nand cat had got in from outside, I lit a candle, and opened the bedroom\ndoor. Instantly the sounds ceased and there was dead silence, and\nalthough I searched everywhere, not a vestige of any animal was to be\nseen. Moreover all the doors leading into the garden were shut and\nlocked, and the windows closed. Not wishing to frighten Delia, I\nlaughingly assured her the cat--a black Tom--was all right, that it was\nsitting on the roof of the summer-house, looking none the worse for its\ntreatment, and that I had sent the dog--a terrier--flying out of the\ngate with a well-deserved kick. I explained it was my fault about the\nfront door being left open--my brain had been a bit overstrained through\nexcessive work--and asked her on no account to blame the servants. I\ngrow alarmed at times when I realize how easy lawyering makes lying.\n\n\"_Friday, October 21st._--On my way to bed last night I encountered a\nrush of icy cold air at the first bend of the staircase. The candle\nflared up, a bright blue flame, and went out. Something--an animal of\nsorts--came tearing down the stairs past me, and on peering over the\nbanisters, I saw, looking up at me from the well of darkness beneath,\ntwo big red eyes, the counterparts of the one Dick and I had seen on\nOctober 11th. I threw a matchbox at them, but without effect. It was\nonly when I switched on the electric light that they disappeared. I\nsearched the house most carefully, but there were no signs of any\nanimal. Joined Delia, feeling nervous and henpecky.\n\n\"_Monday, November 7th._--Tom and Mable came running into Delia's room\nin a great state of excitement after tea to-day. 'Mother!' they cried,\n'Mother! Do come! Some horrid dog has got a cat in the spare room and is\ntearing it to pieces.' Delia, who was mending my socks at the time,\nflung them anywhere, and springing to her feet, flew to the spare room.\nThe door was shut, but proceeding from within was the most appalling\npandemonium of screeches and snarls, just as if some dog had got hold of\na cat by the neck and was shaking it to death. Delia swung open the door\nand rushed in. The room was empty--not a trace of a cat or dog\nanywhere--and the sounds ceased! On my return home Delia met me in the\ngarden. 'Jack!' she said, 'I have probed the mystery at last. The house\nis haunted! We must leave.'\n\n\"_Saturday, November 12th._--Sublet house to James Barstow, retired oil\nmerchant, to-day. He comes in on the 30th. Hope he'll like it!\n\n\"_Tuesday, November 15th._--Cook left to-day. 'I've no fault to find\nwith you, mum,' she condescendingly explained to Delia. 'It's not you,\nnor the children, nor the food. It's the noises at night--screeches\noutside my door, which sound like a cat, but which I know can't be a\ncat, as there is no cat in the house. This morning, mum, shortly after\nthe clock struck two, things came to a climax. Hearing something in the\ncorner and wondering if it was a mouse--I ain't a bit afraid of mice,\nmum--I sat up in bed and was getting ready to strike a light--the\nmatchbox was in my hand--when something heavy sprang right on the top of\nme and gave a loud growl in my ear. That finished me, mum--I fainted.\nWhen I came to myself, I was too frightened to stir, but lay with my\nhead under the blankets till it was time to get up. I then searched\neverywhere, but there was no sign of any dog, and as the door was locked\nthere was no possibility of any dog having got in during the night. Mum,\nI wouldn't go through what I suffered again for fifty pounds; I've got\npalpitations even now; and I would rather go without my month's wages\nthan sleep in that room another night.' Delia paid her up to date, and\nshe went directly after tea.\n\n\"_Friday, November 18th._--As I was coming out of the bathroom at 11\np.m. something fell into the bath with a loud splash. I turned to see\nwhat it was--there was nothing there. I ran up the stairs to bed, three\nsteps at a time!\n\n\"_Sunday, November 20th._--Went to church in the morning and heard the\nusual Oxford drawl. On the way back I was pondering over the sermon and\nwishing I could contort the Law as successfully as parsons contort the\nScriptures, when Dot--she is six to-day--came running up to me with a\nvery scared expression in her eyes. 'Father,' she cried, plucking me by\nthe sleeve, 'do hurry up. Mother is very ill.' Full of dreadful\nanticipations, I tore home, and on arriving found Delia lying on the\nsofa in a violent fit of hysterics. It was fully an hour before she\nrecovered sufficiently to tell me what had happened. Her account runs\nthus:--\n\n\"'After you went to church,' she began, 'I made the custard pudding,\njelly and blancmange for dinner, heard the children their collects, and\nhad just sat down with the intention of writing a letter to mother, when\nI heard a very pathetic mew coming, so I thought, from under the sofa.\nThinking it was some stray cat that had got in through one of the\nwindows, I tried to entice it out, by calling \"Puss, puss,\" and making\nthe usual silly noise people do on such occasions. No cat coming out and\nthe mewing still continuing, I knelt down and peered under the sofa.\nThere was no cat there. Had it been night I should have been very much\nafraid, but I could scarcely reconcile myself to the idea of ghosts\nwith the room filled with sunshine. Resuming my seat I went on with my\nwriting, but not for long. The mewing grew nearer. I distinctly heard\nsomething crawl out from under the sofa; there was then a pause, during\nwhich you could have heard the proverbial pin fall, and then something\nsprang upon me and dug its claws in my knees. I looked down, and to my\nhorror and distress, perceived, standing on its hind-legs, pawing my\nclothes, a large, tabby cat, without a head--the neck terminating in a\nmangled stump. The sight so appalled me that I don't know what happened,\nbut nurse and the children came in and found me lying on the floor in\nhysterics. Can't we leave the house at once?'\n\n\"_Wednesday, November 30th._--Left No. ---- Lower Seedley Road at 2 p.m.\nHad an awful scurry to get things packed in time, and dread opening\ncertain of the packing-cases lest we shall find all the crockery\nsmashed. Just as we were starting Delia cried out that she had left her\nreticule behind, and I was despatched in search of it. I searched\neverywhere--till I was worn out, for I know what Delia is--and was\nleaving the premises in full anticipation of being sent back again, when\nthere was a loud commotion in the hall, just as if a dog had suddenly\npounced on a cat, and the next moment a large tabby, with the head hewn\naway as Delia had described, rushed up to me and tried to spring on to\nmy shoulders. At this juncture one of the servants cautiously opened the\nhall door from without, and informed me I was wanted. The cat instantly\nvanished, and, on my reaching the carriage in a state of breathless\nhaste and trepidation, Delia told me she had found her reticule--she had\nbeen sitting on it all the time!\"\n\nIn a subsequent note in his diary a year or so later Mr. Dane says:\n\"After innumerable enquiries _re_ the history of No. ---- Lower Seedley\nRoad prior to our inhabiting it, I have at length elicited the fact that\ntwelve years ago a Mr. and Mrs. Barlowe lived there. They had one son,\nArthur, whom they spoilt in the most outrageous fashion, even to the\nextent of encouraging him in acts of cruelty. To afford him amusement\nthey used to buy rats for his dog--a fox-terrier--to worry, and on one\noccasion procured a stray cat, which the servants afterwards declared\nwas mangled in the most shocking manner before being finally destroyed\nby Arthur. Here, then, in my opinion, is a very feasible explanation for\nthe hauntings--the phenomenon seen was the phantasm of the poor,\ntortured cat. For if human tragedies are re-enacted by ghosts, why not\nanimal tragedies too? It is absurd to suppose man has the monopoly of\nsoul or spirit.\"\n\n\n_The Cat on the Post_\n\nIn her _Ghosts and Family Legends_ Mrs. Crowe narrates the following\ncase of a haunting by the phantom of a cat:--\n\n\"After the doctor's story, I fear mine will appear too trifling,\" said\nMrs. M., \"but as it is the only circumstance of the kind that ever\nhappened to myself, I prefer giving it you to any of the many stories I\nhave heard.\n\n\"About fifteen years ago I was staying with some friends at a\nmagnificent old seat in Yorkshire, and our host being very much crippled\nwith the gout, was in the habit of driving about the park and\nneighbourhood in a low pony phaeton, on which occasions I often\naccompanied him. One of our favourite excursions was to the ruins of an\nold abbey just beyond the park, and we generally returned by a\nremarkably pretty rural lane leading to the village, or rather small\ntown, of C----.\n\n\"One fine summer's evening we had just entered this lane when, seeing\nthe hedges full of wild flowers, I asked my friend to let me alight and\ngather some. I walked before the carriage picking honeysuckles and roses\nas I went along, till I came to a gate that led into a field. It was a\ncommon country gate with a post on each side, and on one of these posts\nsat a large white cat, the finest animal of the kind I had ever seen;\nand as I have a weakness for cats I stopped to admire this sleek, fat\npuss, looking so wonderfully comfortable in a very uncomfortable\nposition, the top of the post, on which it was sitting with its feet\ndoubled up under it, being out of all proportion to its body, for no\nAngola ever rivalled it in size.\n\n\"'Come on gently,' I called to my friend; 'here's such a magnificent\ncat!' for I feared the approach of the phaeton would startle it away\nbefore he had seen it.\n\n\"'Where?' said he, pulling up his horse opposite the gate.\n\n\"'There,' said I, pointing to the post. 'Isn't he a beauty? I wonder if\nit would let me stroke it?'\n\n\"'I see no cat,' said he.\n\n\"'There on the post,' said I, but he declared he saw nothing, though\npuss sat there in perfect composure during this colloquy.\n\n\"'Don't you see the cat, James?' said I in great perplexity to the\ngroom.\n\n\"'Yes, ma'am; a large white cat on that post.'\n\n\"I thought my friend must be joking, or losing his eyesight, and I\napproached the cat, intending to take it in my arms and carry it to the\ncarriage; but as I drew near she jumped off the post, which was natural\nenough, but to my surprise she jumped into nothing--as she jumped she\ndisappeared! No cat in the field--none in the lane--none in the ditch!\n\n\"'Where did she go, James?'\n\n\"'I don't know, ma'am. I can't see her,' said the groom, standing up in\nhis seat and looking all round.\n\n\"I was quite bewildered; but still I had no glimmering of the truth; and\nwhen I got into the carriage again my friend said he thought I and James\nwere dreaming, and I retorted that I thought he must be going blind.\n\n\"I had a commission to execute as we passed through the town, and I\nalighted for that purpose at the little haberdasher's; and while they\nwere serving me I mentioned that I had seen a remarkably beautiful cat\nsitting on a gate in the lane, and asked if they could tell me who it\nbelonged to, adding it was the largest cat I ever saw.\n\n\"The owners of the shop, and two women who were making purchases,\nsuspended their proceedings, looked at each other and then looked at me,\nevidently very much surprised.\n\n\"'Was it a white cat, ma'am?' said the mistress.\n\n\"'Yes, a white cat; a beautiful creature and----'\n\n\"'Bless me!' cried two or three, 'the lady's seen the white cat of\nC----. It hasn't been seen these twenty years.'\n\n\"'Master wishes to know if you'll soon be done, ma'am. The pony is\ngetting restless,' said James.\n\n\"Of course I hurried out, and got into the carriage, telling my friend\nthat the cat was well known to the people at C----, and that it was\ntwenty years old.\n\n\"In those days, I believe, I never thought of ghosts, and least of all\nshould have thought of the ghost of a cat; but two evenings afterwards,\nas we were driving down the lane, I again saw the cat in the same\nposition and again my companion could not see it, though the groom did.\nI alighted immediately, and went up to it. As I approached it turned its\nhead and looked full towards me with its soft mild eyes, and a friendly\nexpression, like that of a loving dog; and then, without moving from the\npost, it began to fade gradually away, as if it were a vapour, till it\nhad quite disappeared. All this the groom saw as well as myself; and now\nthere could be no mistake as to what it was. A third time I saw it in\nbroad daylight, and my curiosity greatly awakened, I resolved to make\nfurther enquiries amongst the inhabitants of C----, but before I had an\nopportunity of doing so, I was summoned away by the death of my eldest\nchild, and I have never been in that part of the world since.\n\n\"However, I once mentioned the circumstance to a lady who was acquainted\nwith that neighbourhood, and she said she had heard of the white cat of\nC----, but had never seen it.\"\n\nThis is Mrs. M.'s account as related by Mrs. Crowe, and after perusing\nthe authoress's preface to the work, I am inclined to give it full\ncredence.\n\n\n_The Mystic Properties of Cats_\n\nThe most common forms of animal phenomena seen in haunted houses are\nundoubtedly those of cats. The number of places reported to me as being\nhaunted by cats is almost incredible--in one street in Whitechapel there\nare no less than four. This state of affairs may possibly be accounted\nfor by the fact that cats, more than any other animals that live in\nhouses, meet with sudden and unnatural ends, especially in the poorer\ndistricts, where the doctrine of kindness to animals has not as yet made\nitself thoroughly felt. Now I am touching on the subject of cat ghosts,\nit may not be out of place to reproduce the following article of mine,\nentitled \"Cats and the Unknown,\" which appeared in the _Occult Review_\nfor December, 1912:--\n\n\"Since, from all ages, the cat has been closely associated with the\nsupernatural, it is not surprising to learn that images and symbols of\nthat animal figured in the temples of the sun and moon, respectively, in\nancient Egypt. According to Horapollo, the cat was worshipped in the\nTemple of Heliopolis, sacred to the sun, because the size of the pupil\nof the cat's eye is regulated by the height of the sun above the\nhorizon.\n\n\"Other authorities suggest a rather more subtle--and, in my opinion,\nmore probable--reason, namely, that the link between the sun and the cat\nis not merely physical but superphysical, that the cat is attracted to\nthe sun not only because it loves warmth, but because the sun keeps off\nterrifying and antagonistic occult forces, to the influences of which\nthe cat, above all other animals, is specially susceptible; a fact fully\nrecognized by the Egyptians, who, to show their understanding and\nappreciation of this feline attachment, took care that whenever a temple\nwas dedicated to the sun an image or symbol of the cat was placed\nsomewhere, well in evidence, within the precincts.\n\n\"To make this theory all the more probable, images and symbols of the\ncat were dedicated to the moon, the moon being universally regarded as\nthe quintessence of everything supernatural, the very cockpit, in fact,\nof mystery and spookism. The nocturnal habits of the cat, its love of\nprowling about during moonlight hours, and the spectacle of its two\nround, gleaming eyes, may, of course, as Plutarch seems to have thought,\nhave suggested to the Egyptians human influence and analogy, and thus\nthe presence of its effigy in temples to Isis would be partially, at all\nevents, accounted for; though, as before, I am inclined to think there\nis another and rather more subtle reason.\n\n\"From endless experiments made in haunted houses, I have proved to my\nown satisfaction, at least, that the cat acts as a thoroughly reliable\npsychic barometer.\n\n\"The dog is sometimes unaware of the proximity of the Unknown. When the\nghost materializes or in some other way demonstrates its advent, the\ndog, occasionally, is wholly undisturbed--the cat never. I have never\nyet had a cat with me that has not shown the most obvious signs of\nterror and uneasiness both before and during a superphysical\nmanifestation.\n\n\"Now, although I won't go so far as to say that ghostly demonstrations\nare actually dependent on the moon--that they occur only on nights when\nthe moon is visible--experience has led me to believe that the moon most\ncertainly does influence them--that moonlight nights are much more\nfavourable to ghostly appearances than other nights. Hence--there is\nthis much in common between the moon and cats--the one influences and\nthe other is influenced by psychic phenomena--a fact that could scarcely\nhave failed to be recognized by so keen observers of the occult as the\nAncient Egyptians.\n\n\"The presence of the cat's effigy in the temples of Isis might thus be\nexplained. Over and over again we come across the cat in the land of the\nPharaohs. It seems to be inseparable from the esoteric side of Egyptian\nlife. The goddess Bast is depicted with a cat's head, holding the\nsistrum, i.e. the symbol of the world's harmony, in her hand.\n\n\"One of the most ancient symbols of the cat is to be found in the\nNecropolis of Thebes, which contains the tomb of Hana (who probably\nbelonged to the Eleventh Dynasty). There, Hana is depicted standing\nerect, proud and kingly, with his favourite cat Borehaki--Borehaki, the\npicture of all things strange and psychic, and from whom one cannot help\nsupposing he may have chosen his occult inspiration--at his feet. So\nsure were the Egyptians that the cat possessed a soul that they deemed\nit worthy of the same funeral rites they bestowed on man. Cats were\nembalmed, and innumerable cat mummies have been discovered in wooden\ncoffins at Bubastis, Speos, Artemidos and Thebes. When a cat died the\nEgyptians shaved their eyebrows, not only to show grief at the loss of\ntheir loved one, but to avert subsequent misfortune.\n\n\"So long as a cat was in his house the Egyptian felt safe from inimical\nsupernatural influences, but if there was no cat in the house at night,\nthen any undesirable from the occult world might visit him. Indeed, in\nsuch high esteem did the Egyptians hold the cat, that they voluntarily\nincurred the gravest risks when its life was in peril. No one of them\nappreciated the cat and set a higher value on its mystic properties than\nthe Sultan El-Daher-Beybas, who reigned in A.D. 1260, and has been\ncompared with William of Tripoli for his courage, and with Nero for his\ncruelty. El-Daher-Beybas kept his palace swarming with cats, and--if we\nmay give credence to tradition--was seldom to be seen unaccompanied by\none of these animals. When he died, he left the proceeds from the\nproduct of a garden to support his feline friends--an example that found\nmany subsequent imitators. Indeed, until comparatively recently in\nCairo, cats were regularly fed, between noon and sunset, in the outer\ncourt of the Mehkemeh.\n\n\"In Geneva, Rome and Constantinople, though cats were generally deemed\nto have souls and to possess psychic properties, they were thought to\nderive them from evil sources, and so strong was the prejudice against\nthese unfortunate animals on this account, that all through the Middle\nAges we find them suffering such barbaric torture as only the perverted\nminds of a fanatical, priest-ridden people could devise (which\ntreatment, no doubt, partly, at all events, accounts for the many\npalaces, houses, etc., in those particular countries, stated to have\nbeen haunted by the spirits of cats).\n\n\"The devil was popularly supposed to appear in the shape of a black Tom\nin preference to assuming any other guise, and the bare fact of an old\nwoman being seen, once or twice, with a black cat by her side was quite\nsufficient to earn for her the reputation of a witch. It would be idle,\nof course, to expect people in these unmeditative times to believe there\nwas ever the remotest truth underlying these so-called phantastic\nsuppositions of the past; yet, according to reliable testimony, there\nare, at the present moment, many houses in England haunted by phantasms\nin the form of black cats, of so sinister and hostile an appearance,\nthat one can only assume that unless they are the actual spirits of\ncats, earthbound through cruel and vicious propensities, they must be\nvice-elementals, i.e. spirits that have never inhabited any material\nbody, and which have either been generated by vicious thoughts, or else\nhave been attracted elsewhere to a spot by some crime or vicious act\nonce perpetrated there. Vice-elemental is merely the modern name for\nfiend or demon.\n\n\"Apart from his luciferan qualities, the cat was awarded all sorts of\nother qualities, not the least important of which was its prophetic\ncapability. If a cat washed its face, rainy weather was regarded as\ninevitable; if a cat frolicked on the deck of a ship, it was a sure sign\nof a storm; whilst if a live ember fell on a cat, an earthquake shock\nwould speedily be felt. Cats, too, were reputed the harbingers of good\nand bad fortune. Not a person in Normandy but believed, at one time,\nthat the spectacle of a tortoiseshell cat, climbing a tree, foretold\ndeath from accident, and that a black cat crossing one's path, in the\nmoonlight, presaged death from an epidemic. Two black cats viewed in the\nopen between 4 and 7 a.m. were generally believed to predict a death;\nwhereas a strange white cat, heard mewing on a doorstep, was loudly\nwelcomed as the indication of an approaching marriage. According to\ntradition, one learns that cats were occasionally made use of in\nmedicine; to cure peasants of skin diseases, French sorcerers sprinkling\nthe afflicted parts with three drops of blood drawn from the vein under\na cat's tail; whilst blindness was treated by blowing into the\npatient's eyes, three times a day, the dust made from ashes of the head\nof a black cat that had been burned alive.\n\n\"Talking of burning cats reminds me of a horrible practice that was\nprevalent in the Hebrides as late as 1750. It was firmly believed there\nthat cats were extraordinarily psychic, and that a sure means of getting\nin close touch with occult powers, and of obtaining from them the\nfaculty of second sight--such as the cat possessed--was to offer up as\nsacrifices innumerable black cats. The process was very simple. A black\ncat was fastened to a spit before a slow fire, and as soon as the\nwretched animal was well roasted, another took its place; victims being\nsupplied without intermission, until their vociferous screams brought to\nthe scene a number of ghostly cats who joined in the chorus. The desired\nclimax was reached, when an enormous phantom cat suddenly appeared, and\ninformed the operator that it was willing to grant him any one request\nif he would only refrain from his cruel persecution. The operator at\nonce demanded the faculty of second sight--a power more highly prized in\nthe Hebrides than any other--and the moment it was bestowed on him, set\nfree the remaining cats. Had all races been as barbarously disposed as\nthese occult-hungering Westerners, cats would soon have become extinct;\nbut it is comforting to think that in some parts of the world a very\ndifferent value was set on their psychic properties.\n\n\"In various parts of Europe (some districts of England included) white\ncats were thought to attract benevolently disposed fairies, and a\npeasant would as soon have thought of cutting off his fingers, or\notherwise maltreating himself, as being unkind to an animal of this\nspecies. In the fairy lore of half Europe we have instances of\nluck-bringing cats--each country producing its own version of Puss in\nBoots, Dame Mitchell and her cat, the White Cat, Dick Whittington and\nhis cat, etc. It is the same in Asia, too; for nowhere are such stories\nmore prolific than in China and Persia.\n\n\"To sum up--in all climes and in all periods of past history, the cat\nwas credited with many propensities that brought it into affinity and\nsympathy with the supernatural--or to quote the up-to-date\nterm--superphysical world. Let us review the cat to-day, and see to what\nextent this past regard of it is justified.\n\n\"Firstly, with respect to it as the harbinger of fortune. Has a cat\ninsight into the future? Can it presage wealth or death? I am inclined\nto believe that certain cats can at all events foresee the advent of the\nlatter; and that they do this in the same manner as the shark, crow,\nowl, jackal, hyena, etc., viz. by their abnormally developed sense of\nsmell. My own and other people's experience has led me to believe that\nwhen a person is about to die, some kind of phantom, maybe, a spirit\nwhose special function it is to be present on such occasions, is in\nclose proximity to the sick or injured one, waiting to escort his or her\nsoul into the world of shadows--and that certain cats scent its\napproach.\n\n\"Therein then--in this wonderful property of smell--lies one of the\nsecrets to the cat's mysterious powers, it has the psychic faculty of\nscent--of scenting ghosts. Some people, too, have this faculty. In a\nrecent murder case, in the North of England, a rustic witness gave it in\nher evidence that she was sure a tragedy was about to happen because she\n\"smelt death in the house,\" and it made her very uneasy. Cats possessing\nthis peculiarity are affected in a similar manner--they are uneasy.\n\n\"Before a death in a house I have watched a cat show gradually\nincreasing signs of uneasiness. It has moved from place to place, unable\nto settle in any one spot for any length of time, had frequent fits of\nshivering, gone to the door, sniffed the atmosphere, thrown back its\nhead and mewed in a low, plaintive key, and shown the greatest\nreluctance to being alone in the dark.\n\n\"This faculty--possessed by certain cats--may in some measure explain\ncertain of the superstitions respecting them. Take, for example, that of\ncats crossing one's path predicting death.\n\n\"The cat is drawn to the spot because it scents the phantom of death,\nand cannot resist its magnetic attraction.\n\n\"From this, it does not follow that the person who sees the cat is going\nto die, but that death is overtaking someone associated with that\nperson; and it is in connection with the latter that the spirit of the\ngrave is present, employing, as a medium of prognostication, the cat,\nwhich has been given the psychic faculty of smell that it might be so\nused.\n\n\"But although I regard this theory as very feasible, I do not attribute\nto cats, with the same degree of certainty, the power to presage good\nfortune, simply because I have had no experience of it myself. Yet,\nadopting the same lines of argument, I see no reason why cats should not\nprognosticate good as well as evil.\n\n\"There may be phantoms representative of prosperity, in just the same\nmanner as there are those representative of death; they, too, may also\nhave some distinguishing scent (flowers have various odours, so why not\nspirits?) and certain cats, i.e. white cats in particular, may be\nattracted by it.\n\n\"This becomes all the more probable when one considers how very\nimpressionable the cat is--how very sensitive to kindness. There are\nsome strangers with whom the cat will at once make friends, and others\nwhom it will studiously avoid. Why? The explanation, I fancy, lies once\nmore in the occult--in the cat's psychic faculty of smell. Kind people\nattract benevolently disposed phantoms, which bring with them an\nagreeably scented atmosphere, that, in turn, attracts cats. The cat\ncomes to one person because it knows by the smell of the atmosphere\nsurrounding him, or her, that it has nothing to fear--that the person is\nessentially gentle and benignant. On the contrary, cruel people attract\nmalevolent phantoms, distinguishable also to the cat by their smell, a\nsmell typical of cruelty--often of homicidal lunacy (I have particularly\nnoticed how cats have shrunk from people who have afterwards become\ndangerously insane). Is this sense of smell, then, the keynote to the\nhalo of mystery that has for all times surrounded the cat--that has led\nto its bitter persecution--that has made it the hero of fairy lore, the\npet of old maids? I believe it is--I believe that in this psychic\nfaculty of smell lies, in degree, the solution to the oft-asked\nriddle--why is the cat uncanny? Having then satisfied oneself on this\npoint, namely, that cats are in the possession of rare psychic\nproperties, is it likely that the Unknown Powers which have so endowed\nthem, should withhold from them either souls or spirits? Is it not\ncontrary to reason, instinct, and observation to suppose that the many\nthoroughly material and grossly minded people--people whose whole beings\nare steeped in money worship--we see around us every day should have\nspirits, and that pretty, refined and artistic-looking cats, whose\noccult powers place them in the very closest connection with the\nsuperphysical, should not? Monstrous--the bare conception of such\nincongruity in the one case, and such an omission in the other, is\ninconceivable, wholly irreconcilable with the notion of any other than a\nmummer of a creator--a mere court fool of a God.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nAPPARITIONS OF DOGS\n\n\nOne of the most extraordinary cases of hauntings by the phantasms of\ndogs is related in an old Christmas number of the _Review of Reviews_,\nedited by the late Mr. W.T. Stead, and entitled \"Real Ghost Stories.\"\n\n\"The most remarkable,\" writes Mr. Stead, \"of all the stories which I\nhave heard concerning ghosts which touch is one that reaches me from\nDarlington. I owe this, as I owe so many of the other narratives in this\ncollection, to the Rev. Harry Kendall, of Darlington, whose painstaking\nperseverance in the collection of all matters of this kind cannot be too\nhighly praised. Mr. Kendall is a Congregational minister of old\nstanding. He was my pastor when I was editing the _Northern Echo_, and\nhe is the author of a remarkable book, entitled _All the World's Akin_.\nThe following narrative is quite unique in its way, and fortunately he\nwas able to get it at first hand from the only living person present.\nHere we have a ghost which not only strikes the first blow, hitting a\nman fair in the eye, but afterwards sets a ghostly dog upon his victim\nand then disappears. The narrative was signed by Mr. James Durham as\nlately as December 5th, 1890.\" Mr. Stead then proceeds to quote the\naccount which he had from Mr. Kendall, and which I append _ad verbum_\nfrom the _Review of Reviews_. It is as follows: \"I was night watchman at\nthe old Darlington and Stockton Station at the town of Darlington, a few\nyards from the first station that ever existed. I was there fifteen\nyears. I used to go on duty about 8 p.m. and come off at 6 a.m. I had\nbeen there a little while--perhaps two or three years--and about forty\nyears ago. One night during winter at about 12 o'clock or 12.30 I was\nfeeling rather cold with standing here and there; I said to myself, 'I\nwill away down and get something to eat.' There was a porter's cellar\nwhere a fire was kept on and a coal-house was connected with it. So I\nwent down the steps, took off my overcoat, and had just sat down on the\nbench opposite the fire and turned up the gas when a strange man came\nout of the coal-house, followed by a big black retriever. As soon as he\nentered my eye was upon him, and his eye upon me, and we were intently\nwatching each other as he moved on to the front of the fire. There he\nstood looking at me, and a curious smile came over his countenance. He\nhad a stand-up collar and a cut-away coat with gilt buttons and a Scotch\ncap. All at once he struck at me, and I had the impression that he hit\nme. I up with my fist and struck back at him. My fist seemed to go\nthrough him and struck against the stone above the fireplace, and\nknocked the skin off my knuckles. The man seemed to be struck back into\nthe fire, and uttered a strange, unearthly squeak. Immediately the dog\ngripped me by the calf of my leg, and seemed to cause me pain. The man\nrecovered his position, called off the dog with a sort of click of the\ntongue, then went back into the coal-house, followed by the dog. I\nlighted my dark lantern and looked into the coal-house, but there was\nneither dog nor man, and no outlet for them except the one by which they\nhad entered.\n\n\"I was satisfied that what I had seen was ghostly, and it accounted for\nthe fact that when the man had first come into the place where he sat I\nhad not challenged him with any enquiry. Next day, and for several\nweeks, my account caused quite a commotion, and a host of people spoke\nto me about it; among the rest old Edward Pease, father of railways, and\nhis three sons, John, Joseph, and Henry. Old Edward sent for me to his\nhouse and asked me all particulars. He and others put this question to\nme: \"Are you sure you were not asleep and had the nightmare?\" My answer\nwas quite sure, for I had not been a minute in the cellar, and was just\ngoing to get something to eat. I was certainly not under the influence\nof strong drink, for I was then, as I have been for forty-nine years, a\nteetotaler. My mind at the time was perfectly free from trouble. What\nincreased the excitement was the fact that a man a number of years\nbefore, who was employed in the office of the station, had committed\nsuicide, and his body had been carried into this very cellar. I knew\nnothing of this circumstance, nor of the body of the man, but Mr. Pease\nand others who had known him, told me my description exactly\ncorresponded to his appearance and the way he dressed, and also that he\nhad a black retriever just like the one which gripped me. I should add\nthat no mark or effect remained on the spot where I seemed to be seized.\n\n                    \"(Signed) JAMES DURHAM.\n\"_Dec. 9th, 1890._\"\n\nFollowing the above statement Mr. Stead appends Mr. Kendall's reasons\nfor believing that what James Durham experienced was objective psychic\nphenomena, and neither produced during sleep nor by hallucination.\n\nThe arguments used strike me as being so concise and sensible that I\nthink it will not be out of place to reproduce them.\n\n\"First,\" Mr. Kendall says, \"he (James Durham) was accustomed as watchman\nto be up all night, and therefore not likely from that cause to feel\nsleepy. Secondly, he had scarcely been a minute in the cellar, and,\nfeeling hungry, was just going to get something to eat. Thirdly, if he\nwas asleep at the beginning of the vision, he must have been awake\nenough during the latter part of it when he had knocked the skin off his\nknuckles. Fourthly, there was his own confident testimony. I strongly\nincline to the opinion that there was an objective cause for the vision,\nand that it was genuinely apparitional.\"\n\nSo interested was Mr. Kendall in the case that he visited the spot some\nshort time later. He was taken into the cellar where the manifestations\ntook place, and his guide, an old official of the North Road Station,\ninformed him he well remembered the clerk--a man of the name of\nWinter--who committed suicide there, and showed him the exact spot where\nhe had shot himself with a pistol. In dress and appearance Mr. Winter\ncorresponded minutely with the phenomenon described by James Durham, and\nhe had had a black retriever.\n\nMr. Kendal came away more convinced than ever of the veracity of James\nDurham's story, though he admits it was not evidential after the high\nstandard of the S.P.R. I do not know whether the S.P.R. published the\ncase, and I certainly do not think Mr. Kendall need have minded if they\ndid not--for after all there is no reason to suppose the judgment of the\nS.P.R. is always infallible.\n\nMr. Stead does not comment on the apparition of the dog, which leads one\nto suppose cases of animal phantasms were by no means uncommon to him.\n\n\n_The Grey Dog of ---- House, Birmingham_\n\nAccording to a story current in the Midlands, a house in Birmingham,\nnear the Roman Catholic Cathedral, was once very badly haunted. A family\nwho took up their abode in it in the 'eighties complained of hearing all\nsorts of uncanny sounds--such as screams and sighs--coming from a room\nbehind the kitchen. On one occasion the tenant's wife, on entering the\nsitting-room, was almost startled out of her senses at seeing, standing\nbefore the fireplace, the figure of a tall, stout man with a large, grey\ndog by his side. What was so alarming about the man was his face--it was\napparently a mere blob of flesh without any features in it. The lady\nscreamed out, whereupon there was a terrific crash, as if all the\ncrockery in the house had been suddenly clashed on the stone floor; and\na friend of the lady's, attracted to the spot by the noise, saw two\nclouds of vapour, one resembling a man and the other a dog, which, after\nhovering over the hearth for several seconds, finally dispersed\naltogether.\n\nA gasfitter, when working in the house, saw the same figures no less\nthan nine times, and so distinctly that he was able to give a detailed\ndescription of both the man and dog.\n\nThe house seems to have been well known in Birmingham, and was certainly\nstanding as recently as 1885. Many theories were advanced as to its\nhistory, the one gaining most credence being that it was occupied, in\n1829, by a man who supplied the medical students with human bodies.\n\nIt was noticed at the time that many people who were seen to enter the\nhouse in the company of the owner were never seen to leave it, which\naccords well with the theory of resurrection men.\n\nNo suggestion has been offered to account for the animal, which may very\neasily have been the phantom of the murderer's dog, or, what is rather\nless likely, the dog of one of his numerous victims.\n\nAnyhow, explanation or no explanation, the fact remains the house was\nhaunted in the manner described, and F. Grey, a Warwickshire Chief\nConstable, in his _Recollections_, published 1821, alludes to it.\n\n\n_The Dog in the Cupboard_\n\nMiss Prettyman, whom I met some years ago in Cornwall, told me she once\nlived in a house in Westmorland that was haunted by the apparition of a\nlarge dog, enveloped in a blueish glow, which apparently emanated from\nwithin it. The dog, whilst appearing in all parts of the house,\ninvariably vanished in a big cupboard at the back of the hall staircase.\nMiss Prettyman, her family, several of their visitors, and the servants\nall saw the same phantasm, and were, perhaps, more frightened by the\nsuddenness of its advent than by its actual appearance.\n\nThe theory was that it was the ghost of some dog that had been cruelly\ndone to death--possibly by starvation--in the cupboard.\n\n\n_How the Ghost of a Dog saved Life_\n\nWhen I was a boy, an elderly friend of mine, Miss Lefanu, narrated to me\nan anecdote which impressed me much. It was to this effect.\n\nMiss Lefanu was walking one day along a very lonely country lane, when\nshe suddenly observed an enormous Newfoundland dog following in her wake\na few yards behind. Being very fond of dogs, she called out to it in a\ncaressing voice and endeavoured to stroke it. To her disappointment,\nhowever, it dodged aside, and repeated the manoeuvre every time she\ntried to touch it. At length, losing patience, she desisted, and resumed\nher walk, the dog still following her. In this fashion they went on,\nuntil they came to a particularly dark part of the road, where the\nbranches of the trees almost met overhead, and there was a pool of\nstagnant, slimy water, suggestive of great depth. On the one side the\nhedge was high, but on the other there was a slight gap leading into a\nthick spinney. Miss Lefanu never visited the spot alone after dusk, and\nhad been warned against it even in the daytime. As she drew near to it,\neverything that she had ever heard about it flashed across her mind, and\nshe was more than once on the verge of turning back, when the sight of\nthe big, friendly-looking dog plodding behind, reassuring her, she\npressed on. Just as she came to the gap, there was a loud snapping of\ntwigs, and, to her horror, two tramps, with singularly sinister faces,\nsprang out, and were about to strike her with their bludgeons, when the\ndog, uttering a low, ominous growl, dashed at them. In an instant the\nexpression of murderous joy in their eyes died out, one of abject terror\ntook its place, and, dropping their weapons, they fled, as if the very\nsalvation of their souls depended on it. As may be imagined, Miss Lefanu\nlost no time in getting home, and the first thing she did on arriving\nthere was to go into the kitchen and order the cook to prepare, at once,\na thoroughly good meal for her gallant rescuer--the Newfoundland dog,\nwhich she had shut up securely in the back yard, with the laughing\nremark, \"There--you can't escape me now.\" Judge of her astonishment,\nhowever, when, on her return, the dog had gone. As the walls of the back\nyard were twelve feet high, and the doors had been shut all the\nwhile--no one having passed through them--it was impossible for the\nanimal to have escaped, and the only interpretation that could possibly\nbe put on the matter was that the dog was superphysical--a conclusion\nthat was subsequently confirmed by the experiences of various other\npeople. As the result of exhaustive enquiries Miss Lefanu eventually\nlearned that many years before, on the very spot where the tramps had\nleaped out on her, a pedlar and his Newfoundland dog had been discovered\nmurdered.\n\nThis story being true, then, there is one more link in the chain of\nevidence to show that dogs, as well as men, have spirits, and spirits\nthat can, on occasion, at least, perform deeds of practical service.\n\n\n_A Precentor's Story_\n\nThe late Mr. W.T. Stead, in his volume of _Real Ghost Stories_, narrates\nthe following, which by reason of its being witnessed by three people\nsimultaneously, may be regarded as highly evidential.\n\nIn reply to Mr. Stead's request to hear the anecdote the precentor says\n(I quote him _ad verbum_):\n\n\"I was walking, about nine years ago, one night in August, about ten\no'clock, and about half a mile from the house where we are now sitting.\nI was going along the public road between the hamlets of Mill of Haldane\nand Ballock. I had with me two young women, and we were leisurely\nwalking along, when suddenly we were startled by seeing a woman, a child\nabout seven years old, and a Newfoundland dog jump over the stone wall\nwhich was on one side of the road, and walk on rapidly in front of us. I\nwas not in the least frightened, but my two companions were very much\nstartled. What bothered me was that the woman, the child, and the dog,\ninstead of coming over the wall naturally one after the other, as would\nhave been necessary for them to do, had come over with a bound,\nsimultaneously leaping the wall, lighting on the road, and then hurrying\non without a word. Leaving my two companions, who were too frightened to\nmove, I walked rapidly after the trio. They walked on so quickly that it\nwas with difficulty that I got up to them. I spoke to the woman, she\nnever answered. I walked beside her for some little distance, and then\nsuddenly the woman, the child, and the Newfoundland dog disappeared. I\ndid not see them go anywhere, they simply were no longer there. I\nexamined the road minutely, at the spot where they had disappeared, to\nsee if it was possible for them to have gone through a hole in the wall\non either side; but it was quite impossible for a woman and a child to\nget over a high dyke on either side. They had disappeared, and I only\nregret that I did not try to pass my stick right through their bodies,\nto see whether or not they had any resistance. Finding they had gone, I\nreturned to my lady friends, who were quite unnerved, and who, with\ndifficulty, were induced to go on to the end of their journey.\"\n\nOne of his companions, Mr. Stead goes on to explain, who heard him tell\nthe story at the time, corroborated the fact that it had made a great\nimpression on those who had seen it. Nothing was ever ascertained as to\nany woman, child, or Newfoundland dog that had ever been in the district\nbefore. When they got to Ballock they enquired of the keeper of the\nbridge whether a woman, a child, and a dog had passed that way, but he\nhad seen nothing. The apparition had disappeared as suddenly as it had\nappeared. Mr. Stead's article ends here. Of course, one can only surmise\nas to the nature of the phenomena. No member of the Psychical Research\nSociety could do more--and in the absence of any authentic history of\nthe spot where the manifestations occurred, such a surmise can be of\nlittle value. Since the phenomena were seen by three people at the same\ntime, it is quite safe to assume they were objective, but it is\nimpossible to lay down the law as to whether they were actual phantasms\nof the dead--of a woman, child, and Newfoundland dog who had all three\nmet with some violent end--or phantasms of three living beings, who,\nhappening to think of that locality at the same time, had projected\ntheir immaterial bodies there simultaneously. But whichever of these\nalternatives be true, the same thing holds good in either case, viz.\nthat the Newfoundland dog had a spirit--and what applies to one dog\nshould assuredly apply to the generality, if not, indeed, to all.\n\n\n_Phantom Dog seen on Souter Fell_\n\nMiss Harriet Martineau, in her _English Lakes_, refers to certain\nstrange phenomena seen from time to time on Souter Fell.\n\nIn 1745, for example, a Mr. Wren and his servant saw, simultaneously, a\nman and dog pursuing some horses along a razor-like ridge of rocks, on\nwhich it was obviously impossible for any ordinary being to gain a bare\nfoothold, let alone walk. They watched the figures until the latter\nsuddenly vanished, when Mr. Wren and his servant, thinking, perhaps, the\nman, dog, and horses had really fallen over the cliff, went to look for\nthem. They searched elsewhere, but despite their vigilance, nothing was\nto be found, and convinced at last that what they had seen was something\nsuperphysical, they came away mystified, and no doubt somewhat\nfrightened.\n\nThere is no suggestion to make here other than the manifestations may\nhave been the phantasms of a man, dog, and horses that at some former\ndate had been killed, either accidentally or purposely, in or near that\nspot.\n\n\n_The Jumping Ghost_\n\nMr. George Sinclair, in his work _Satan's Invisible World Discovered_,\ngives a detailed account of hauntings in a house in Mary King's Close,\nEdinburgh.\n\nThe house, at the time Mr. Sinclair writes, was occupied by Mr. Thomas\nColtheart, a law agent. Seated one afternoon at home reading, Mrs.\nColtheart was immeasurably startled at seeing, suspended in mid-air\ngazing at her, the head of an old man. She uttered some sort of\nexclamation, most probably a cry, and the apparition at once vanished.\nSome nights later, when in bed, both she and her husband saw the same\nhead, which was presently joined by the head of a child, and a long,\nnaked arm, which tried to catch hold of them.\n\nOn another occasion, a member of the Coltheart family was greatly\nalarmed by the sudden appearance of a large dog, which leaped on the\nchair by her side, and as suddenly disappeared.\n\nEvery effort was made to lay the ghosts. Ministers--and one knows how\npious Scotch clergymen are--were called in, but their exhortations,\ninstead of dispelling or even minimizing the phenomena, only increased\nthem. It was a case of more prayers, more spooks; which state of\naffairs, however complimentary to the ministers' powers of address, was\nscarcely as comforting to the Colthearts, who, unable to bear the\nstrange sights and noises any longer, evacuated the premises. As no\nother tenants could be found, the house was eventually pulled down, and\na row of fine modern buildings now occupy the site. As the history of\nthe place could never be traced with any degree of authenticity, one can\ndo no more than speculate as to the cause of the disturbances, which, I\nam inclined to think, were due to the phantoms of people and animals\nthat had once actually lived and died there.\n\n\n_Dogs seen before a Death_\n\nMrs. Crowe, in her _Night Side of Nature_, mentions the case of a young\nlady named P----, who saw a big black dog twice suddenly appear and\ndisappear by her side, immediately before the death of her mother.\n\nIn _The Unseen World_ a story is also told of the phantasm of a big\nblack dog appearing on the bed of a Cornish child, doomed to die shortly\nafterwards, the same dog invariably manifesting itself before the death\nof any member of the child's family.\n\nThere are so many cases of a similar kind--one hears of them nearly\neverywhere one goes--that one is led to believe some of them, at least,\nmust be true. There is no more reason to believe all ghost-story tellers\nare liars, than there is to believe all parsons are liars--and this\nbeing so, additional proof is afforded of the continuation of the dog's\nlife after death; for these family canine ghosts are more than probably\nthe phantasms of dogs that once belonged to families--maybe centuries\nago--and met their fate in some cruel and unnatural manner.\n\n\n_A Dog scared by a Canine Ghost_\n\nA friend of mine, Edward Morgan, had a terrier that was found one\nmorning, poisoned in a big stone kennel. Soon afterwards this friend\ncame to me and said, \"I have got a new dog--a spaniel--but nothing will\ninduce it to enter the kennel in which poor Zack was poisoned. Come and\nsee!\"\n\nI did so, and what he said was true. Mack (Morgan gave all his dogs\nnames that rhymed--Zack, Mack, Jack, Tack, and even Whack and Smack),\nwhen carried to the entrance of the kennel, resolutely refused to cross\nthe threshold, barking, whining, and exhibiting unmistakable symptoms of\nfear. I knelt down, and peering into the kennel saw two luminous eyes\nand the distinct outlines of a dog's head.\n\n\"Morgan!\" I exclaimed, \"the mystery is easily solved; there's a dog in\nhere.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" Morgan cried, speaking very excitedly.\n\n\"But there is,\" I retorted, \"see for yourself.\"\n\nMorgan immediately bent down and poked his head into the kennel.\n\n\"What rot,\" he said. \"You're having me on, there's nothing here.\"\n\n\"What!\" I cried, \"do you mean to say you can see no dog?\"\n\n\"No!\" he replied, \"there is none!\"\n\n\"Let me look again!\" I said, and kneeling down, I peeped in.\n\n\"Do you mean to say you can't see a dog's face and eyes looking straight\nat us?\" I asked.\n\n\"No,\" he answered, \"I can see nothing.\" And to prove to me the truth of\nwhat he said, he fetched a pole and raked about the kennel vigorously\nwith it. We both, then, tried to make Mack enter, and Morgan at last\ncaught hold of him and placed him forcibly inside. Mack's terror knew no\nlimit. He gave one loud howl, and flying out of the kennel with his ears\nhanging back, tore past into the front garden, where we left him in\npeace. Morgan was still sceptical as to there being anything wrong with\nthe kennel, but two days later wrote to me as follows:--\n\n\"I must apologize for doubting you the other day. I have just had, what\nyou declared you saw, corroborated. A friend of my wife's was calling\nhere this afternoon, and, on hearing of Mack's refusal to sleep in the\nkennel, at once said, 'I know what's the matter. It's the smell. Mack\nscents the poison which was used to destroy Zack. Have the kennel\nthoroughly fumigated, and you'll have no more trouble.' At my wife's\nrequest she went into the yard to have a look at it, and the moment she\nbent down, she cried out like you did, 'Why, there's a dog inside--a\nterrier!' My wife and I both looked and could see nothing. The lady,\nhowever, persisted, and, on my handing her a stick, struck at the figure\nshe saw. To her amazement the stick went right through it. Then, and not\ntill then, did we tell her of your experience. 'Well!' she exclaimed,\n'I have never believed in ghosts, but I do so now. I am quite certain\nthat what I see is the phantom of Zack! How glad I am, because I am at\nlast assured animals have spirits and can come back to us.'\"\n\nIn concluding the accounts of phantasms of dead dogs, let me quote two\ncases taken from my work entitled _The Haunted Houses of London_,\npublished by Mr. Eveleigh Nash, of Fawside House, King Street, Covent\nGarden, London, W.C., in 1909. The cases are these:--\n\n\n_The Phantom Dachshund of W---- St., London, W._\n\nIn letter No. 1 my correspondent writes:--\n\n\"Though I am by no means over-indulgent to dogs, the latter generally\ngreet me very effusively, and it would seem that there is something in\nmy individuality that is peculiarly attractive to them. This being so, I\nwas not greatly surprised one day, when in the immediate neighbourhood\nof X---- Street, to find myself persistently followed by a rough-haired\ndachshund wearing a gaudy yellow collar. I tried to scare it away by\nshaking my sunshade at it, but all to no purpose--it came resolutely on;\nand I was beginning to despair of getting rid of it, when I came to\nX---- Street, where my husband once practised as an oculist. There it\nsuddenly altered its tactics, and instead of keeping at my heels,\nbecame my conductor, forging slowly ahead with a gliding motion that\nboth puzzled and fascinated me. I furthermore observed that\nnotwithstanding the temperature--it was not a whit less than ninety\ndegrees in the shade--the legs and stomach of the dachshund were covered\nwith mud and dripping with water. When it came to No. 90 it halted, and\nveering swiftly round, eyed me in the strangest manner, just as if it\nhad some secret it was bursting to disclose. It remained in this\nattitude until I was within two or three feet of it--certainly not\nmore--when, to my unlimited amazement, it absolutely vanished--melted\naway into thin air.\n\n\"The iron gate leading to the area was closed, so that there was nowhere\nfor it to have hidden, and, besides, I was almost bending over it at the\ntime, as I wanted to read the name on its collar. There being no one\nnear at hand, I could not obtain a second opinion, and so came away\nwondering whether what I had seen was actually a phantasm or a mere\nhallucination. No. 90, I might add, judging by the brass plate on the\ndoor, was inhabited by a doctor with an unpronounceable foreign name,\"\netc. etc.\n\nI think one cannot help attaching a great deal of importance to what\nthis lady says, as her language is strictly moderate throughout, and\nbecause she does not seem to have been biassed by any special views on\nthe subject of animal futurity.\n\nCorrespondent No. 2 (who, by the way, is a total stranger to the writer\nwhose letter I have just quoted) is candidly devoted to dogs, regarding\nthem as in every way on a par with, if not actually superior to, most\nhuman beings. Still, notwithstanding this partiality, and consequent\nprofusion of terms of endearment, which will doubtless prove somewhat\nnauseating to many, her letter is, in my opinion, valuable, because it\nnot only refers to the phenomenon I have mentioned, but to a certain\nextent furnishes a reason for its occurrence. The lady writes as\nfollows:--\n\n\"I once had a rough-haired dachshund, Robert, whom I loved devotedly. We\nwere living at the time near H---- Street, which always had a peculiar\nattraction for dear Robert, who, I am now obliged to confess, had rather\ntoo much liberty--more, indeed, than eventually proved good for him. The\nservants complained that Robert ruled the house, and I believe what they\nsaid was true, for my sister and I idolized him, giving him the very\nbest of everything and never having the heart to refuse him anything he\nwanted. You will probably scarcely credit it, but I have sat up all\nnight nursing him when he had a cold and was otherwise indisposed. Can\nyou therefore imagine my feelings when my darling was absent one day\nfrom dinner? Such a thing had never happened before, for, fond of\nmorning 'constitutionals' as poor Robert was, he was always the soul of\npunctuality at meal times.\n\n\"Neither my sister nor I would hear of eating anything. Whilst he was\nmissing, not a morsel did we touch, but slipping on our hats, and\nbidding the servants do the same, we scoured the neighbourhood instead.\nThe afternoon passed without any sign of Robert, and when bedtime came\n(he always slept in our room) and still no signs of our pet, I thought\nwe should both have gone mad. Of course, we advertised, selecting the\nmost popular and, accordingly, the most likely papers, and we resorted\nto other mediums, too, but, alas! it was hopeless. Our darling little\nRobert was irrevocably, irredeemably lost. For days we were utterly\ninconsolable, doing nothing but mope morning, noon, and night. I cannot\ntell you how forlorn we felt, nor how long we should have remained in\nthat state but for an incident which, although revealing the terrible\nmanner of his death, gave us every reason to feel sure we were not\nparted from him for all time, but would meet again in the great\nhereafter. It happened in this wise: I was walking along W---- Street\none evening when, to my intense joy and surprise, I suddenly saw my\ndarling standing on the pavement a few feet ahead of me, regarding me\nintently from out of his pathetic brown eyes. A sensation of extreme\ncoldness now stole over me, and I noticed with something akin to a shock\nthat, in spite of the hot, dry weather, Robert looked as if he had been\nin the rain for hours. He wore the bright yellow collar I had bought him\nshortly before his disappearance, so that had there been any doubt as to\nhis identity that would have removed it instantly. On my calling to him,\nhe turned quickly round and, with a slight gesture of the head as if\nbidding me to follow, he glided forward. My natural impulse was to run\nafter him, pick him up and smother him with kisses; but try as hard as I\ncould, I could not diminish the distance between us, although he never\nappeared to alter his pace. I was quite out of breath by the time we\nreached H---- Street, where, to my surprise, he stopped at No. 90 and,\nturning round again, gazed at me in the most beseeching manner. I can't\ndescribe that look; suffice it to say that no human eyes could have been\nmore expressive, but of what beyond the most profound love and sorrow I\ncannot, I dare not, attempt to state. I have pondered upon it through\nthe whole of a mid-summer night, but not even the severest of my mental\nefforts have enabled me to solve it to my satisfaction. Could I but do\nthat, I feel I should have fathomed the greatest of all mysteries--the\nmystery of life and death.\n\n\"I do not know for how long we stood there looking at one another, it\nmay have been minutes or hours, or, again, but a few paltry seconds. He\ntook the initiative from me, for, as I leaped forward to raise him in my\narms, he glided through the stone steps into the area.\n\n\"Convinced now that what I beheld was Robert's apparition, I determined\nto see the strange affair through to the bitter end, and entering the\ngate, I also went down into the area. The phantom had come to an abrupt\nhalt by the side of a low wooden box, and as I foolishly made an\nabortive attempt to reach it with my hand, it vanished instantaneously.\nI searched the area thoroughly, and was assured that there was no\noutlet, save by the steps I had just descended, and no hole, nor nook,\nnor cranny where anything the size of Robert could be completely hidden\nfrom sight. What did it all mean? Ah! I knew Robert had always had a\nweakness for exploring areas, especially in H---- Street, and in the box\nwhere his wraith disappeared I espied a piece of raw meat!\n\n\"Now there are ways in which a piece of raw meat may lie without\narousing suspicion, but the position of this morsel strangely suggested\nthat it had been placed there carefully, and for assuredly no other\npurpose than to entice stray animals. Resolving to interrogate the owner\nof the house on the subject, I rapped at the front door, but was\ninformed by the manservant, obviously a German, that his master never\nsaw anyone without an appointment. I then did a very unwise thing--I\nexplained the purpose of my visit to this man, who not only denied any\nknowledge of my dog, but declared the meat must have been thrown into\nthe area by some passer-by.\n\n\"'No one in dis house trow away gut meat like dat,' he explained, 'we\neat all we can git here, we have nutting for de animals. Please go away\nat once, or de master will be very angry. He stand no nonsense from\nanyone.'\n\n\"And as I had no alternative--for, after all, who would regard a ghost\nin the light of evidence?--I had to obey. I found out, however, from a\nmedical friend that No. 90 was tenanted by Mr. K----, an Anglo-German\nwho was deemed a very clever fellow at a certain London hospital, where\nhe was often occupied in vivisection.\n\n\"'I dare say,' my friend went on to remark, 'K---- does a little\nvivisecting in his private surgery, by way of practice, and--well, you\nsee, these foreign chaps are not so squeamish in some respects as we\nare.'\n\n\"'But can't he be stopped?' I asked. 'It is horrible, monstrous that he\nshould be allowed to murder our pets.'\n\n\"'You don't know for certain that he has,' was the reply, 'you only\nsuppose so from what you say you saw, and evidence of that immaterial\nnature is no evidence at all. No, you can do nothing except to be extra\ncareful in future, and if you have another dog make him steer clear of\nNo. 90 H---- Street.'\n\n\"I was sensible enough to see that he was right, and the matter dropped.\nI soon noticed one thing, however, namely, that there were no more\npieces of meat temptingly displayed in the box, so it is just possible\nK---- got wind of my enquiries, and thought it policy to desist from his\nnefarious practices.\n\n\"Poor Robert! To think of him suffering such a cruel and ignominious\ndeath, and my being powerless to avenge it. Surely if vivisection is\nreally necessary, and the welfare of mankind cannot be advanced by any\nless barbarous system, why not operate on creatures less deserving of\nour love and pity than dogs? On creatures which whilst being nearer\nallied to man in physiology and anatomy, are at the same time far below\nthe level of brute creation in character and disposition.\n\n\"For example, why not experiment on wife-beaters and cowardly street\nruffians, and, one might reasonably add, on all those\npseudo-humanitarians who, by their constant petitions to Parliament for\nthe abolition of the lash, encourage every form of blackguardism and\nbestiality?\"\n\nThis concludes the letter of correspondent No. 2, and with the sentiment\nin the closing paragraphs I must say I heartily agree--only I should\nlike to add a few more people to the list.\n\nOne other case of haunting of this type is taken from my same work.\n\n\"One All Hallow E'en,\" wrote a Mrs. Sebuim, \"I was staying with some\nfriends in Hampstead, and we amused ourselves by working spells, to\ncommemorate the night. There is one spell in which one walks alone down\na path sowing hempseed, and repeating some fantastic words; when one is\nsupposed to see those that are destined to come into one's life in the\nnear future. Eager to put this spell to the test, I went into the garden\nby myself and, walking boldly along a path, bordered on each side by\nevergreens, sprinkled hempseed lavishly.\n\n\"Nothing happening, I was about to desist, when suddenly I heard a\npattering on the gravel, and turning round I beheld an ugly little\nblack-and-tan mongrel running towards me, wagging its stumpy tail. Not\nat all prepossessed with the creature, for my own dogs are pure-bred,\nand thinking it must have strayed into the grounds, I was about to\ndrive it out, and had put down my hand to prevent it jumping on my\ndress, when, to my astonishment, it had vanished. It literally melted\naway into fine air beneath my very eyes. Not knowing what to make of the\nincident, but feeling inclined to attribute it to a trick of the\nimagination, I rejoined my friends. I did not tell them what had\nhappened, although I made a memorandum of it in one of my innumerable\nnotebooks. Within six months of this incident I was greatly astonished\nto find a dog, corresponding with the one I have just described, running\nabout on the lawn of my house in Bath. How the animal got there was a\ncomplete mystery, and, what is stranger still, it seemed to recognize\nme, for it rushed towards me, frantically wagging its diminutive tail. I\nhad not the heart to turn it away, as it seemed quite homeless, and so\nthe forlorn little mongrel was permitted to make its home in my\nhouse--and a very happy home it proved to be. For three years all went\nwell, and then the end came swiftly and unexpectedly. I was in\nBlackheath at the time, and the mongrel was in Bath. It was All Hallow\nE'en, but there was no hempseed sowing, for no one in the house but\nmyself took the slightest interest in anything appertaining to the\nsuperphysical or mystic. Eleven o'clock came, and I retired to rest; my\nbed being one of those antique four-posters, hung with curtains that\nshine crimson in the ruddy glow of a cheerful fire. All my preparations\ncomplete, I had pulled back the hangings, and was about to slip in\nbetween the sheets, when, to my unbounded amazement, what should I see\nsitting on the counterpane but the black-and-tan mongrel. It was he\nright enough, there could not be another such ugly dog, though, unlike\nhis usual self, he evinced no demonstrations of joy. On the contrary, he\nappeared downright miserable. His ears hung, his mouth dropped, and his\nbleared little eyes were watery and sad.\n\n\"Greatly perplexed, if not alarmed, at so extraordinary a phenomenon, I\nnevertheless felt constrained to put out my hand to comfort him--when,\nas I had half anticipated, he immediately vanished. Two days later I\nreceived a letter from Bath, and in a postscript I read that 'the\nmongrel' (we never called it by any other name) 'had been run over and\nkilled by a motor, the accident occurring on All Hallow E'en, about\neleven o'clock.' 'Of course,' my sister wrote, 'you won't mind very\nmuch--it was so extremely ugly, and--well--we were only too glad it was\nnone of the other dogs.' But my sister was wrong, for notwithstanding\nits unsightly appearance and hopeless lack of breed, I had grown to like\nthat little black-and-tan more than any of my rare and choice pets.\"\n\nThe following account, which concludes my notes on hauntings by dog\nphantasms, was sent me many years ago by a gentleman then living in\nVirginia, U.S.A. It runs thus:--\n\n\n_The Strange Disappearance of Mr. Jeremiah Dance_\n\n\"Twenty pounds a year for a twelve-roomed house with large front lawn,\ngood stabling and big kitchen gardens. That sounds all right,\" I\ncommented. \"But why so cheap?\"\n\n\"Well,\" the advertiser--Mr. Baldwin by name, a short, stout gentleman,\nwith keen, glittering eyes--replied, \"Well, you see, it's a bit of a\ndistance from the town, and--er--most people prefer being nearer--like\nneighbours and all that sort of thing.\"\n\n\"Like neighbours!\" I exclaimed. \"I don't. I've just seen about enough of\nthem. Drains all right?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! Perfect.\"\n\n\"Water?\"\n\n\"Excellent.\"\n\n\"Everything in good condition?\"\n\n\"First rate.\"\n\n\"Loneliness the only thing people object to?\"\n\n\"That is so.\"\n\n\"Then I'll oblige you to send someone to show me over the house, for I\nthink it is just the sort of place we want. You see, after being bottled\nup in a theatre all the afternoon and evening, one likes to get away\nsomewhere where it is quiet--somewhere where one can lie in bed in the\nmorning inhaling pure air and undisturbed by street traffic.\"\n\n\"I understand,\" Mr. Baldwin responded, \"but--er--it is rather late now;\nwouldn't you prefer to see over it in the morning? Everything looks at\nits worst--its very worst--in the twilight.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'll make allowances for the dusk,\" I said. \"You haven't got any\nghosts stowed away there, have you?\" And he went off into a roar of\nlaughter.\n\n\"No, the house is not haunted,\" Mr. Baldwin replied. \"Not that it would\nmuch matter to you if it were, for I can see you don't believe in\nspooks.\"\n\n\"Believe in spooks!\" I cried. \"Not much. I would as soon believe in\npatent hair restorers. Let me see over it at once.\"\n\n\"Very well, sir. I'll take you there myself,\" Mr. Baldwin replied,\nsomewhat reluctantly. \"Here, Tim--fetch the keys of the Crow's Nest and\ntell Higgins to bring the trap round.\"\n\nThe boy he addressed flew, and in a few minutes the sound of wheels and\nthe jingling of harness announced the vehicle was at the door.\n\nTen minutes later and I and my escort were bowling merrily over the\nground in the direction of the Crow's Nest. It was early autumn, and the\ncool evening air, fragrant with the mellowness of the luscious Virginian\npippin, was tinged also with the sadness inseparable from the demise of\na long and glorious summer. Evidences of decay and death were\neverywhere--in the brown fallen leaves of the oaks and elms; in the bare\nand denuded ditches. Here a giant mill-wheel, half immersed in a dark,\nstill pool, stood idle and silent; there a hovel, but recently inhabited\nby hop-pickers, was now tenantless, its glassless windows boarded over,\nand a wealth of dead and rotting vegetable matter in thick profusion\nover the tiny path and the single stone doorstep.\n\n\"Is it always as quiet and deserted as this?\" I asked of my companion,\nwho continually cracked his whip as if he liked to hear the\nreverberations of its echoes.\n\n\"Always,\" was the reply, \"and sometimes more so. You ain't used to the\ncountry?\"\n\n\"Not very. I want to try it by way of a change. Are you well versed in\nthe cry of birds? What was that?\"\n\nWe were fast approaching an exceedingly gloomy bit of the road where\nthere were plantations on each side, and the trees united their\nfantastically forked branches overhead. I thought I had never seen so\ndismal-looking a spot, and a sudden lowering of the temperature made me\ndraw my overcoat tighter round me.\n\n\"That--oh, a night bird of some sort,\" Mr. Baldwin replied. \"An ugly\nsound, wasn't it? Beastly things, I can't imagine why they were created.\nWhoa--steady there, steady.\"\n\nThe horse reared as he spoke, and taking a violent plunge forward, set\noff at a wild gallop. A moment later, and I uttered an exclamation of\nastonishment. Keeping pace with us, although apparently not moving at\nmore than an ordinary walking pace, was a man of medium height, dressed\nin a panama hat and albert coat. He had a thin, aquiline nose, a rather\npronounced chin, was clean-shaven, and had a startlingly white\ncomplexion. By the side of him trotted two poodles, whose close-cropped\nskins showed out with remarkable perspicuity.\n\n\"Who the deuce is he?\" I asked, raising my voice to a shout on account\nof the loud clatter made by the horse's hoofs and the wheels.\n\n\"Who? what?\" Mr. Baldwin shouted in return.\n\n\"Why, the man walking along with us!\"\n\n\"Man! I can see no man!\" Mr. Baldwin growled.\n\nI looked at him curiously. It may, of course, have been due to the\nterrific speed we were going, to the difficulty of holding in the horse,\nbut his cheeks were ashy pale, and his teeth chattered.\n\n\"Do you mean to say,\" I cried, \"that you can see no figure walking on my\nside of the horse and actually keeping pace with it?\"\n\n\"Of course I can't,\" Mr. Baldwin snapped. \"No more can you. It's an\nhallucination caused by the moonlight through the branches overhead.\nI've experienced it more than once.\"\n\n\"Then why don't you have it now?\" I queried.\n\n\"Don't ask so many questions, please,\" Mr. Baldwin shouted. \"Don't you\nsee it is as much as I can do to hold the brute in? Heaven preserve us,\nwe were nearly over that time.\"\n\nThe trap rose high in the air as he spoke, and then dropped with such a\njolt that I was nearly thrown off, and only saved myself by the skin of\nmy teeth. A few yards more the spinney ceased, and we were away out in\nthe open country, plunging and galloping as if our very souls depended\non it. From all sides queer and fantastic shadows of objects, which\ncertainly had no material counterparts in the moon-kissed sward of the\nrich, ripe meadows, rose to greet us, and filled the lane with their\nblack-and-white wavering, ethereal forms. The evening was one of\nwonders for which I had no name--wonders associated with an iciness that\nwas far from agreeable. I was not at all sure which I liked best--the\nblack, Stygian, tree-lined part of the road we had just left, or the\nwide ocean of brilliant moonbeams and streaked suggestions.\n\nThe figures of the man and the dogs were equally vivid in each. Though I\ncould no longer doubt they were nothing mortal, they were altogether\nunlike what I had imagined ghosts. Like the generality of people who are\npsychic and who have never had an experience of the superphysical, my\nconception of a phantasm was a \"thing\" in white that made ridiculous\ngroanings and still more ridiculous clankings of chains. But here was\nsomething different, something that looked--save, perhaps, for the\nexcessive pallor of its cheeks--just like an ordinary man. I knew it was\nnot a man, partly on account of its extraordinary performance--no man,\neven if running at full speed, could keep up with us like that; partly\non account of the unusual nature of the atmosphere--which was altogether\nindefinable--it brought with it; and also because of my own\nsensations--my intense horror which could not, I felt certain, have been\ngenerated by anything physical.\n\nI cogitated all this in my mind as I gazed at the figure, and in order\nto make sure it was no hallucination, I shut first one eye and then the\nother, covering them alternately with the palm of my hand. The figure,\nhowever, was still there, still pacing along at our side with the\nregular swing, swing of the born walker. We kept on in this fashion till\nwe arrived at a rusty iron gate leading, by means of a weed-covered\npath, to a low, two-storied white house. Here the figures left us, and\nas it seemed to me vanished at the foot of the garden wall.\n\n\"This is the house,\" Mr. Baldwin panted, pulling up with the greatest\ndifficulty, the horse evincing obvious antipathy to the iron gate. \"And\nthese are the keys. I'm afraid you must go in alone, as I dare not leave\nthe animal even for a minute.\"\n\n\"Oh, all right,\" I said. \"I don't mind, now that the ghost, or whatever\nyou like to call it, has gone; I'm myself again.\"\n\nI jumped down, and threading my way along the bramble-entangled path,\nreached the front door. On opening it, I hesitated. The big,\nold-fashioned hall, with the great, frowning staircase leading to the\ngallery overhead, the many open doors showing nought but bare, deserted\nboards within, the grim passages, all moonlit and peopled only with\nqueer flickering shadows, suggested much that was terrifying. I fancied\nI heard noises, noises like stealthy footsteps moving from room to\nroom, and tiptoeing along the passages and down the staircase. Once my\nheart almost stopped beating as I saw what, at first, I took to be a\nwhite face peering at me from a far recess, but which I eventually\ndiscovered was only a daub of whitewash; and, once again, my hair all\nbut rose on end, when one of the doors at which I was looking swung open\nand something came forth. Oh, the horror of that moment, as long as I\nlive I shall never forget it. The something was a cat, just a rather\nlean but otherwise material, black Tom; yet, in the state my nerves were\nthen, it created almost as much horror as if it had been a ghost. Of\ncourse, it was the figure of the walking man that was the cause of all\nthis nervousness; had it not appeared to me I should doubtless have\nentered the house with the utmost sang-froid, my mind set on nothing but\nthe condition of the walls, drains, etc. As it was, I held back, and it\nwas only after a severe mental struggle I summoned up the courage to\nleave the doorway and explore. Cautiously, very cautiously, with my\nheart in my mouth, I moved from room to room, halting every now and then\nin dreadful suspense as the wind, soughing through across the open land\nbehind the house, blew down the chimneys and set the window-frames\njarring. At the commencement of one of the passages I was immeasurably\nstartled to see a dark shape poke forward, and then spring hurriedly\nback, and was so frightened that I dared not advance to see what it was.\nMoment after moment sped by, and I still stood there, the cold sweat\noozing out all over me, and my eyes fixed in hideous expectation on the\nblank wall. What was it? What was hiding there? Would it spring out on\nme if I went to see? At last, urged on by a fascination I found\nimpossible to resist, I crept down the passage, my heart throbbing\npainfully and my whole being overcome with the most sickly\nanticipations. As I drew nearer to the spot, it was as much as I could\ndo to breathe, and my respiration came in quick jerks and gasps. Six,\nfive, four, two feet and I was at the dreaded angle. Another step--taken\nafter the most prodigious battle--and--NOTHING sprang out on me. I was\nconfronted only with a large piece of paper that had come loose from the\nwall, and flapped backwards and forwards each time the breeze from\nwithout rustled past it. The reaction after such an agony of suspense\nwas so great, that I leaned against the wall, and laughed till I cried.\nA noise, from somewhere away in the basement, calling me to myself, I\nwent downstairs and investigated. Again a shock--this time more sudden,\nmore acute. Pressed against the window-pane of one of the front\nreception-rooms was the face of a man--with corpse-like cheeks and pale,\nmalevolent eyes. I was petrified--every drop of my blood was congealed.\nMy tongue glued to my mouth, my arms hung helpless. I stood in the\ndoorway and stared at it. This went on for what seemed to me an\neternity. Then came a revelation. The face was not that of a ghost but\nof Mr. Baldwin, who, getting alarmed at my long absence, had come to\nlook for me.\n\nWe left the premises together. All the way back to the town I\nthought--should I, or should I not, take the house? Seen as I had seen\nit, it was a ghoulish-looking place--as weird as a Paris catacomb--but\nthen daylight makes all the difference. Viewed in the sunshine, it would\nbe just like any other house--plain bricks and mortar. I liked the\nsituation; it was just far enough away from a town to enable me to\nescape all the smoke and traffic, and near enough to make shopping easy.\nThe only obstacles were the shadows--the strange, enigmatical shadows I\nhad seen in the hall and passages, and the figure of the walker. Dare I\ntake a house that knew such visitors? At first I said no, and then yes.\nSomething, I could not tell what, urged me to say yes. I felt that a\nvery grave issue was at stake--that a great wrong connected in some\nmanner with the mysterious figure awaited righting, and that the hand\nof Fate pointed at me as the one and only person who could do it.\n\n\"Are you sure the house isn't haunted?\" I demanded, as we slowly rolled\naway from the iron gate, and I leaned back in my seat to light my pipe.\n\n\"Haunted!\" Mr. Baldwin scoffed, \"why, I thought you didn't believe in\nghosts--laughed at them.\"\n\n\"No more I do believe in them,\" I retorted, \"but I have children, and we\nknow how imaginative children are.\"\n\n\"I can't undertake to stop their imaginations.\"\n\n\"No, but you can tell me whether anyone else has imagined anything\nthere. Imagination is sometimes very infectious.\"\n\n\"As far as I know, then, no; leastways, I have not heard tell of it.\"\n\n\"Who was the last tenant?\"\n\n\"Mr. Jeremiah Dance.\"\n\n\"Why did he leave?\"\n\n\"How do I know? Got tired of being there, I suppose.\"\n\n\"How long was he there?\"\n\n\"Nearly three years.\"\n\n\"Where is he now?\"\n\n\"That's more than I can say. Why do you wish to know?\"\n\n\"Why!\" I repeated. \"Because it is more satisfactory to me to hear about\nthe house from someone who has lived in it. Has he left no address?\"\n\n\"Not that I know of, and it's more than two years since he was here.\"\n\n\"What! The house has been empty all that time?\"\n\n\"Two years is not very long. Houses--even town houses--are frequently\nunoccupied for longer than that. I think you'll like it.\"\n\nI did not speak again till the drive was over, and we drew up outside\nthe landlord's house. I then said, \"Let me have an agreement. I've made\nup my mind to take it. Three years and the option to stay on.\"\n\nThat was just like me. Whatever I did, I did on the spur of the moment,\na mode of procedure that often led me into difficulties.\n\nA month later and my wife, children, servants, and I were all ensconced\nin the Crow's Nest.\n\nThat was in the beginning of October. Well, the month passed by, and\nNovember was fairly in before anything remarkable happened. It then came\nabout in this fashion.\n\nJennie, my eldest child, a self-willed and rather bad-tempered girl of\nabout twelve, evading the vigilance of her mother, who had forbidden her\nto go out as she had a cold, ran to the gate one evening to see if I was\nanywhere in sight. Though barely five o'clock, the moon was high in the\nsky, and the shadows of the big trees had already commenced their\ngambols along the roadside.\n\nJennie clambered up the gate as children do, and peering over, suddenly\nespied what she took to be me, striding towards the house, at a swinging\npace, and followed by two poodles.\n\n\"Poppa,\" she cried, \"how cute of you! Only to think of you bringing home\ntwo doggies! Oh, Poppa, naughty Poppa, what will mum say?\" and climbing\nover into the lane at imminent danger to life and limb, she tore\nfrantically towards the figure. To her dismay, however, it was not me,\nbut a stranger with a horribly white face and big glassy eyes which he\nturned down at her and stared. She was so frightened that she fainted,\nand some ten minutes later I found her lying out there on the road. From\nthe description she gave me of the man and dogs, I felt quite certain\nthey were the figures I had seen; though I pretended the man was a\ntramp, and assured her she would never see him again. A week passed, and\nI was beginning to hope nothing would happen, when one of the servants\ngave notice to leave.\n\nAt first she would not say why she did not like the house, but when\npressed made the following statement:--\n\n\"It's haunted, Mrs. B----. I can put up with mice and beetles, but not\nwith ghosts. I've had a queer sensation, as if water was falling down my\nspine, ever since I've been here, but never saw anything till last\nnight. I was then in the kitchen getting ready to go to bed. Jane and\nEmma had already gone up, and I was preparing to follow them, when, all\nof a sudden, I heard footsteps, quick and heavy, cross the gravel and\napproach the window.\n\n\"'The boss,' says I to myself; 'maybe he's forgot the key and can't get\nin at the front door.'\n\n\"Well, I went to the window and was about to throw it open, when I got\nan awful shock. Pressed against the glass, looking in at me, was a\nface--not the boss's face, not the face of anyone living, but a horrid\nwhite thing with a drooping mouth and wide-open, glassy eyes, that had\nno more expression in them than a pig. As sure as I'm standing here,\nMrs. B----, it was the face of a corpse--the face of a man that had died\nno natural death. And by its side, standing on their hind-legs, and\nstaring in at me too were two dogs, both poodles--also no living things,\nbut dead, horribly dead. Well, they stared at me, all three of them, for\nperhaps a minute, certainly not less, and then vanished. That's why I'm\nleaving, Mrs. B----. My heart was never overstrong. I always suffered\nwith palpitations, and if I saw those heads again, it would kill me.\"\n\nAfter this my wife spoke to me seriously.\n\n\"Jack,\" she said, \"are you sure there's nothing in it? I don't think\nMary would leave us without a good cause, and the description of what\nshe saw tallies exactly with the figure that frightened Jennie. Jennie\nassures me she never said a word about it to the servants. They can't\nboth have imagined it.\"\n\nI did not know what to say. My conscience pricked me. Without a doubt I\nought to have told my wife of my own experience in the lane, and have\nconsulted her before taking the house. Supposing she, or any of the\nchildren, should die of fright, it would be my fault. I should never\nforgive myself.\n\n\"You've something on your mind! What is it?\" my wife demanded.\n\nI hesitated a moment or two and then told her. The next quarter of an\nhour was one I do not care to recollect, but when it was over, and she\nhad had her say, it was decided I should make enquiries and see if there\nwas any possible way of getting rid of the ghosts. With this end in\nview, I drove to the town, and after several fruitless efforts was at\nlength introduced to a Mr. Marsden, clerk of one of the banks, who, in\nreply to my questions, said:\n\n\"Well, Mr. B----, it's just this way. I do know something, only--in a\nsmall place like this--one has to be so extra careful what one says.\nSome years ago a Mr. Jeremiah Dance occupied the Crow's Nest. He came\nhere apparently a total stranger, and though often in the town, was only\nseen in the company of one person--his landlord, Mr. Baldwin, with\nwhom--if local gossip is to be relied on--he appeared to be on terms of\nthe greatest familiarity. Indeed, they were seldom apart, walked about\nthe lanes arm-in-arm, visited each other's houses on alternate evenings,\ncalled each other \"Teddy\" and \"Leslie.\" This state of things continued\nfor nearly three years, and then people suddenly began to comment on the\nfact that Mr. Dance had gone, or at least was no longer visible. An\nerrand-boy, returning back to town, late one evening, swore to being\npassed on the way by a trap containing Mr. Baldwin and Mr. Dance, who\nwere speaking in very loud voices--just as if they were having a violent\naltercation. On reaching that part of the road where the trees are\nthickest overhead, the lad overtook them, or rather Mr. Baldwin,\npreparing to mount into the trap. Mr. Dance was nowhere to be seen. And\nfrom that day to this nothing has ever been heard of him. As none of his\nfriends or relations came forward to raise enquiries, and all his bills\nwere paid--several of them by Mr. Baldwin--no one took the matter up.\nMr. Baldwin pooh-poohed the errand-boy's story, and declared that, on\nthe night in question, he had been alone in an altogether different part\nof the county, and knew nothing whatever of Mr. Dance's movements,\nfurther than that he had recently announced his intention of leaving the\nCrow's Nest before the expiration of the three years' lease. He had not\nthe remotest idea where he was. He claimed the furniture in payment of\nthe rent due to him.\"\n\n\"Did the matter end there?\" I asked.\n\n\"In one sense of the word, yes--in another, no. Within a few weeks of\nDance's disappearance rumours got afloat that his ghost had been seen on\nthe road, just where, you may say, you saw it. As a matter of fact, I've\nseen it myself--and so have crowds of other people.\"\n\n\"Has anyone ever spoken to it?\"\n\n\"Yes--and it has vanished at once. I went there one night with the\npurpose of laying it, but, on its appearing suddenly, I confess I was so\nstartled, that I not only forgot what I had rehearsed to say, but ran\nhome, without uttering as much as a word.\"\n\n\"And what are your deductions of the case?\"\n\n\"The same as everyone else's,\" Mr. Marsden whispered, \"only, like\neveryone else, I dare not say.\"\n\n\"Had Mr. Dance any dogs?\"\n\n\"Yes--two poodles, of which, much to Mr. Baldwin's annoyance (everyone\nnoticed this), he used to make the most ridiculous fuss.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" I observed. \"That settles it! Ghosts! And to think I never\nbelieved in them before! Well, I am going to try.\"\n\n\"Try what?\" Mr. Marsden said, a note of alarm in his voice.\n\n\"Try laying it. I have an idea I may succeed.\"\n\n\"I wish you luck, then. May I come with you?\"\n\n\"Thanks, no!\" I rejoined. \"I would rather go there alone.\"\n\nI said this in a well-lighted room, with the hum of a crowded\nthoroughfare in my ears. Twenty minutes later, when I had left all that\nbehind, and was fast approaching the darkest part of an exceptionally\ndark road, I wished I had not. At the very spot, where I had previously\nseen the figures, I saw them now. They suddenly appeared by my side, and\nthough I was going at a great rate--for the horse took fright--they kept\neasy pace with me. Twice I essayed to speak to them, but could not\nejaculate a syllable through sheer horror, and it was only by nerving\nmyself to the utmost, and forcing my eyes away from them, that I was\nable to stick to my seat and hold on to the reins. On and on we dashed,\nuntil trees, road, sky, universe were obliterated in one blinding\nwhirlwind that got up my nostrils, choked my ears, and deadened me to\neverything, save the all-terrorizing, instinctive knowledge, that the\nfigures by my side, were still there, stalking along as quietly and\nleisurely as if the horse had been going at a snail's pace.\n\nAt last, to my intense relief--for never had the ride seemed longer--I\nreached the Crow's Nest, and as I hurriedly dismounted from the trap,\nthe figures shot past me and vanished. Once inside the house, and in the\nbosom of my family, where all was light and laughter, courage returned,\nand I upbraided myself bitterly for this cowardice.\n\nI confessed to my wife, and she insisted on accompanying me the\nfollowing afternoon, at twilight, to the spot where the ghost appeared\nto originate. To our intense dismay, we had not been there more than\nthree or four minutes, before Dora, our youngest girl, a pretty,\nsweet-tempered child of eight, came running up to us with a telegram,\nwhich one of the servants had asked her to give us. My wife, snatching\nit from her, and reading it, was about to scold her severely, when she\nsuddenly paused, and clutching hold of the child with one hand, pointed\nhysterically at something on one side of her with the other. I looked,\nand Dora looked, and we both saw, standing erect and staring at us, the\nspare figure of a man, with a ghastly white face and dull, lifeless\neyes, clad in a panama hat, albert coat, and small, patent-leather\nboots; beside him were two glossy--abnormally glossy--poodles.\n\nI tried to speak, but, as before, was too frightened to articulate a\nsound, and my wife was in the same plight. With Dora, however, it was\notherwise, and she electrified us by going up to the figure, and\nexclaiming:\n\n\"Who are you? You must feel very ill to look so white. Tell me your\nname.\"\n\nThe figure made no reply, but gliding slowly forward, moved up to a\nlarge, isolated oak, and pointing with the index finger of its left hand\nat the trunk of the tree, seemingly sank into the earth and vanished\nfrom view.\n\nFor some seconds everyone was silent, and then my wife exclaimed:\n\n\"Jack, I shouldn't wonder if Dora hasn't been the means of solving the\nmystery. Examine the tree closely.\"\n\nI did so. The tree was hollow, and inside it were three skeletons!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHere followed an extract from a local paper:\n\n\n\"_Sensational Discovery in a Wood near Marytown_\n\n\"Whilst exploring in a wood, near Marytown, the other evening, a party\nof the name of B---- discovered three skeletons--a human being and two\ndogs--in the trunk of an oak. From the remnant of clothes still\nadhering to the human remains, the latter were proved to be those of an\nindividual known as Mr. Jeremiah Dance, whose strange disappearance from\nthe Crow's Nest--the house he rented in the neighbourhood--some two\nyears ago, was the occasion of much comment. On closer examination,\nextraordinary to relate, the remains have been proved to be those of a\nWOMAN; and from certain abrasions on the skull, there is little doubt\nshe met with a violent end.\"\n\nA second extract taken from the same paper runs thus:--\n\n\n\"_Suicide at Marytown_\n\n\"Late last night Percy Baldwin, the man who is under arrest on suspicion\nof having caused the death of the unknown woman, whose skeleton was\nfound on Monday in the trunk of a tree, committed suicide by hanging\nhimself with his suspenders to the ceiling of his cell. Pinned on his\ncoat was a slip of paper bearing these words: 'She was my wife--I loved\nher. She took to drink--I parted from her. She became a dog-worshipper.\nI killed her--and her dogs.'\"\n\n\n_Phantasms of Living Dogs_\n\nI could quote innumerable cases of people who have either seen or heard\nthe spirits of dead dogs. However, as space does not permit of this, I\nproceed to the oft-raised question, \"Do animals as well as people\nproject themselves?\" My reply is--yes; according to my experience they\ndo.\n\nSome friends of mine have a big tabby that has frequently been seen in\ntwo places at the same time; for example, it has been observed by\nseveral people to be sitting on a chair in the dining-room, and, at the\nsame moment, it has been seen by two or more other persons extended at\nfull length before the kitchen fire--the latter figure proving to be its\nimmaterial, or what some designate its astral body, which vanishes the\ninstant an attempt is made to touch it. The only explanation of this\nphenomenon seems to me to lie in projection--the cat possessing the\nfaculty of separating--in this instance, unconsciously--its spiritual\nfrom its physical body--the former travelling anywhere, regardless of\nspace, time and material obstacles. I have often had experiences similar\nto this with a friend's dog. I have been seated in a room, either\nreading or writing, and on looking up have distinctly seen the dog lying\non the carpet in front of me. A few minutes later a scraping at the door\nor window--both of which have been shut all the while--and on my rising\nto see what was there, I have discovered the dog outside! Had I not been\nso positive I had seen the dog on the ground in front of me, I might\nhave thought it was an hallucination; but hallucinations are never so\nvivid nor so lasting--moreover, other people have had similar\nexperiences with the same dog. And why not? Dogs, on the whole, are\nevery whit as reasoning and reflective as the bulk of human beings! And\nhow much nobler! Compare, for a moment, the dogs you know--no matter\nwhether mastiffs, retrievers, dachshunds, poodles, or even Pekinese,\nwith your acquaintances--with the people you see everywhere around\nyou--false, greedy, spiteful, scandal-loving women, money-grubbing\nattorneys, lying, swindling tradesmen, vulgar parvenus, finicky curates,\nbrutal roughs, spoilt, cruel children, hypocrites of both sexes--compare\nthem carefully--and the comparison is entirely in favour of the dog!\nAnd if the creating Power (or Powers) has favoured these wholly selfish\nand degenerate human beings with spirits, and has conferred on certain\nof them the faculty of projecting those spirits, can one imagine, for\none moment, that similar gifts have been denied to dogs--their superiors\nin every respect? Pshaw! Out upon it! To think so would mean to think\nthe unthinkable, to attribute to God qualities of partiality, injustice\nand whimsicality, which would render Him little, if anything, better\nthan a James the Second of England, or a Louis the Fifteenth of France.\n\nBesides, from my own experience, and the experiences of those with whom\nI have been brought in contact, I can safely affirm that there are\nphantasms (and therefore spirits) of both living and dead dogs in just\nthe same proportion as there are phantasms (and therefore spirits) of\nboth living and dead human beings.\n\n\n_Psychic Properties of Dogs_\n\nSome, not all, dogs--like cats--possess the psychic property of scenting\nthe advent of death, and they indicate their fear of it by the most\ndismal howling. In my opinion there is very little doubt that dogs\nactually see some kind of phantasm that, knowing when death is about to\ntake place, visits the house of the doomed and stands beside his, or\nher, couch. I have had this phantasm described to me, by those who\ndeclare they have seen it, as a very tall, hooded figure, clad in a\ndark, loose, flowing costume--its face never discernible. It would, of\ncourse, be foolish to say that a dog howling in a house is invariably\nthe sign of death; there are many other and obvious causes which produce\nsomething of a similar effect; but I think one may be pretty well\nassured that, when the howling is accompanied by unmistakable signs of\nterror, then someone, either in the house at the time, or connected\nwith someone in the house, will shortly die.\n\n\n_Dogs in Haunted Houses_\n\nWhen I investigate a haunted house, I generally take a dog with me,\nbecause experience has taught me that a dog seldom fails to give notice,\nin some way or another--either by whining, or growling, or crouching\nshivering at one's feet, or springing on one's lap and trying to bury\nits head in one's coat--of the proximity of a ghost. I had a dog with\nme, when ghost-hunting, not so very long ago, in a well-known haunted\nhouse in Gloucestershire. The dog--my only companion--and I sat on the\nstaircase leading from the hall to the first floor. Just about two\no'clock the dog gave a loud growl. I put my hand out and found it was\nshivering from head to foot. Almost directly afterwards I heard the loud\nclatter of fire-irons from somewhere away in the basement, a door\nbanged, and then something, or someone, began to ascend the stairs. Up,\nup, up came the footsteps, until I could see--first of all a bluish\nlight, then the top of a head, then a face, white and luminous, staring\nup at me. A few more steps, and the whole thing was disclosed to view.\nIt was the figure of a girl of about sixteen, with a shock head of red\nhair, on which was stuck, all awry, a dirty little, old-fashioned\nservant's cap. She was clad in a cotton dress, soiled and bedraggled,\nand had on her feet a pair of elastic-sided boots, that looked as if\nthey would fall to pieces each step she took. But it was her face that\nriveted my attention most. It was startlingly white and full of an\nexpression of the most hopeless misery. The eyes, wide open and glassy,\nwere turned direct on mine. I was too appalled either to stir or utter a\nsound. The phantasm came right up to where I stood, paused for a second,\nand then slowly went on; up, up, up, until a sudden bend in the\nstaircase hid it from view. For some seconds there was a continuation of\nthe footsteps, then there came a loud splash from somewhere outside and\nbelow--and then silence--sepulchral and omnipotent.\n\nI did not wait to see if anything further would happen. I fled, and\nDick, my dog friend, who was apparently even more frightened than I,\nfled with me. We arrived home--panic-stricken.\n\nOver and over again, on similar occasions, I have had a dog with me, and\nthe same thing has occurred--the dog has made some noise indicative of\ngreat fear, remaining in a state of stupor during the actual presence of\nthe apparition.\n\n\n_Psychic Propensities of Dogs compared with those of Cats_\n\nThough dogs are, perhaps, rather more alarmed at the Unknown than cats,\nI do not think they have a keener sense of its proximity. Still, for the\nvery reason that they show greater--more unmistakable--indications of\nfear, they make surer psychic barometers. The psychic faculty of scent\nin dogs would seem to be more limited than that in cats; for, whereas\ncats can not only detect the advent and presence of pleasant and\nunpleasant phantoms by their smells, few dogs can do more than detect\nthe approach of death. Dogs make friends nearly, if not quite, as\nreadily with cruel and brutal people as with kind ones, simply because\nthey cannot, so easily as cats, distinguish by their scent the\nunpleasant types of spirits cruel and brutal people attract; in all\nprobability, they are not even aware of the presence of such spirits.\n\nIt would seem, on the face of it, that since dogs are, on the whole, of\na gentler disposition than cats, that is to say, not quite so cruel and\nsavage, the phantasms of dogs would be less likely to be earth-bound\nthan those of cats; but, then, one must take into consideration the\nother qualities of the two animals, and when these are put in the\nbalance, one may find little to choose--morally--between the cat and\nthe dog. Anyhow, after making allowance for the fact that many more cats\ndie unnatural deaths than dogs, there would seem to be small numerical\ndifference in their hauntings--cases of dog ghosts appearing to be just\nas common as cases of cat ghosts.\n\nApropos of phantom dogs, my friend Dr. G. West writes to me thus:--\n\n\"Of the older English Universities many stories are told of bizarre\nhappenings,--of duels, raggings, suicides and such-like--in olden times;\nbut of K., venerable, illustrious K. of Ireland, few and far between are\nthe accounts of similar occurrences. This is one, however, and it deals\nwith the phantom of a dog:--\n\n\"One evening, towards the end of the eighteenth century, John Kelly, a\nDean of the College (extremely unpopular on account of his supposed\nharsh treatment of some of the undergraduates), was about to commence\nhis supper, when he heard a low whine, and looking down, saw a large\nyellow dog cross the floor in front of him, and disappear immediately\nunder the full-length portrait that hung over the antique chimney-piece.\nSomething prompting him, he glanced at the picture. The eyes that looked\ninto his blinked.\n\n\"'It must be the result of an overtaxed brain,' he said to himself.\n'Those rascally undergraduates have got on my nerves.'\n\n\"He shut his eyes; and re-opening them, stared hard at the portrait. It\nwas not a delusion. The eyes that gazed back at him were alive--alive\nwith the spirit of mockery; they smiled, laughed, jeered; and, as they\ndid so, the knowledge of his surroundings was brought forcibly home to\nhim. The room in which he was seated was situated at the end of a long,\ncheerless, stone passage in the western wing of the College. Away from\nall the other rooms of the building, it was absolutely isolated; and had\nlong borne the reputation of being haunted by a dog, which was said to\nappear only before some catastrophe. The Dean had hitherto committed the\nstory to the category of fables. But now,--now, as he sat all alone in\nthat big silent room, lit only with the reddish rays of a fast-setting\nAugust sun, and stared into the gleaming eyes before him--he was obliged\nto admit the extreme probability of spookdom. Never before had the\nCollege seemed so quiet. Not a sound--not even the creaking of a board\nor the far-away laugh of a student, common enough noises on most\nnights--fell on his ears. The hush was omnipotent, depressing,\nunnerving; he could only associate it with the supernatural. Though he\nwas too fascinated to remove his gaze from the thing before him, he\ncould feel the room fill with shadows, and feel them steal through the\nhalf-open windows, and, uniting with those already in the corners, glide\nnoiselessly and surreptitiously towards him. He felt, too, that he was\nunder the surveillance of countless invisible visages, all scanning him\ncuriously, and delighted beyond measure at the sight of his terror.\n\n\"The moments passed in a breathless state of tension. He stared at the\neyes, and the eyes stared back at him. Once he endeavoured to rise, but\na dead weight seemed to fall on his shoulders and hold him back; and\ntwice, when he tried to speak--to make some sound, no matter what, to\nbreak the appalling silence--his throat closed as if under the pressure\nof cruel, relentless fingers.\n\n\"But the _Ultima Thule_ of his emotions had yet to come. There was a\nslight stir behind the canvas, a thud, a hollow groan that echoed and\nre-echoed throughout the room like the muffled clap of distant thunder,\nand the eyes suddenly underwent a metamorphosis--they grew glazed and\nglassy like the eyes of a dead person. A cold shudder ran through the\nDean, his hair stood on end, his blood turned to ice. Again he essayed\nto move, to summon help; again he failed. The strain on his nerves\nproved more than he could bear. A sudden sensation of nausea surged\nthrough him; his eyes swam; his brain reeled; there was a loud buzzing\nin his ears; he knew no more. Some moments later one of the College\nservants arrived at the door with a bundle of letters, and on receiving\nno reply to his raps, entered.\n\n\"'Good heavens! What's the matter?' he cried, gazing at the figure of\nthe Dean, lolling head downward on the table. 'Merciful Prudence, the\ngentleman is dead! No, he ain't--some of the young gents will be sorry\nenough for that--he's fainted.'\n\n\"The good fellow poured out some water in a tumbler, and was proceeding\nto sprinkle the Dean's face with it, when, a noise attracting his\nattention, he peered round at the picture. It was bulging from the wall;\nit was falling! And, Good God, what was that that was falling with\nit--that huge black object? A coffin? No, not a coffin, but a corpse!\nThe servant ran to the door shrieking, and, in less than a minute,\npassage and room were filled to overflowing with a scared crowd of\nenquiring officials and undergraduates.\n\n\"'What has happened? What's the matter with the Dean? Has he had a fit,\nor what? And the picture? And--Anderson? Anderson lying on the floor!\nHurt? No, not hurt, dead! Murdered!'\n\n\"In an instant there was silence, and the white-faced throng closed in\non one another as if for protection. In front of them, beside the fallen\npicture, lay the body of the most gay and popular student in the\nCollege--Bob Anderson--Bob Anderson with a stream of blood running from\na deep incision in his back made with some sharp instrument, that had\nbeen driven home with tremendous force. He had, without doubt, been\nmurdered. But by whom? Then one of the undergraduates, a bright, boyish,\nfair-haired giant, named O'Farroll, immensely popular both on account of\nhis prowess in sport and an untold number of the most audacious\nescapades, spoke out:\n\n\"'I saw Anderson, about an hour ago, crossing the quadrangle. I asked\nhim where he was going, and he replied, \"To old Kelly. I intend paying\nhim out for 'gating' me last week.\" I enquired how, and he replied:\n\"I've a glorious plan. You know that portrait stuck over his\nmantel-shelf? Well! In poking about the room the other day, when the old\nman was out, I had a great find. Directly behind the picture is the door\nof a secret room, so neatly covered by the designs on the wall that it\nis not discernible. It was only by the merest fluke I discovered it. I\nwas taking down the picture with the idea of \"touching up\" the face,\nwhen my knuckles bumped against the panels of the wall, touched a\nspring, and the door flew open, revealing an apartment about six by\neight feet large. I at once explored it, and found it could be entered\nby the chimney. An idea then struck me--I would play a trick upon the\nDean by hiding in this secret chamber one evening while he was feeding,\ncutting out the eyes of the portrait, and peering through the cavities\nat him. And this,' O'Farroll continued, pointing at the fallen picture,\n'is what he evidently did after I left him. You can see the eyes of the\nportrait have been removed.'\n\n\"'That is so, shure,' one of the other undergraduates, Mick Maguire--six\nfeet two in his socks, every inch--exclaimed. 'And, what is more, I knew\nall about it. Anderson told me yesterday what he was going to do, and I\nwanted to join him, but he said I would never get up the chimney, I\nwould stick there. And, bedad, I think he was right.'\n\n\"At this remark, despite the grimness of the moment, several of those\npresent laughed.\n\n\"'Come, come, gentlemen!' one of the officials cried, 'this is no time\nfor levity. Mr. Anderson has been murdered, and the question is--by\nwhom?'\n\n\"'Then, if that's the only thing that is troubling you,' O'Farroll put\nin, 'I fancy the solution is right here at hand,' and he looked\nsignificantly at the Dean.\n\n\"An ominous silence followed, during which all eyes were fixed on John\nKelly, some anxiously, some merely enquiringly, but not a few angrily,\nfor Kelly, as I have said before, had made himself particularly\nobnoxious just then by his behaviour to the rowdier students; and, as\nhas ever been the case at K., these formed no small portion of the\ncommunity.\n\n\"The Dean hardly seemed to realize the situation. The dignity of office\nblinded him to danger.\n\n\"'What do you mean?' he spluttered. 'I know nothing of what happened to\nMr. Anderson! Really, really, O'Farroll, your presumption is\npreposterous.'\n\n\"'There was no one else in here but you and he, Mr. Kelly,' O'Farroll\nretorted coolly. 'It's only natural we should think you know something\nof what happened!'\n\n\"On the arrival of the police who had been sent for somewhat\nreluctantly--for the prestige of the College at that date was very dear\nto all--the premises were thoroughly searched, and, no other culprit\nbeing found, first of all Dean Kelly was apprehended, and then, to make\na good job of it, his accuser, Denis O'Farroll.\n\n\"All the College was agog with excitement. No one could believe the Dean\nwas a murderer; and it was just as inconceivable to think O'Farroll had\ncommitted the deed. And yet if neither of them had killed Anderson, who\nin God's name had killed him?\n\n\"The night succeeding the affair, whilst the Dean and O'Farroll were\nstill in jail awaiting the inquest, a party of undergraduates were\ndiscussing the situation in Maguire's rooms, when the door burst open,\nand into their midst, almost breathless with excitement, came a measly,\nbespectacled youth named Brady--Patrick Brady.\n\n\"'I'm awfully sorry to disturb you fellows,' he stammered, 'but there\nhave been odd noises just outside my room all the evening, and I've just\nseen a queer kind of dog, that vanished, God knows how. I--I--well, you\nwill call me an ass, of course, but I'm afraid to stay there alone, and\nthat's the long and short of it.'\n\n\"'Begorra!' Maguire exclaimed, 'it can't be poor Bob's ghost already!\nWhat sort of noises were they?'\n\n\"'Noises like laughter!' Brady said. 'Loud peals of horrid laughter.'\n\n\"'Someone trying to frighten you,' one of the undergrads observed, 'and\nfaith, he succeeded. You are twice as white as any sheet.'\n\n\"'It's ill-timed mirth, anyhow,' someone else put in, 'with Anderson's\ndead body upstairs. I'm for making an example of the blackguard.'\n\n\"'And I,'--'And I,' the others echoed.\n\n\"A general movement followed, and headed by Brady the procession moved\nto the north wing of the College. At that time, be it remembered, a\nlarge proportion of K. undergrads were in residence--now it is\notherwise. On reaching Brady's rooms the crowd halted outside and\nlistened. For some time there was silence; and then a laugh--low,\nmonotonous, unmirthful, metallic--coming as it were from some adjacent\nchamber, and so unnatural, so abhorring, that it held everyone\nspell-bound. It died away in the reverberations of the stone corridor,\nits echoes seeming to awake a chorus of other laughs hardly less\ndreadful. Again there was silence, no one daring to express his\nthoughts. Then, as if by common consent, all turned precipitately into\nBrady's room and slammed the door.\n\n\"'That is what I heard,' Brady said. 'What does it mean?'\n\n\"'Is it the meaning of it you're wanting to know?' Maguire observed.\n'Sure 'tis the devil, for no one but him could make such a noise. I've\nnever heard the like of it before. Who has the rooms on either side of\nyou?'\n\n\"'These?' Brady replied, pointing to the right. 'No one. They were\nvacated at Easter, and are being repainted and decorated. These on the\nleft--Dobson, who is, I happen to know, at the present moment in Co.\nMayo. He won't be back till next week.'\n\n\"'Then we can search them,' a student called Hartnoll intervened.\n\n\"'To be sure we can,' Brady replied, 'but I doubt if you'll find\nanyone.'\n\n\"A search was made, and Brady proved to be correct. Not a vestige of\nanyone was discovered.\n\n\"Much mystified, Maguire's party was preparing to depart, when Hartnoll,\nwho had taken the keenest interest in the proceedings, suddenly said,\n'Who has the rooms over yours, Brady? Sound, as you know, plays curious\ntricks, and it is just as likely as not that laugh came from above.'\n\n\"'Oh, I don't think so,' Brady answered. 'The man overhead is Belton, a\nvery decent sort. He is going in for his finals shortly, and is sweating\nfearfully hard at present. We might certainly ask him if he heard the\nnoise.'\n\n\"The students agreeing, Brady led the way upstairs, and in response to\ntheir summons Belton hastily opened the door. He was a typical\nbook-worm--thin, pale and rather emaciated, but with a pleasant\nexpression in his eyes and mouth, that all felt was assuring.\n\n\"'Hulloa!' he exclaimed, 'it isn't often I'm favoured with a surprise\nparty of this sort. Come in'; and he pressed them so hard that they felt\nconstrained to accept his hospitality, and before long were all seated\nround the fire, quaffing whisky and puffing cigars as if they meant to\nmake a night of it. At two o'clock someone suggested that it was high\ntime they thought of bed, and Belton rose with them.\n\n\"'Before we turn in, let's have another search,' he said. 'It's strange\nyou should all hear that noise except me--unless, of course, it came\nfrom below.'\n\n\"'But there's nothing under me,' Brady remarked, 'except the Dining\nHall.'\n\n\"'Then let's search that,' Belton went on. 'We ought to make a thorough\njob of it now we've once begun. Besides, I don't relish being in this\nlonely place with that laugh \"knocking\" around, any more than you do.'\n\n\"He went with them, and they completely overhauled the ground\nfloor--hall, dining-room, studies, passages, vestibules, everywhere that\nwas not barred to them; but they were no wiser at the end of their\nsearch than at the beginning; there was not the slightest clue as to the\nauthor of the laugh.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"On the morrow there was a fresh shock. One of the College servants, on\nentering Mr. Maguire's rooms to call him, found that gentleman half\ndressed and lying on the floor.\n\n\"Terrified beyond measure, the servant bent over him and discovered he\nwas dead, obviously stabbed with the same weapon that had put an end to\nBob Anderson.\n\n\"The factotum at once gave the alarm. Everyone in the College came\ntrooping to the room, and for the second time within three days a\ngeneral hue and cry was raised. All, again, to no purpose--the murderer\nhad left no traces as to his identity. However, one thing at least was\nestablished, and that was the innocence of Dean Kelly and Denis\nO'Farroll. They were both liberated.\n\n\"Then Hartnoll, who seems to have been a regular Sherlock Holmes, got to\nwork in grim earnest. On the floor in Maguire's room he picked up a\ndiminutive silver-topped pencil, which had rolled under the fender and\nhad so escaped observation. He asked several of Maguire's most intimate\nfriends if they remembered seeing the pencil-case in Maguire's\npossession, but they shook their heads. He enquired in other quarters,\ntoo, but with no better result, and finally resolved to ask Brady, who\nbelonged to quite a different set from himself. With that object in view\nhe set off to Brady's room shortly after supper. As there was no\nresponse to his raps, he at length opened Brady's door. In front of the\nhearth in a big easy chair sat a figure.\n\n\"'Brady, by all that's holy,' Hartnoll exclaimed. 'By Jupiter, the\nbeggar's asleep. That's what comes of swotting too hard! Brady!'\n\n\"Approaching the chair he called again, 'Brady!' and getting no reply,\npatted the figure gently on the back.\n\n\"'Be jabbers, you sleep soundly, old fellow!' he said. 'How about that!'\nand he shook him heartily by the shoulder. The instant he let go the\nfigure collapsed. In order to get a closer view Hartnoll then struck a\nlight with the tinder box.\n\n\"The flickering of the candle flame fell on Brady's face. It was\nwhite--ghastly white; there was no animation in it; the jaw dropped.\n\n\"With a cry of horror Hartnoll sprang back, and as he did so a great\nyellow dog dashed across the hearth in front of him, whilst from\nsomewhere close at hand came a laugh--long, low and satirical. A cold\nterror gripped Hartnoll, and for a moment or so he was on the verge of\nfainting. However, hearing voices in the quadrangle, he pulled himself\ntogether, approached the window on tiptoe, and, peering through the\nglass, perceived to his utmost joy two of his friends directly beneath\nhim. 'I say, you fellows,' he called in low tones, 'come up here\nquickly--Brady's rooms. I've seen the phantom dog. There's been another\ntragedy, and the murderer is close at hand. Come quietly and we may\ncatch him!'\n\n\"He then retraced his steps to the centre of the room and listened.\nAgain there came the laugh--subtle, protracted, hellish--and it seemed\nto him as if it must originate in the room overhead.\n\n\"A noise in the direction of the hearth made him look round. Some loose\nplaster had fallen, and whilst he still gazed, more fell. The truth of\nthe whole thing then dawned on him. The murderer was in the chimney.\n\n\"Hartnoll was a creature of impulse. In the excitement of the moment he\nforgot danger, and the dastardly nature of the crimes gave him more than\nhis usual amount of courage. He rushed at the chimney, and, regardless\nof soot and darkness, began an impromptu ascent.\n\n\"Half-way up something struck him--once, twice, thrice,--sharply, and\nthere was a soft, malevolent chuckle.\n\n\"At this juncture the two undergraduates arrived in Brady's room. No one\nwas there--nothing save a hunched-up figure on a chair.\n\n\"'Hartnoll!' they whispered. 'Hartnoll!' No reply. They called\nagain--still no reply. Again and again they called, until at length,\nthrough sheer fatigue, they desisted, and seized with a sudden panic\nfled precipitately downstairs and out into the quadrangle.\n\n\"Once more the alarm was given, and once again the whole College, wild\nwith excitement, hastened to the scene of the outrage.\n\n\"This time there was a double mystery. Brady had been murdered--Hartnoll\nhad disappeared. The police were summoned and the whole building\nransacked; but no one thought of the chimney till the search was nearly\nover, and half the throng--overcome with fatigue--had retired. O'Farroll\nwas the discoverer. Happening to glance at the hearth he saw something\ndrop.\n\n\"'For Heaven's sake, you fellows!' he shouted. 'Look! Blood! You may\ntake it from me there's a corpse in the chimney.'\n\n\"A dozen candles invaded the hearth, and a herculean policeman undertook\nthe ascent. In breathless silence the crowd below waited, and, after a\nfew seconds of intense suspense, two helpless legs appeared on the hob.\nBit by bit, the rest of the body followed, until, at length, the whole\nfigure of Hartnoll, black, bleeding, bloodstained, was disclosed to\nview.\n\n\"At first it was thought that he was dead; but the surgeon who had\nhurried to the scene pronouncing him still alive, there arose a\ntremendous cheer. The murderer had at all events been foiled this time.\n\n\"'Begorrah!' cried O'Farroll, 'Hartnoll was after the murderer when he\nwas struck, and shure I'll be after him the same way myself.' And before\nanyone could prevent him O'Farroll was up the chimney. Up, up, up, until\nhe found himself going down, down, down; and then--bedad--he stepped\nright out on to the floor of Belton's room.\n\n\"'Hulloa!' the latter exclaimed, looking not a bit disconcerted, 'that's\na curious mode of making your entrance into my domain! Why didn't you\ncome by the door?'\n\n\"'Because,' O'Farroll replied, pointing to a patch of soot near the\nwashstand, 'I followed you. Own up, Dicky Belton. You're the\nculprit--you did for them all.' And Belton laughed.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Yes, it was true; overwork had turned Belton's brain, and he was\nsubsequently sent to a Criminal Lunatic Asylum for the rest of his life.\nBut there were moments when he was comparatively sane, and in these\ninterims he confessed everything. Anderson had told him that he was\ngoing to hoax the Dean, and filled with indignation at the idea of such\na trick being played on a College official--for he, Belton, was a great\nfavourite with the 'Beaks'--he had accompanied Anderson on the plea of\nhelping him, intending, in reality, to frustrate him. It was not till he\nwas in the chimney, crouching behind Anderson, that the thought of\nkilling his fellow-students had entered his mind. The heat of his\nhiding-place, acting on an already overworked brain, hastened on the\nmadness; and his fingers closing on a clasped knife in one of his\npockets, inspired him with a desire to kill.\n\n\"The work once begun, he had argued with himself, would have to be\ncontinued, and he had then and there decided that all unruly\nundergraduates should be exterminated.\n\n\"With what measure of success this determination was carried out need\nnot be recapitulated here; but with regard to the phantom dog a few\nwords may be added. Since it appeared immediately before the committal\nof each of the three murders I have just recorded (it was seen by Mr.\nKelly before the death of Bob Anderson; by Brady, before the murder of\nMaguire; and by Hartnoll, before Brady was murdered), I think there can\nneither be doubts as to its existence nor as to the purport of its\nvisits.\n\n\"Moreover, its latest appearance in the University, reported to me quite\nrecently, preceded a serious outbreak of fire.\"\n\n\n_National Ghosts in the form of Dogs_\n\nOne of the most notorious dog ghosts is the Gwyllgi in Wales. This\napparition, which is of a particularly terrifying appearance, chiefly\nhaunts the lane leading from Mousiad to Lisworney Crossways.\n\nBelief in a spectral dog, however, is common all over the British Isles.\nThe apparition does not belong to any one breed, but appears equally\noften as a hound, setter, terrier, shepherd dog, Newfoundland and\nretriever. In Lancashire it is called the \"Trash\" or \"Striker\"; Trash,\nbecause the sound of its tread is thought to resemble a person walking\nalong a miry, sloppy road, with heavy shoes; Striker, because it is said\nto utter a curious screech which may be taken as a warning of the\napproaching death of some relative or friend. When followed the phantom\nretreats, glaring at its pursuer, and either sinks into the ground with\na harrowing shriek, or disappears in some equally mysterious manner.\n\nIn Norfolk and Cambridgeshire this spectre is named the \"Shuck,\" the\nlocal name for Shag--and is reported to haunt churchyards and other\ndreary spots.\n\nIn the parish of Overstrand, there used to be a lane called \"Shuck's\nLane,\" named after this phantasm.\n\nRound about Leeds the spectre dog is called \"Padfoot,\" and is about the\nsize of a donkey, with shaggy hair and large eyes like saucers. My\nfriend Mr. Barker tells me there was, at one time, a ghost in the\nHebrides called the Lamper, which was like a very big, white dog with no\ntail. It ran sometimes straight ahead, but usually in circles, and to\nsee it was a prognostication of death. Mr. Barker, going home by the\nsea-coast, saw the Lamper in the hedge. He struck at it, and his stick\npassed right through it. The Lamper rushed away, whining and howling\nalternately, and disappeared. Mr. Barker was so scared that he ran all\nthe way home. On the morrow, he learned of his father's death.\n\nIn Northumberland, Durham, and various parts of Yorkshire, the\nghost-dog, which is firmly believed in, is styled Barguest, Bahrgeist,\nor Boguest; whilst in Lancashire it is termed the Boggart. Its most\ncommon form in these counties is a large, black dog with flaming eyes;\nand its appearance is a certain prognostication of death.\n\nAccording to tradition there was once a \"Barguest\" in a glen between\nDarlington and Houghton, near Throstlenest. Another haunted a piece of\nwaste land above a spring called the Oxwells, between Wreghorn and\nHeadingley Hill, near Leeds. On the death of any person of local\nimportance in the neighbourhood the creature would come forth, followed\nby all the other dogs, barking and howling. (Henderson refers to these\nhauntings in his _Folk-lore of Northern Counties_.)\n\nAnother form of this animal spectre is the Capelthwaite, which,\naccording to common report, had the power of appearing in the form of\nany quadruped, but usually chose that of a large, black dog.\n\n\n\"_The Mauthe Doog_\"\n\nOne of the most famous canine apparitions is that of the \"Mauthe Doog,\"\nonce said--and, I believe, still said--to haunt Peel Castle, Isle of\nMan.\n\nIts favourite place, so I am told, was the guard-chamber, where it used\nto crouch by the fireside. The sentry, so the story runs, got so\naccustomed to seeing it, that they ceased to be afraid; but, as they\nbelieved it to be of evil origin, waiting for an opportunity to seize\nthem, they were very particular what they said or did, and refrained\nfrom swearing in its presence. The Mauthe Doog used to come out and\nreturn by the passage through the church, by which the sentry on duty\nhad to go to deliver the keys every night to the captain. These men,\nhowever, were far too nervous to go alone, and were invariably\naccompanied by one of the retainers. On one occasion, however, one of\nthe sentinels, in a fit of drunken bravado, swore he was afraid of\nnothing, and insisted on going alone. His comrades tried to dissuade\nhim, upon which he became abusive, cursed the Mauthe Doog, and said he\nwould d----d well strike it. An hour later, he returned absolutely mad\nwith horror, and speechless; nor could he even make signs, whereby his\nfriends could understand what had happened to him. He died soon\nafter--his features distorted--in violent agony. After this the\napparition was never seen again.\n\nAs to what class of spirits the spectre dog belongs, that is impossible\nto say. At the most we can only surmise, and I should think the chances\nof its being the actual phantasm of some dead dog or an elemental are\nabout equal. It is probably sometimes the one and sometimes the other;\nand its origin is very possibly like that of the Banshee.\n\n\n_Spectral Hounds_\n\nAs with the spectre dog, so with packs of hounds, stories of them come\nfrom all parts of the country.\n\nGervase of Tilbury states that as long ago as the thirteenth century a\npack of spectral hounds was frequently witnessed, on nights when the\nmoon was full, scampering across forest and downs. In the twelfth\ncentury the pack was known as \"the Herlething\" and haunted, chiefly, the\nbanks of the Wye.\n\nRoby, in his _Traditions of Lancashire_; Hardwick, in his _Traditions,\nSuperstitions, and Folk-lore_; Homerton, in his _Isles of Loch Awe_;\nWirt Sykes, in his _British Goblins_; Sir Walter Scott, and others, all\nrefer to them. In the North of England they are known as \"Gabriel's\nHounds\"; in Devon as the \"Wisk,\" \"Yesk,\" \"Yeth,\" or \"Heath Hounds\"; in\nWales as the \"Cwn Annwn\" or \"Cyn y Wybr\"; in Cornwall as the \"Devil and\nhis Dandy-Dogs\"; and in the neighbourhood of Leeds as the \"Gabble\nRetchets.\" They are common all over the Continent. In appearance they\nare usually described as monstrous, human-headed dogs, black, with fiery\neyes and teeth, and sprinkled all over with blood. They make a great\nhowling noise, which is very shrill and mournful, and appear to be in\nhot pursuit of some unseen quarry. When they approach a house, it may be\ntaken as a certain sign someone in that house will die very shortly.\n\nAccording to Mr. Roby, a spectre huntsman known by the name Gabriel\nRatchets, accompanied by a pack of phantom hounds, is said to hunt a\nmilk-white doe round the Eagle's Crag in the Vale of Todmorden every All\nHallows Eve.\n\nThese hounds were also seen in Norfolk. A famous ecclesiast, when on his\nway to the coast, was forced to spend the night in the King's Lynn Inn,\nowing to a violent snowstorm. Retiring to bed directly after supper, he\ntried to forget his disappointment in reading a volume of sermons he had\nbought at a second-hand shop in Bury St. Edmunds.\n\n\"I think I can use this one,\" he said to himself. \"It will do nicely for\nthe people of Aylesham. They are so steeped in hypocrisy that nothing\nshort of violent denunciation will bring it home to them. This I think,\nhowever, will pierce even their skins.\"\n\nA sudden noise made him spring up.\n\n\"Hounds!\" he exclaimed. \"And at this time of night! Good heavens!\"\n\nHe flew to the window, and there, careering through the yard, baying as\nthey ran, were, at least, fifty luminous, white hounds. Instead of\nleaping the stone wall, they passed right through it, and the bishop\nthen realized that they were Gabriel Hounds. The following evening he\nreceived tidings of his son's--his only son's--death.\n\nI have heard that the \"Yeth Hounds\" were seen, not so long ago, in a\nparish in Yorkshire by an old poacher called Barnes. Barnes was walking\nin the fields one night, when he suddenly heard the baying of the\nhounds, and the hoarse shouts of the huntsman. The next moment the whole\npack hove in view and tore past him so close that he received a cut from\n\"the whip\" on his leg. To his surprise, however, it did not hurt him, it\nonly felt icy cold. He then knew that he had seen the \"Yeth Hounds.\"\n\n\n_A Spectral Pack of Hounds in Russia_\n\nA gentleman of the name of Rappaport whom I once met in Southampton told\nme of an experience he had once had with a spectral pack of hounds on\nthe slope of the Urals. \"It was about half-past eleven one winter's\nnight,\" he said, \"and I was driving through a thick forest, when my\ncoachman suddenly leaned back in his seat and called out, 'Do you hear\nthat?' I listened, and from afar came a plaintive, whining sound. 'It's\nnot Volki, is it?' I asked. 'I'm afraid so, master,' the coachman\nreplied, 'they're coming on after us.'\n\n\"'But they are some way off still!' I said.\n\n\"'That is so,' he responded, 'but wolves run quick, and our horses are\ntired. If we can reach the lake first we shall be all right, but should\nthey overtake us before we get there--' and he shrugged his great\nshoulders suggestively. 'Not another word,' I cried. 'Drive--drive as if\n'twere the devil himself. I have my rifle ready, and will shoot the\nfirst wolf that shows itself.'\n\n\"'Very good, master,' he answered. 'I will do everything that can be\ndone to save your skin and mine.' He cracked his whip, and away flew the\nhorses at a breakneck speed. But fast as they went, they could not\noutstrip the sound of the howling, which gradually drew nearer and\nnearer, until around the curve we had just passed shot into view a huge\ngaunt wolf. I raised my rifle and fired. The beast fell, but another\ninstantly took its place, and then another and another, till the whole\npack came into sight, and close behind us was an ocean of white,\ntossing, foam-flecked jaws and red gleaming eyes.\n\n\"I emptied my rifle into them as fast as I could pull the trigger, but\nit only checked them momentarily. A few snaps, and of their wounded\nbrethren there was nothing left but a pile of glistening bones. Then,\nhie away, and they were once again in red-hot pursuit. At last our pace\nslackened, and still I could see no signs of the lake. A great grey\nshape, followed by others, then rushed by us and tried to reach the\nhorses' flanks with their sharp, gleaming teeth. A few more seconds,\nand I knew we should be both fighting, back to back, the last great\nfight for existence. Indeed I had ceased firing, and was already\nbeginning to strike out furiously with the butt end of my rifle, when a\nnew sound arrested my attention. The baying of dogs! 'Dogs!' I screamed,\n'Dogs, Ivan!' (that was the coachman's name) 'Dogs!' and, in my mad joy,\nI brained two wolves in as many blows. The next moment a large pack of\nenormous white hounds came racing down on us. The wolves did not wait to\ndispute the field; they all turned tail and, with loud howls of terror,\nrushed off in the direction they had come. On came the hounds--more\nbeautiful dogs I had never seen; as they swept by, more than one brushed\nagainst my knees, though I could feel nothing save intense cold. When\nthey were about twenty yards ahead of us, they slowed down, and\nmaintained that distance in front of us till we arrived on the shores of\nthe lake. There they halted, and throwing back their heads, bayed as if\nin farewell, and suddenly vanished. We knew then that they were no\nearthly hounds, but spirit ones, sent by a merciful Providence to save\nus from a cruel death.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nHORSES AND THE UNKNOWN\n\n\nAs in my chapters on cats and dogs, I will preface this chapter on\nhorses with instances of alleged haunted localities.\n\nI take my first case from Mr. W.T. Stead's _Real Ghost Stories_,\npublished in 1891. It is called \"A Weird Story from the Indian Hills,\"\nand Mr. Stead preludes it thus: The \"tale is told by General Barter,\nC.B., of Careystown, Whitegate, Co. Cork. At the time he witnessed the\nspectral cavalcade he was living on the hills in India, and when one\nevening he was returning home he caught sight of a rider and attendants\ncoming towards him. The rest of the story, given in the General's own\nwords, is as follows:--\n\n\"At this time the two dogs came, and, crouching at my side, gave low,\nfrightened whimpers. The moon was at the full--a tropical moon--so\nbright that you could see to read a newspaper by its light, and--I saw\nthe party before me advance as plainly as it were noon day. They were\nabove me some eight or ten feet on the bridle-road, the earth thrown\ndown from which sloped to within a pace or two of my feet. On the party\ncame, until almost in front of me, and now I had better describe them.\nThe rider was in full dinner dress, with white waistcoat, and wearing a\ntall chimney-pot hat, and he sat a powerful hill pony (dark brown, with\nmane and tail) in a listless sort of way, the reins hanging loosely from\nboth hands. A Syce led the pony on each side, but their faces I could\nnot see, the one next to me having his back to me and the one farthest\noff being hidden by the pony's head. Each held the bridle close by the\nbit, the man next me with his right and the other with his left hand,\nand the hands were on the thighs of the rider, as if to steady him in\nhis seat. As they approached, I knowing they could not get to any place\nother than my own, called out in Hindustani, 'Quon hai?' (Who is it?).\nThere was no answer, and on they came until right in front of me, when I\nsaid, in English, 'Hullo, what the d----l do you want here?' Instantly\nthe group came to a halt, the rider gathering the bridle reins up in\nboth hands, turned his face, which had hitherto been looking away from\nme, towards me, and looked down upon me. The group was still as in a\ntableau, with the bright moon shining upon it, and I at once recognized\nthe rider as Lieutenant B., whom I had formerly known. The face,\nhowever, was different from what it used to be; in the place of being\nclean-shaven, as when I used to know it, it was now surrounded by a\nfringe (what used to be known as a Newgate fringe), and it was the face\nof a dead man, the ghastly waxen pallor of it brought out more\ndistinctly in the moonlight by the dark fringe of hair by which it was\nencircled; the body, too, was much stouter than when I had known it in\nlife.\n\n\"I marked this in a moment; and then resolved to lay hold of the thing,\nwhatever it might be. I dashed up the bank, and the earth which had been\nthrown on the side giving under my feet, I fell forward up the bank on\nmy hands, recovering myself instantly. I gained the road, and stood in\nthe exact spot where the group had been, but which was now vacant, there\nwas not the trace of anything; it was impossible for them to go on, the\nroad stopped at a precipice about twenty yards further on, and it was\nimpossible to turn and go back in a second. All this flashed through my\nmind, and I then ran along the road for about 100 yards, along which\nthey had come, until I had to stop for want of breath, but there was no\ntrace of anything, and not a sound to be heard. I then returned home,\nwhere I found my dogs, who, on all other occasions my most faithful\ncompanions, had not come with me along the road.\n\n\"Next morning I went up to D., who belonged to the same regiment as B.,\nand gradually induced him to talk of him. I said, 'How very stout he had\nbecome lately, and what possessed him to allow his beard to grow with\nthat horrid fringe?' D. replied, 'Yes, he became very bloated before his\ndeath. You know he led a very fast life, and while on the sick list he\nallowed the fringe to grow, in spite of all that we could say to him,\nand I believe he was buried with it.' I asked him where he got the pony\nI had seen, describing it minutely. 'Why,' said D., 'how do you know\nanything about all this? You hadn't seen B. for two or three years, and\nthe pony you never saw. He bought him at Peshawur, and killed him one\nday riding in his reckless fashion down the hill to Trete.' I then told\nhim what I had seen the night before.\n\n\"Once, when the galloping sound was very distinct, I rushed to the door\nof my house. There I found my Hindoo bearer, standing with a tattie in\nhis hand. I asked him what he was there for. He said that there came a\nsound of riding down the hill, and 'passed him like a typhoon,' and went\nround the corner of the house, and he was determined to waylay it,\nwhatever it was.\"\n\nIn commenting on the case, Mr. Stead remarks, \"That such a story as\nthis, gravely told by a British General in the present day, helps us to\nunderstand how our ancestors came to believe in the wonderful story of\nHerne the Hunter.\" I do not know about Herne the Hunter, but it is at\nall events good testimony that horses as well as men have spirits, for\none of the ghosts the General saw was, undoubtedly, that of the pony\nmurdered by B. Why it was still ridden by the phantom of its former\nmaster is another question.\n\nThe next case I narrate is also taken from Mr. Stead's same work. It was\nsent him by one of the leading townsmen of Cowes, in the Isle of Wight,\nand runs thus:--\n\n\"On a fine evening in April, 1859, the writer was riding with a friend\non a country road. Twilight was closing down on us, when, after a\nsilence of some minutes, my friend suddenly exclaimed:\n\n\"'No man knows me better than you do, J. Do you think I am a nervous,\neasily frightened sort of man?'\n\n\"'Far from it,' said I, 'among all the men I know in the wild country I\nhave lived and worked in, I know none more fearless or of more\nunhesitating nerve.'\n\n\"'Well,' said he, 'I think I am that, too, and though I have travelled\nthese roads all sorts of hours, summer and winter, for twenty years, I\nnever met anything to startle me, or that I could not account for, until\nlast Monday evening. About this time it was. Riding old Fan' (a chestnut\nmare) 'here on this cross-' (a four-way cross) 'road, on my near side\nwas a man on a grey horse, coming from this left-hand road. I had to\npull my off-rein to give myself room to pass ahead of him; he was coming\nat a right angle to me. As I passed the head of the horse I called out\n\"Good night.\" Hearing no reply, I turned in my saddle to the off-side,\nto see whether he appeared to be asleep as he rode, but to my surprise I\nsaw neither man nor horse. So sure was I that I had seen such, that I\nwheeled old Fan round, and rode back to the middle of the cross, and on\nneither of the four roads could I see a man or horse, though there was\nlight enough to see two hundred or three hundred yards, as we can now.\nWell, I then rode over that gate' (a gate at one corner opening into a\ngrass field), 'thinking he might have gone that way; looking down by\neach hedge, I could see nothing of my man and horse; and then--and not\nuntil then--I felt myself thrill and start with a shuddering sense that\nI had seen something uncanny, and, Jove! I put the mare down this hill\nwe are on now at her very best pace. But the strangest part of my story\nis to come,' said he, continuing.\n\n\"'After I had done my business at the farmhouse here, at foot of this\nhill, I told the old farmer and his wife what I had seen, as I have now\ntold you. The old man said:\n\n\"'\"For many years I have known thee, M----, on this road, and have you\nnever seen the like before on that cross?\"\n\n\"'\"Seen what before?\" I said.\n\n\"'\"Why, a man in light-coloured clothes on a grey horse,\" said he.\n\n\"'\"No, never,\" said I, \"but I swear I have this evening.\"\n\n\"'The farmer asked, \"Had I never heard of what happened to the Miller of\nL---- Mills about forty years ago?\"\n\n\"'\"No, never a word,\" I told him.\n\n\"'\"Well,\" he said, \"about forty years ago this miller, returning from\nmarket, was waylaid and murdered on that cross-road, pockets rifled of\nmoney and watch. The horse ran home, about a mile away. Two serving-men\nset out with lanterns and found their master dead. He was dressed, as\nmillers often do in this part of the country, in light-coloured clothes,\nand the horse was a grey horse. The murderers were never found. These\nare facts,\" continued the farmer. \"I took this farm soon after it all\nhappened, and, though I have known all this, and have passed over that\ncross several thousands of times, I never knew anything unusual there\nmyself, but there have been a number of people who tell the same story\nyou have told mother and me, M----, and describe the appearance as you\nhave done to us to-night.\"'\"\n\nMr. Stead goes on to add: \"Four evenings after all this occurred my\nfriend related it to me as we were riding along the same road. He\ncontinued to pass there many times every year for ten years, but never a\nday saw anything of that sort.\"\n\nMy next case, a reproduction of a letter in the _Occult Review_ of\nSeptember, 1906, reads thus:--\n\n\n\"_A Phantom Horse and Rider--Mrs. Gaskin Anderston's Story_\n\n\"The following story is, I think, very remarkable, and I give it exactly\nas it was told to me, and written down at the time.\n\n\"A number of members of a gentleman's club were talking and discussing,\namongst other subjects, the possibility of there being a future state\nfor animals. One of the members said:\n\n\"'I firmly believe there is. In my early youth I had a practice as a\nmedical man in one of the Midland Counties. One of my patients was a\nvery wealthy man, who owned large tracts of land and had a stud\ncomposed entirely of bay horses with black points--this was a hobby of\nhis, and he would never have any others. One day a messenger came\nsummoning me to Mr. L----, as he had just met with a very bad accident,\nand was on the point of death. I mounted my horse and started off\nwithout delay. As I was riding through the front gates to the house, I\nheard a shot, and to my amazement the very man I was going to visit rode\npast at a furious pace, riding a wretched-looking chestnut with one\nwhite forefoot and a white star on its forehead. Arrived at the house\nthe butler said:\n\n\"'\"He has gone, sir; they had to shoot the horse--you would hear the\nshot--and at the same moment my master died.\"\n\n\"'He had had this horse sent on approval; whilst riding it, it backed\nover a precipice, injuring Mr. L---- fatally, and on being taken to the\nstables it was found necessary to shoot it.'--Alpha.\"\n\nThe next case I append (I published it in a weekly journal some years\nago) was related to me by a Captain Beauclerk.\n\n\n_The White Horse of Eastover_\n\nWhen I came down to breakfast one morning I found amongst several\nletters awaiting me one from Colonel Onslow, the Commanding Officer of\nmy regiment when I first joined. He had always been rather partial to\nme, and the friendship between us continued after his retirement. I\nheard from him regularly at more or less prolonged intervals, and either\nat Christmas or Easter invariably received an invitation to spend a few\ndays with him. On this occasion he was most anxious that I should\naccept.\n\n\"Do come to us for Easter,\" he wrote. \"I am sure this place will\ninterest you--it is haunted.\"\n\nThe cunning fellow! He knew I was very keen on Psychical Research work,\nand would go almost anywhere on the bare chance of seeing a ghost.\n\nAt that time I was quite open-minded, I had arrived at no definite\nconclusion as to the existence or non-existence of ghosts. But to tell\nthe truth, I doubted very much if the Colonel's word, in these\ncircumstances, could be relied upon. I had grave suspicions that this\n\"haunting\" was but an invention for the purpose of getting me to\nEastover. However, as it was just possible that I might be\nmistaken--that there really was a ghost, and as I had not seen Colonel\nOnslow for a long time, and indulged in feelings of the warmest regard\nboth for him and his wife, I resolved to go.\n\nAccordingly I set out early in the afternoon of the Good Friday. The\nweather, which had been muggy in London, grew colder and colder the\nfurther we advanced along the line, and by the time we reached Eastover\nthere was every prospect of a storm.\n\nAs I expected, a closed carriage had been sent to meet me; for the\nColonel, carrying conservatism--with more conservatism than sense,\nperhaps--to a fine point, cherished a deep-rooted aversion to\ninnovations of any sort, and consequently abhorred motors. His house,\nEastover Hall, is three miles from the station, and lies at the foot of\na steep spine of the Chilterns.\n\nThe grounds of Eastover Hall were extensive; but, in the ordinary sense,\nfar from beautiful. To me, however, they were more than beautiful; there\nwas a grandeur in them--a grandeur that appealed to me far more than\nmere beauty--the grandeur of desolation, the grandeur of the Unknown. As\nwe passed through the massive iron gates of the lodge, I looked upon\ncountless acres of withered, undulating grass; upon a few rank sedges;\nupon a score or so of decayed trees; upon a house--huge, bare, grey and\nmassive; upon bleak walls; upon vacant, eye-like windows; upon crude,\nscenic inhospitality, the very magnitude of which overpowered me. I have\nsaid it was cold; but there hung over the estate of Eastover an iciness\nthat brought with it a quickening, a sickening of the heart, and a\ndreariness that, whilst being depressing in the extreme, was, withal,\nsublime. Sublime and mysterious; mysterious and insoluble. A thousand\nfancies swarmed through my mind; yet I could grapple with none; and I\nwas loth to acknowledge that, although there are combinations of very\nsimple material objects which might have had the power of affecting me\nthus, yet any attempt to analyse that power was beyond--far beyond--my\nmental capability.\n\nThe house, though old--and its black oak panellings, silent staircases,\ndark corridors, and general air of gloom were certainly suggestive of\nghosts--did not affect me in the same degree. The fear it inspired was\nthe ordinary fear inspired by the ordinary superphysical, but the fear I\nfelt in the grounds was a fear created by something out of the\nway--something far more bizarre than a mere phantom of the dead.\n\nThe Colonel asked me if I had experienced any unusual sensations the\nmoment I entered the house, and I told him, \"Yes.\"\n\n\"Nearly everyone does,\" he replied, \"and yet, so far as I know, no one\nhas ever seen anything. The noises we hear all round the house have\nlately been more frequent. I won't describe them; I want to learn your\nunbiassed opinion of them first.\"\n\nWe then had tea, and whilst the rest--there was a large\nhouse-party--indulged in music and cards, the Colonel and I had a\ndelightful chat about old times. I went to bed in the firm resolution of\nkeeping awake till at least two; but I was very tired, and the excessive\ncold had made me extremely sleepy; consequently, despite my heroic\nefforts, I gradually dozed off, and knew no more till it was broad\ndaylight and the butler entered my room with a cup of tea. When I came\ndown to breakfast I found everyone in the best of spirits. The Onslows\nare \"great hands\" at original entertainments, and the announcement that\nthere would be a masked ball that evening was received with tremendous\nenthusiasm.\n\n\"To-night we dance, to-morrow we feed on Easter eggs and fancy cakes,\"\none of the guests laughingly whispered. \"What a nicely ordered\nprogramme! I hear, too, we are to have a real old-fashioned Easter\nDay--heaving and lifting, and stool-ball. Egad! The Colonel deserves\nknighthood!\"\n\nSoon after breakfast there was a general stampede to Seeton and\nDinstable to buy gifts; for in that respect again the Onslows stuck to\nold customs, and there was a general interchange of presents on Easter\nmorning. My purchases made, I joined one or two of the house-party at\nlunch in Seeton, cycled back alone to Eastover in time for tea; and, at\nfive o'clock, commenced my first explorations of the grounds. The sky\nhaving become clouded my progress was somewhat slow. I did the Park\nfirst, and I had not gone very far before I detected the same presence I\nhad so acutely felt the previous afternoon. Like the scent of a wild\nbeast, it had a certain defined track which I followed astutely,\neventually coming to a full stop in front of a wall of rock. I then\nperceived by the aid of a few fitful rays of suppressed light, which at\nintervals struggled successfully through a black bank of clouds, the\nyawning mouth of a big cavern, from the roof of which hung innumerable\nstalactites. I now suddenly realized that I was in a very lonely,\nisolated spot, and became immeasurably perturbed. The Unknown Something\nin the atmosphere which had inspired me with so much fear was here\nconglomerated--it was no longer the mere essence--it was the whole\nThing. The whole Thing, but what was that Thing? A hideous fascination\nmade me keep my gaze riveted on the gaping hole opposite me. At first I\ncould make out nothing--nothing but jagged walls and roof, and empty\ndarkness; then there suddenly appeared in the very innermost recesses of\nthe cave a faint glow of crimson light which grew and grew, until with\nstartling abruptness it resolved itself into two huge eyes, red and\nmenacing. The sight was so unexpected, and, by reason of its intense\nmalignity, so appalling, that I was simply dumbfounded. I could do\nnothing but stare at the Thing--paralysed and speechless. I made a\ndesperate effort to get back my self-possession; I strove with all my\nmight to reason with myself, to assure myself that this was the supreme\nmoment of my life, the moment I had so long and earnestly desired. But\nit was in vain; I was terrified--helplessly, hopelessly terrified. The\neyes moved, they drew nearer and nearer to me, and as they did so they\nbecame more and more hostile. I opened my mouth to shout for help, I\ncould feel my lungs bursting under the tension; not a sound came; and\nthen--then, as the eyes closed on me, and I could feel the cold, clammy\nweight pressing me down, there rang out, loud and clear, in the keen and\ncutting air of the spring evening, a whole choir of voices--the village\nchoral society.\n\nI am not particularly fond of music--certainly not of village music,\nhowever well trained it may be; but I can honestly affirm that, at that\nmoment, no sounds could have been more welcome to me than those old\nfolk-songs piped by the rustics, for the instant they commenced the\nspell that so closely held me prisoner was broken, my faculties\nreturned, and reeling back out of the clutches of the hateful Thing, I\njoyfully turned and fled.\n\nI related my adventure to the Colonel, and he told me that the cave was\ngenerally deemed to be the most haunted spot in the grounds, that no one\ncared to venture there alone after dark.\n\n\"I have myself many times visited the cave at night--in the company of\nothers,\" he said, \"and we have invariably experienced sensations of the\nutmost horror and repulsion, though we have seen nothing. It must be a\ndevil.\"\n\nI thought so, too, and exclaimed with some vehemence that the proper\ncourse for him to pursue was to have the cave filled in or blasted. That\nnight I awoke at about one o'clock with the feeling very strong on me\nthat something was prowling about under my window. For some time I\nfought against the impulse to get out of bed and look, but at last I\nyielded. It was bright moonlight--every obstacle in the grounds stood\nout with wonderful clearness--and directly beneath the window, peering\nup at me, were the eyes--red, lurid, satanical. A dog barked, and they\nvanished. I did not sleep again that night, not until the daylight\nbroke, when I had barely shut my eyes before I was aroused by decidedly\nmaterial bangings on the doors and hyper-boisterous Easter greetings.\n\nAfter breakfast a few of the party went to church, a few into the\nnursery to romp with the children, whilst the rest dispersed in\ndifferent directions. At luncheon all met again, and there was much\nmerry-making over the tansy cakes--very foolish, no doubt, but to me at\nleast very delightful, and perhaps a wise practice, at times, even for\nthe most prosaic. In the afternoon the Colonel took me for a drive to a\ncharmingly picturesque village in the Chilterns, whence we did not set\nout on our way back till it was twilight.\n\nThe Colonel was a good whip, and the horse, though young and rather\nhigh-spirited, was, he said, very dependable on the whole, and had never\ncaused him any trouble. We spun along at a brisk trot--the last village\nseparating us from the Hall was past, and we were on a high eminence,\nalmost within sight of home, when a startling change in the atmosphere\nsuddenly became apparent--it turned icy cold. I made some sort of\ncomment to the Colonel, and as I did so the horse shied.\n\n\"Hulloa!\" I exclaimed. \"Does she often do this?\"\n\n\"No, not often, only when we are on this road about this time,\" was the\ngrim rejoinder. \"Keep your eyes open and sit tight.\"\n\nWe were now amid scenery of the same desolate type that had so impressed\nme the day of my arrival. Gaunt, barren hills, wild, uncultivated\nlevels, sombre valleys, inhabited only by grotesque enigmatical shadows\nthat came from Heaven knows where, and hemmed us in on all sides.\n\nA large quarry, half full of water and partly overgrown with brambles,\nriveted my attention, and as I gazed fixedly at it I saw, or fancied I\nsaw, the shape of something large and white--vividly white--rise from\nthe bottom.\n\nThe glimpse I caught of it was, however, only momentary, for we were\nmoving along at a great pace, and I had hardly seen the last of it\nbefore the quarry was left behind and we were descending a long and\ngradual declivity. There was but little wind, but the cold was\nbenumbing; neither of us spoke, and the silence was unbroken save by the\nmonotonous patter, patter of the horse's hoofs on the hard road.\n\nWe were, I should say, about half-way down the hill, when away in our\nrear, from the direction of the quarry, came a loud protracted neigh. I\nat once looked round, and saw standing on the crest of the eminence we\nhad just quitted, and most vividly outlined against the enveloping\ndarkness, a gigantic horse, white and luminous.\n\nAt that moment our own mare took fright; we were abruptly swung forward,\nand, had I not--mindful of the Colonel's warning--been \"sitting tight,\"\nI should undoubtedly have been thrown out. We dashed downhill at a\nterrific rate, our mare mad with terror, and on peering over my shoulder\nI saw, to my horror, the white steed tearing along not fifty yards\nbehind us. I was now able to get a vivid impression of the monstrous\nbeast. Although the night was dark, a strong, lurid glow, which seemed\nto emanate from all over it, enabled me to see distinctly its broad,\nmuscular breast; its panting, steaming flanks; its long, graceful legs\nwith their hairy fetlocks and shoeless, shining hoofs; its powerful but\narched back; its lofty, colossal head with waving forelock and broad,\nmassive forehead; its snorting nostrils; its distended, foaming jaws;\nits huge, glistening teeth; and its lips, wreathed in a savage grin. On\nand on it raced, its strides prodigious, its mighty mane rising and\nfalling, and blowing all around it in unrestrained confusion.\n\nA slip--a single slip, and we should be entirely at its mercy.\n\nOur own horse was now out of control. A series of violent plunges, which\nnearly succeeded in unseating me, had enabled her to get the check of\nthe bit between her teeth so as to render it utterly useless; and she\nhad then started off at a speed I can only liken to flying. Fortunately\nwe were now on a more or less level ground, and the road, every inch of\nwhich our horse knew, was smooth and broad.\n\nI glanced at the Colonel convulsively clutching the reins; he was\nclinging to his seat for dear life, his hat gone. I wanted to speak, but\nI knew it was useless--the shrieking of the air as it roared past us\ndeadened all sounds. Once or twice I glanced over the side of the trap.\nThe rapidity with which we were moving caused a hideous delusion--the\nground appeared to be gliding from beneath us; and I experienced the\nsensation of resting on nothing. Despite our danger, however, from\nnatural causes--a danger which, I knew, could not have been more\nacute--my fears were wholly of the superphysical. It was not the horror\nof being dashed to pieces I dreaded--it was the horror of the phantom\nhorse--of its sinister, hostile appearance--of its unknown powers. What\nwould it do if it overtook us? With each successive breath I drew I\nfelt sure the fateful event--the long-anticipated crisis--had come.\n\nAt last my expectations were realized. The teeth of the gigantic steed\nclosed down on me, its nostrils hissed resistance out of me--I swerved,\ntottered, fell; and as I sank on the ground my senses left me.\n\nOn coming to I found myself in a propped-up position on the floor of a\ntiny room with someone pouring brandy down my throat. Happily, beyond a\nsevere shock, I had sustained no injury--a sufficiently miraculous\ncircumstance, as the trap had come to grief in failing to clear the\nlodge gates, the horse had skinned its knees, and the Colonel had\nfractured his shoulder. Of the phantom horse not a glimpse had been\nseen. Even the Colonel, strange to relate, though he had managed to peep\nround, had not seen it. He had heard and felt a Presence, that was all;\nand after listening to my experience, he owned he was truly thankful he\nwas only clair-audient.\n\n\"A gift like yours,\" he said, with more candour than kindness, \"is a\ncurse, not a blessing. And now I have your corroboration, I might as\nwell tell you that we have long suspected the ghost to be a horse, and\nhave attributed its hauntings to the fact that, some time ago, when\nexploring in the cave, several prehistoric remains of horses were\nfound, one of which we kept, whilst we presented the others to a\nneighbouring museum. I dare say there are heaps more.\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly there are,\" I said, \"but take my advice and leave them\nalone--re-inter the remains you have already unearthed--and thus put a\nstop to the hauntings. If you go on excavating and keep the bones you\nfind, the disturbances will, in all probability, increase, and the\nhauntings will become not only many but multiform.\"\n\nNeedless to say the Colonel carried out my injunctions to the letter.\nFar from continuing his work of excavation he lost no time in restoring\nthe bones he had kept to their original resting-place; after which, as I\npredicted, the hauntings ceased.\n\nThis case, to me, is very satisfactory, as it testifies to what was\nunquestionably an actual phantasm of the dead--of a dead horse--albeit\nthat horse was prehistoric; and such horses are all the more likely to\nbe earth-bound on account of their wild, untamed natures.\n\nHere is another account of a phantom horse taken from Mr. Stead's _Real\nGhost Stories_. It is written by an Afrikander who, in a letter to Mr.\nStead, says:\n\n\"I am not a believer in ghosts, nor never was; but seeing you wanted a\ncensus of them, I can't help giving you a remarkable experience of\nmine. It was some three summers back, and I was out with a party of Boer\nhunters. We had crossed the Northern boundary of the Transvaal, and were\ncamped on the ridges of the Sembombo. I had been out from sunrise, and\nwas returning about dusk with the skin of a fine black ostrich thrown\nacross the saddle in front of me, in the best of spirits at my good\nluck. Making straight for the camp, I had hardly entered a thick bush\nwhen I thought that I heard somebody behind me. Looking behind, I saw a\nman mounted on a white horse. You can imagine my surprise, for my horse\nwas the only one in camp, and we were the only party in the country.\nWithout considering I quickened my pace into a canter, and on doing so\nmy follower appeared to do the same. At this I lost all confidence, and\nmade a run for it, with my follower in hot pursuit, as it appeared to my\nimagination; and I did race for it (the skin went flying in about two\nminutes, and my rifle would have done the same had it not been strapped\nover my shoulders). This I kept up until I rode into camp right among\nthe pals cooking the evening meal. The Boers about the camp were quick\nin their enquiries as to my distressed condition, and regaining\nconfidence, I was putting them off as best I could, when the old boss\n(an old Boer of some sixty-eight or seventy years), looking up from the\nfire, said:\n\n\"'The white horse! The Englishman has seen the white horse.'\n\n\"This I denied, but to no purpose. And that night round the camp fire I\ntook the trouble to make enquiries as to the antecedents of the white\nhorse. And the old Boer, after he had commanded silence, began. He said:\n\n\"'The English are not brave, but foolish. We beat them at Majuba, some\ntwenty-five seasons back. There was an Englishman here like you; he had\nbrought a horse with him, against our advice, to be killed with the fly,\nthe same as yours will be in a day or two. And he, like you, would go\nwhere he was told not to go; and one day he went into a bush (that very\nbush you rode through to-night), and he shot seven elephants, and the\nnext day he went in to fetch the ivory, and about night his horse came\ninto camp riderless, and was dead from the fly before the sun went down.\nThe Englishman is in that bush now; anyway, he never came back. And now\nanybody who ventures into that bush is chased by the white horse. I\nwouldn't go into that bush for all the ivory in the land. The English\nare not brave, but foolish; we beat them at Majuba.'\n\n\"Here he ran into a torrent of abuse of all Englishmen in general, and\nin particular. And I took the opportunity of rolling myself up in my\nblankets for the night, sleeping all the better for my adventure.\n\n\"Now, Mr. Stead, I don't believe in ghosts, but I was firmly convinced\nduring that run of mine, and can vouch for the accuracy of it, not\nhaving heard a word of the Englishman or his white horse before my\nheadlong return to the camp that night. I shortly hope to be near that\nbush again, but, like the old Boer, I can say I wouldn't go into that\nbush again for all the ivory in the land.\n\n\"P.S.--A few days after we dropped across a troop of elephants without\nentering the fatal bush, and managed to bag seven, photographs of which\nI took, and shall be pleased to send for your inspection, if desired.\"\n\nThere can be very little doubt that the phantom the Afrikander saw was\nthe actual spirit of a dead horse.\n\nAnother experience of haunting by the same animal was told me by a\nChelsea artist who assured me it was absolutely true. I append it as\nnearly as possible in his own words.\n\n\n_Heralds of Death_\n\n\"It is many years ago,\" he began, \"since I came into my property,\nHeatherleigh Hall, near Carlisle, Cumberland. It was left me by my\ngreat-uncle, General Wimpole, whom I had never seen, but who had made me\nhis heir in preference to his other nephews, owing to my reputed\nlikeness to an aunt, to whom he was greatly attached. Of course I was\nmuch envied, and I dare say a good many unkind things were said about\nme, but I did not care--Heatherleigh Hall was mine, and I had as much\nright to it as anyone else. I came there all alone--my two brothers,\nDick and Hal, the one a soldier and the other a sailor, were both away\non foreign service, whilst Beryl, my one and only sister, was staying\nwith her fiance's family in Bath. Never shall I forget my first\nimpressions. Depict the day--an October afternoon. The air mellow, the\nleaves yellow, and the sun a golden red. Not a trace of clouds or wind\nanywhere. Everything serene and still. A broad highway; a wood; a lodge\nin the midst of the wood; large iron gates; a broad carriage drive,\nplanted on either side with lofty pines and elms, whose gnarled and\nforked branches threw grotesque and not altogether pleasing shadows on\nthe pale gravel.\n\n\"At the end of the avenue, at least a quarter of a mile long, wide\nexpanses of soft, velvety grass, interspersed at regular intervals with\nplots of flowers--dahlias, michaelmas daisies--no longer in their first\nbloom--chrysanthemums, etc. Beyond the lawn, the house, and beyond that\nagain, and on either side, big, old-fashioned gardens full of\nfruit--fruit of all kinds, some, such as grapes and peaches, in monster\ngreen-houses, and others--luscious pears, blenheim oranges, golden\npippins, etc.--in rich profusion in the open, the whole encompassed by a\nhigh and solid brick wall, topped with a bed of mortar and broken glass.\nThe house, which was built, or, rather, faced with split flints, and\nedged and buttressed with cut grey stone, had a majestic but gloomy\nappearance. Its front, lofty and handsome, was somewhat castellated in\nstyle, two semicircular bows, or half-moons, placed at a suitable\ndistance from each other, rising from the base to the summit of the\nedifice; these were pierced, at every floor, with rows of\nstone-mullioned windows, rising to the height of four or five stories.\nThe flat wall between had larger windows, lighting the great hall,\ngallery, and upper apartments. These windows were abundantly ornamented\nwith stained glass, representing the arms, honours, and alms-deeds of\nthe Wimpole family.\n\n\"The towers, half included in the building, were completely circular\nwithin, and contained the winding stair of the mansion; and whoso\nascended them, when the winter wind was blowing, seemed rising by a\ntornado to the clouds. Midway between the towers was a heavy stone\nporch, with a Gothic gateway, surmounted by a battlemented parapet, made\ngable fashion, the apex of which was garnished by a pair of dolphins,\nrampant and antagonistic, whose corkscrew tails seemed contorted by the\nlast agonies of rage convulsed.\n\n\"The porch doors thrown open to receive me, led into a hall, wide,\nvaulted and lofty, and decorated here and there with remnants of\ntapestry and grim portraits of the Wimpoles. One picture in particular\nriveted my attention. Hung in an obscure corner, where the light rarely\npenetrated, it represented the head and shoulders of a young man with a\nstrikingly beautiful face--the features small and regular like those of\na woman--the hair yellow and curly. It was the eyes that struck me\nmost--they followed me everywhere I went with a persistency that was\npositively alarming. There was something in them I had never seen in\ncanvas eyes before, something deeper and infinitely more intricate than\ncould be produced by mere paint--something human and yet not human,\nfriendly and yet not friendly; something baffling, enigmatical,\nhaunting. I enquired of my deceased relative's aged housekeeper, Mrs.\nGrimstone--whom I had retained--whose portrait it was, and she replied\nwith a scared look, 'Horace, youngest son of Sir Algernon Wimpole, who\ndied here in 1745.'\n\n\"'The face fascinates me,' I said. 'Is there any history attached to\nit?'\n\n\"'Why, yes, sir!' she responded, her eyes fixed on the floor, 'but the\nlate master never liked referring to it.'\n\n\"'Is it as bad as that?' I said, laughing. 'Tell me!'\n\n\"'Well, sir,' she began, 'they do say as how Sir Algernon, who was a\nthorough country squire--very fond of hunting and shooting and all sorts\nof manly exercises--never liked Mr. Horace, who was delicate and\ndandified--what the folk in those days used to style a macaroni. The\nclimax came when Mr. Horace took up with the Jacobites. Sir Algernon\nwould have nothing more to do with him then and turned him adrift. One\nday there was a great commotion in the neighbourhood, the Government\ntroops were hunting the place in search of rebels, and who should come\ngalloping up the avenue with a couple of troopers in hot pursuit but Mr.\nHorace. The noise brought out Sir Algernon, and he was so infuriated to\nthink that his son was the cause of the disturbance, a \"disgraceful\nyoung cub,\" he called him, that despite Mr. Horace's entreaties for\nprotection, he ran him through with his sword. It was a dreadful thing\nfor a father to do, and Sir Algernon bitterly repented it. His wife,\nwho had been devoted to Mr. Horace, left him, and at last, in a fit of\ndespondency, he hanged himself--out there, on one of the elms lining the\navenue. It is still standing. Ever since then they do say that the wood\nis haunted, and that before the death of any member of the family Mr.\nHorace is seen galloping along the old carriage drive.'\n\n\"'Pleasant,' I grunted. 'And how about the house--is it haunted too?'\n\n\"'I daresn't say,' she murmured. 'Some will tell you it is, and some\nwill tell you it isn't.'\n\n\"'In which category are you included?' I asked.\n\n\"'Well!' she said 'I have lived here happy and comfortable forty-five\nyears the day after to-morrow, and that speaks for itself, don't it?'\nAnd with that she hobbled off and showed me the way to the dining-room.\n\n\"What a house it was! From the hall proceeded doorways and passages,\nmore than the ordinary memory could retain. Of these portals, one at\neach end conducted to the tower stairs, others, to the reception-rooms\nand domestic offices. In the right wing, besides bedrooms galore, was a\nlofty and spacious picture gallery; in the left--a chapel; for the\nWimpoles were, formerly, Roman Catholics. The general fittings and\nfurniture, both of the hall and house in general, were substantial,\nvenerable and strongly corroborative of what Mrs. Grimstone hinted\nat--they suggested ghosts.\n\n\"The walls, lined with black oak panels, or dark hangings that fluttered\nmysteriously each time the wind blew, were funereal indeed; and so high\nand narrow were the windows, that little was to be discerned through\nthem but cross-barred portions of the sky. One spot in particular\nappealed to my nerves--and that, a long, vaulted stone passage leading\nfrom a morning room to the foot of the back staircase. Here the voice\nand even the footsteps echoed with a hollow, low response, and often\nwhen I have been hurrying along it--I never dared walk slowly--I have\nfancied--and maybe it was more than fancy--I have been pursued.\n\n\"Time passed, and from being merely used to my new environments, I grew\nto take a pride in them, to love them. I made the acquaintance of\nseveral of my neighbours, those I deemed the most desirable, and on\nreturning from wintering abroad, brought home a bride, a young Polish\ngirl, who added lustre to the surroundings, and in no small degree\nhelped to dissipate the gloom. Indeed, had it not been for the picture\nin the hall, and for the twilight shadows and twilight footsteps in the\nstone passage, I should soon have ceased to think of ghosts. Ghosts,\nforsooth! When all around me vibrated with the sounds of girlish\nlaughter, and the summer sunshine, sparkling on the golden curls of my\nchild-wife, saw itself reflected a millionfold in the alluring depths of\nher azure eyes. In halcyon days like these who thinks of ghosts and\ndeath?\n\n\"And yet! It is in just such times as these that hell is nearest. There\ncame a night in August when the air was so hot and sultry that I could\nscarcely breathe, and unable to bear the atmosphere of the house and\ngardens any longer, I sought the coolness of the wood. Olga--my\nwife--did not accompany me, as she was suffering from a slight--thank\nGod, it was only slight--sunstroke. It was close on midnight, and there\nwas a dead stillness abroad that seemed as if it must be universal--as\nif it enveloped the whole of nature. I tried to realize London--to\ndepict the Strand and Piccadilly, aglow with artificial light and\nreverberating with the roll of countless traffic and the tread of\nmillions of feet.\n\n\"I failed. The incongruity of such imaginings here--here amidst\nomnipotent silence--rendered such thoughts impossible. A leaf rustled,\nand its rustling sounded to my ears like the gentle closing of some\ngiant door. A twig fell, and I turned sharply round, convinced I should\nsee a pile of broken debris. I love all trees, but I love them best by\nday--to me it seems that night utterly metamorphizes them--brings out in\nthem a subtler, darker side one would little suspect. Here, in this oak,\nfor instance, was an example. In the morning one sees in it nought but\nquiet dignity, venerable old age, benevolence, and, by reason of the\nample protection its branches afford from the sun, charity and\nphilanthropy. Its leaves are bright, dainty, pretty; its trunk suggests\nnothing but a cosy and soothing retreat for students and lovers. But\nnow--see how different! These great spreading, gnarled branches are\nhands, claws--monstrous and menacing; those leaves no longer bright\nremind me of a hearse's plumes; their rustling--of the rustling and\nswitching of a pall or winding-sheet. The trunk, black, sinuous,\ntowering, is assuredly no piece of timber, but something pulpy,\nsomething intangible, something antagonistic, mystic, devilish. I turn\nfrom it and shudder. Then my mind reverts to the elm--the elm on which\nSir Algernon hanged himself. I remember it is not more than twenty yards\nfrom where I stand. I stare down at the soil, at the clumps of crested\ndog's-tail and stray blades of succulent darnel; I force my attention on\na toadstool, whose soft and lowly head gleams sickly white in the\nmoonbeams. I glance from it to a sleeping close-capped dandelion, from\nit to a thistle, from it again to a late bush vetch, and then,\nwilly-nilly, to the accursed elm. My God! What a change. It wasn't like\nthat when I passed it at noon. It was just an ordinary tree then, but\nnow, now--and what is that--that sinister bundle--suspended from one\nof its curling branches? A cold sweat bursts out on me, my knees\ntremble, my hair begins to rise on end. Swinging round, I am about to\nrush away--blindly rush away--hither, thither, anywhere--anywhere out of\nsight of that tree and of all the hideous possibilities it promises to\nmaterialize for me. I have not taken five strides, however, before I am\npulled sharply up by the sounds of horse's hoofs--of hoofs on the hard\ngravel, away in the distance. They speedily grow nearer. A horse is\ngalloping, galloping towards me along the broad carriage drive. Nearer,\nnearer and nearer it comes! Who is it? WHAT is it? A deadly nausea\nseizes me, I swerve, totter, reel, and am only prevented from falling by\nthe timely interference of a pine. The concussion with its leviathan\ntrunk clears my senses. All my faculties become wonderfully and\npainfully alert. I would give my very soul if it were not so--if I could\nbut fall asleep or faint. The sound of the hoofs is very much nearer\nnow, so near indeed that I may see the man--Heaven grant it may be only\na man after all--any moment. Ah! my heart gives a great sickly jerk.\nSomething has shot into view. There, not fifty yards from me, where the\nroad curves, and the break in the foliage overhead admits a great flood\nof moonlight. I recognize the \"thing\" at once; it's not a man, it's\nnothing human, it's the picture I know so well and dread so much, the\nportrait of Horace Wimpole, that hangs in the main hall--and it's\nmounted on a coal-black horse with wildly flying mane and foaming mouth.\nOn and on they come, thud, thud, thud! The man is not dressed as a\nrider, but is wearing the costume in the picture--i.e. that of a\nmacaroni! A nut! More fit for a lady's seminary than a fine, old English\nmansion.\n\n\"Something beside me rustles--rustles angrily, and I know, I can feel,\nit is the bundle on the branch--the ghastly, groaning, creaking,\ncroaking caricature of Sir Algernon. The horseman comes up to me--our\neyes meet--I am looking in those of a dead--of a long since dead man--my\nblood freezes.\n\n\"He flashes past me--thud, thud, thud! A bend in the road, and he\nvanishes from sight. But I can still hear him, still hear the mad patter\nof his horse's hoofs as they bear him onward, lifeless, fleshless,\nweightless, to his ancient home. God pity the souls that know no rest.\n\n\"How I got back to the house I hardly know. I believe it was with my\neyes shut, and I am certain I ran all the way.\n\n\"About four o'clock the following afternoon I received a cablegram from\nMalta. Intuition warned me to prepare for the worst. Its contents were\nunpleasantly short and pithy--'Hal drowned at two o'clock this\nmorning.--Dick.'\n\n\"Two years passed--again an August night, hot and oppressive as before,\nand again--though surely against my will, my better judgment, if you\nlike--I visited the wood. Horse's hoofs just the same as before. The\nsame galloping, the same figure, the same EYES! the same mad,\npanic-stricken flight home, and, early in the succeeding afternoon, a\nsimilar cablegram--this time from Sicily. 'Dick died at midnight.\nDysentery.--Andrews.'\n\n\"Jack Andrews was Dick's pal--his bosom friend. So once again the\nphantom rider had brought its grisly message--played its ghoulish role.\nMy brothers were both dead now, and only Beryl remained. Another year\nsped by and the last night in October--a Monday--saw me, impelled by a\nfascination I could not resist, once again in the wood. Up to a point\neverything happened as before. As the monotonous church clock struck\ntwelve, from afar came the sound of hoofs. Nearer, nearer, nearer, and\nthen with startling abruptness the rider shot into view. And now, mixed\nwith the awful, indescribable terror the figure always conveyed with it,\ncame a feeling of intense rage and indignation. Should Beryl--Beryl whom\nI loved next best to my wife--be torn from me even as Dick and Hal had\nbeen? No! Ten thousand times no! Sooner than that I would risk anything.\nA sudden inspiration, coming maybe from the whispering leaves, or from\nthe elm, or from the mysterious flickering moonbeams, flashed through\nme. Could I not intercept the figures, drive them back? By doing so\nsomething told me Beryl might be saved. A terrible struggle at once took\nplace within me, and it was only after the most desperate efforts that I\nat length succeeded in fighting back my terror and flung myself out into\nthe middle of the drive. No words of mine can describe all I went\nthrough as I stood there anticipating the arrival of the phantoms. At\nlength they came, right up to me; and as, with frantic resolution, I\nscrewed up courage to plant myself directly in their path, and stared up\ninto the rider's eyes, the huge steed halted, gave one shrill neigh, and\nturning round, galloped back again, disappearing whither it had\nemerged.\n\n\"Two days afterwards I received a letter from my brother-in-law.\n\n\"'I have been having an awful time,' he wrote. 'My darling Beryl has\nbeen frightfully ill. On Monday night we gave up all hope of her\nrecovery, but at twelve o'clock, when the doctor bid us prepare for the\nend, the most extraordinary thing happened. Turning over in bed, she\ndistinctly called out your name, and rallied. And now, thank God, she is\ncompletely out of danger. The doctor says it is the most astonishing\nrecovery he has ever known.'\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"That is twenty years ago, and I've not seen the phantom rider since.\nNor do I fancy he will appear again, for when I look into the eyes of\nthe picture in the hall, they are no longer wandering, but at rest.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPerhaps, one of the most interesting accounts of the phantasm of a horse\nin my possession is that recorded by C.E. G----, a friend of my boyhood.\nWriting to me from the United States some months ago, he says:\n\n\"Knowing how interested you are in all cases of hauntings, and in those\nrelating to animal ghosts especially, I am sending you an account of an\n'experience' that happened to my uncle, Mr. John Dale, about six months\nago. He was returning to his home in Bishopstone, near Helena, Montana,\nshortly after dark, and had arrived at a particularly lonely part of the\nroad where the trees almost meet overhead, when his horse showed signs\nof restlessness. It slackened down, halted, shivered, whinnied, and kept\nup such a series of antics, that my uncle descended from the trap to see\nif anything was wrong with it. He thought that, perhaps, it was going to\nhave some kind of fit, or an attack of ague, which is not an uncommon\ncomplaint among animals in his part of the country, and he was preparing\nto give it a dose of quinine, when suddenly it reared up violently, and\nbefore he could stop it, was careering along the road at lightning\nspeed. My uncle was now in a pretty mess. He was stranded in a forest\nwithout a lantern, ten miles, at least, from home. Feeling too depressed\nto do anything, he sat down by the roadside, and seriously thought of\nremaining there till daybreak. A twinge of rheumatism, however, reminded\nhim the ground was little warmer than ice, and made him realize that\nlying on it would be courting death. Consequently, he got up, and\nsetting his lips grimly, struck out in the direction of Bishopstone. At\nevery step he took the track grew darker. Shadows of trees and\ncountless other things, for which he could see no counterpart, crept out\nand rendered it almost impossible for him to tell where to tread. A\npeculiar, indefinable dread also began to make itself felt, and the\ndarkness seemed to him to assume an entirely new character. He plodded\non, breaking into a jog-trot every now and then, and whistling by way of\ncompanionship. The stillness was sepulchral--he strained his ears, but\ncould not even catch the sound of those tiny animals that are usually\nheard in the thickets and furze-bushes at night; and all his movements\nwere exaggerated, until their echoes seemed to reverberate through the\nwhole forest. A turn of the road brought him into view of something that\nmade his heart throb with delight. Standing by the wayside was an\nenormous coach with four huge horses pawing the ground impatiently. My\nuncle rushed up to the driver, who was so enveloped in wraps, he could\nnot see his face, and in a voice trembling with emotion begged for the\nfavour of a lift--if not to Helena itself, as far in that direction as\nthe coach was going. The driver made no reply, but with his hand\nmotioned my uncle to get in. The latter did not need a second bidding,\nand the moment he was seated, the vehicle started off. It was a large,\nroomy conveyance, but had a stifling atmosphere about it that struck my\nuncle as most unpleasant; and although he could see no one, he\nintuitively felt he was not alone, and that more than one pair of eyes\nwere watching him.\n\n\"The coach did not go as fast as my uncle expected, but moved with a\ncurious gliding motion, and the wheels made no noise whatever. This\nadded to my uncle's apprehensions, and he almost made up his mind to\nopen the carriage door and jump out. Something, however, which he could\nnot account for restrained him, and he maintained his seat. Outside, all\nwas still profoundly dark. The trees were scarcely distinguishable as\ndeeper masses of shadow, and were recognizable only by the resinous\nodour, that, from time to time, sluggishly flowed in at the open window\nas the coach rolled on.\n\n\"At length they overtook some other vehicle, and for the first time for\nsome hours my uncle heard the sound of solid wheels, which were as\nwelcome to him as any joy bells. Just as they were passing the\nconveyance--a small wagonette drawn by a pair of horses, the latter took\nfright; there were loud shouts and a great stampede, and my uncle, who\nleaned out of the coach window, caught a glimpse of the vehicle dashing\nalong ahead of them at a frightful speed. The driver of the coach,\napparently totally unconcerned, continued his journey at the same\nregular, mechanical pace.\n\n\"Presently my uncle heard the sound of rushing water, and knew they must\nbe nearing the Usk, a tributary of the Battle, which was only five miles\nfrom his house.\n\n\"The forest now ceased, and they crossed the road over the bridge in a\nbrilliant burst of moonlight. About a mile or so further on the coach\nhalted, and, to my uncle's surprise, he found himself in front of a\nhouse he had no recollection of seeing before. He got out, and to his\nhorror saw that instead of riding in a coach he had been riding in a\nhearse, and that the horses had on their heads gigantic sable plumes.\n\n\"While he was standing gazing at the extraordinary equipage, the door of\nthe house slowly opened, and two figures came out carrying a small\ncoffin, which they placed inside the vehicle. He then heard loud peals\nof mad, hilarious laughter, and coach and horses immediately vanished.\nMy uncle arrived home safely, but the shock of what he had experienced\nkept him in bed for some days. He learned that a phantom coach similar\nto the one he had ridden in had been seen in the forest twenty years\npreviously, and that it was supposed to be a prognostication of some\ngreat misfortune, which supposition, in my uncle's case at least, proved\ntrue, as his wife died of apoplexy a few days after this adventure.\"\n\nYet another case of haunting by the phantasms of a horse comes to me\nfrom a gentleman in Marseilles, who told it me thus:--\n\n\"It was 9 p.m. when I left my friend Maitland's hotel in Chateauborne,\nand, facing north, set out on my way to Liffre, where my headquarters\nhad been for the past fortnight. Liffre is in the hills, and the road\nwhich separated it from Chateauborne, wild and lonely enough in daylight\nand when the weather is fair, is almost untraversable in winter. The\nnight in question was Christmas Eve; the snow had fallen heavily during\nthe day, and with the wind blowing in icy draughts from the north-east,\nthere was every prospect of another downfall. Maitland pressed me to\nstay in his hotel. 'It is sheer folly,' he said, 'for you to attempt to\nget home in weather like this. It is pitch dark, you are not familiar\nwith the route, and if you don't wander off the track and tumble over a\nprecipice, you will walk into a snowdrift. Be sensible--sleep here!'\n\n\"Much, however, as I should have liked to follow his counsel, I did not\nfeel justified in doing so, as I had a lot of correspondence to attend\nto, and I realized it was most necessary for me to get back to Liffre\nwithout any further delay.\n\n\"It was true the night was inky black; but, with the aid of a lamp, I\nhadn't the slightest doubt I could find my way. Maitland bartered for a\ncandle lantern with his host, and armed with this, a flagon of brandy\nand water and a thick stick, I said good-bye to Chateauborne.\n\n\"A couple of hundred yards saw me beyond the outskirts of the town,\nwherein I was the sole pedestrian, and silence reigned supreme. On and\non I plodded, the feeble, yellow light of my lantern just preventing\nme--but only just--from wandering from the track. The road, which for\nthe first mile or so was tolerably level, gradually began to rise, and,\nas it did so, I noticed for the first time indistinct images of\ngigantic, naked trees that becoming more and more numerous, and closer\nand closer together, at length united their long and grotesquely shaped\nbranches overhead, and I found myself in the depths of a vast forest.\nThe snow, which had up to the present held off, now recommenced to fall,\nand presently the wind, which had for some time been slowly acquiring\nstrength, came howling through the trees with the utmost fury, the first\nblast swishing the lantern out of my hands and hurling me with\nconsiderable force into an undergrowth of thorns and brambles, out of\nwhich I extricated myself with no little difficulty.\n\n\"I was now in the sorriest of plights--enveloped on all sides in Stygian\ndarkness I was unable to discover my lantern, and was thus totally at\nthe mercy of the ruthless elements. There were only two courses before\nme--either I must remain where I was and be frozen to death, or, making\na guess at the route, I must push on ahead and run the risk of ending my\nlife at the bottom of a ravine. I chose the latter. Groping about with\nmy feet, until I at length discovered what I thought must be the right\ntrack, I pushed ahead, and, staggering and stumbling forward, managed to\nmake some sort of progress, terribly slow though it was. The blinding\ndarkness of the snowy night, the intense silence and utter solitude of\nthe place, combined with the knowledge that on all sides of me lay holes\nand chasms, dampened my spirits and raised strange phantoms in my\nimagination. The wind now rose, and the dismal sighing of the trees\nspeedily grew into a series of the most perturbing screeches, as the\nbranches and trunks swayed to and fro like reeds before the violence of\nthe hurricane.\n\n\"At this juncture I gave myself up for lost, and, coming to a standstill\nup to my knees in snow, was preparing to lie down and die, when, to my\ngreat joy, a light suddenly appeared ahead of me, and the next moment a\nman, mounted on a big white horse, rode noiselessly up to me. He was\nwrapped in a shaggy great-coat, and a slouch hat worn low over his eyes\ncompletely hid his face from me. In his disengaged hand he carried a\nlantern.\n\n\"'By Jove!' I exclaimed, 'I am glad to see you, for I've lost the track\nto Liffre. Can you tell me, or, better still, show me, the way to some\nhouse where I can put up for the remainder of the night?'\n\n\"The stranger made no reply, but bidding me follow with a wave of his\nhand, rode silently in front of me, and although I tried to keep up with\nhim, I could not; and the odd thing was, that without apparently\nincreasing his pace, he always maintained his distance. After proceeding\nin this manner for possibly ten minutes, we suddenly turned to the left,\nand I found myself in a big clearing in the wood, with a long, low-built\nhouse opposite me.\n\n\"My guide then paused, and indicating the front door of the house with\nan emphatic gesture of his hand, seemed suddenly to melt away into thin\nair, for although I peered about me on all sides to try to find some\nindications of him, neither he nor his horse was anywhere to be seen.\nThinking this was rather queer, but quite ready to attribute it to\nnatural causes, I approached the building, and, making use of my\nknuckles in lieu of a knocker, beat a loud tattoo on the woodwork. There\nwas no response. Again I rapped, and the door slowly opening revealed a\npair of gleaming, dark eyes. 'What do you want?' enquired a harsh voice\nin barbarous accents. 'A night's lodging,' I replied; 'and I'm willing\nto pay a good price for it, for I'm more than half frozen.'\n\n\"At this the door opened wider, and I found myself confronted by a woman\nwith a candle. She had not the most prepossessing of expressions, though\nher hair, eyes and features were decidedly good. She was dressed with\ntawdry smartness--earrings, necklace, and rings, and very high-heeled\nbuckle shoes. Indeed, her costume was so out of keeping with the\nrusticity of her surroundings as to be quite extraordinary. This fact\nstruck me at once, as did her fingers, which, though spatulate and ugly,\nhad been manicured, and of course very much over-manicured, for effect.\nHad this not been the case, I probably should not have noticed them. But\nthe unnatural gloss on them, exaggerated by the candlelight, made me\nlook, and I was at once impressed with the criminal formation of the\nfingers--the club-shaped ends denoted something very bad--something\nhomicidal--and as my eyes wandered from the hands to the face, I saw\nwith a thrill of horror that the ears were set low down and far back on\nthe head, and that the eyes gleamed with the sinister glitter of the\nwolf.\n\n\"Still, I must take my chance--the woman or the wood--it had to be one\nof the two. 'If you'll step inside, monsieur,' she said, 'I'll see what\ncan be done for you. We have only recently come here, and the house is\nanyhow at present. Still, if you don't mind roughing it a little, we can\nlet you have a bed, and you can rely upon me that it is clean and\nwell-aired.' I followed her eagerly, and she led me down a narrow\npassage into a big room with a low ceiling, traversed with a ponderous\noak beam, blackened with the smoke of endless peat fires.\n\n\"Before the blazing faggots on the hearth sat a burly-looking individual\nin a blue blouse. On our arrival he arose, and as his huge form towered\nabove me, I thought I had never seen anyone quite so hideous, nor so\nutterly unlike the orthodox Frenchman. Obeying his injunction--for I can\nscarcely call it an invitation--to sit down, I took a seat by the fire,\nand warming my half-frozen limbs, waited impatiently whilst the woman\nmade up my bed and prepared supper.\n\n\"The storm had now reached cyclonic dimensions, and under its stupendous\nfury the whole house--stoutly built though it was--swayed on its\nfoundations. The howling of the wind in the rude, old-fashioned chimney\nand along the passage, and the frenzied beating of the snow against the\ndiamond window-panes, deadened all other noises, and rendered any\nattempt at conversation absolutely abortive. So I ate my meal in\nsilence, pretending not to notice the subtle interchange of glances that\nconstantly took place between the strangely assorted pair. Whether they\nwere husband and wife, what the man did for a living, were questions\nthat continually occurred to me, and I found my eyes incessantly\nwandering to the numerous packing-cases, piles of carpets, casks and\nother articles, which corroborated the woman's statement that they had\nbut recently 'moved in.' Once I attempted to empty the coffee (which was\nblack and peculiarly bitter) under the table, but had to desist, as I\nsaw the man's devilish eyes fixed searchingly on me. I then pushed aside\nthe cup, and on the woman asking if it was not to my liking, I shouted\nout that I was not in the least thirsty. After this incident the covert\nlooks became more numerous, and my suspicions increased accordingly.\n\n\"At the first opportunity I got up, and signalling my intention to go to\nbed, was preparing to leave my seat, when my host, walking to a\ncupboard, fetched out a bottle of cognac, and pouring out a tumbler,\nhanded it me with a mien that I dare not refuse.\n\n\"The woman then led me up a flight of rickety, wooden steps and into a\nsepulchral-looking chamber with no other furniture in it save a long,\nnarrow, iron bedstead, a dilapidated washstand, a very unsteady, common\ndeal table, on which was a looking-glass and a collar stud, and a\nrush-bottomed chair. Setting the candlestick on the dressing-table, and\nassuring me again that the bed was well aired, my hostess withdrew,\nobserving as she left the room that she would get me a nice breakfast\nand call me at seven. At seven! How I wished it was seven now! As I\nstood in the midst of the floor shivering--for the room was icy cold, I\nsuddenly saw a dark shadow emerge from a remote corner of the room and\nslide surreptitiously towards the door, where it halted. My eyes then\nfell on the lock, and I perceived that there was no key. No key! And\nthat evil-looking pair below! I must barricade the door somehow. Yet\nwith what? There was nothing of any weight in the room! Nothing! I began\nto feel horribly tired and sleepy--so sleepy that it was only with\nsupreme effort I could prevent my eyelids closing. Ah! I had it--a\nwedge! I had a knife. Of wood there was plenty--a piece off the\nwashstand, table, or chair. Anything would suffice. I essayed to\nstruggle to the chair, my limbs tottered, my eyelids closed. Then the\nshadow from the doorway moved towards and THROUGH me, and with the\ncoldness of its passage I revived! With desperate energy I cut a couple\nof chunks off the washstand, and paring them down, eventually succeeded\nin slipping them in the crack of the door, and rendering it impossible\nto open from the outside. That done, I staggered to the bed, and\nfalling, dressed as I was, on the counterpane, sank into a deep sleep.\nHow long I slept I cannot say. I suddenly heard the loud neighing of a\nhorse which seemed to come from just under my window, and, as in a\nvision, saw by my side in the bed a something which gradually developed\ninto the figure of a man, the counterpart of the mysterious being in the\nshaggy coat who had guided me to the house. He was fully dressed, sound\nasleep and breathing heavily. As I was looking a dark shadow fell across\nthe sleeper's face, and on glancing up I perceived, to my horror, a\nblack something crawling on the floor. Nearer and nearer it came, until\nit reached the side of the bed, when I immediately recognized the evil,\nsmirking face of my hostess. In one hand she held a lamp and in the\nother a horn-handled knife. Setting the lamp on the floor, she coolly\nundid the collar of the sleeping man, and I saw a stud, the counterpart\nof the one on the dressing-table, fall on the bare boards with a sharp\ntap, and disappear in the surrounding darkness. Then the woman felt the\nedge of the knife with her repulsive thumb, and calmly cut the helpless\nman's throat. I screamed--and the murderess and her victim instantly\nvanished--and I realized I was alone in the room and very much awake.\nWhether all that had occurred was a dream, I cannot say with certainty,\nthough I am inclined to think not.\n\n\"For some minutes my heart pulsated painfully, and then as the sound of\nits throbbing grew fainter and fainter, I heard a curious noise outside\nmy room--someone was ascending the stairs. I endeavoured to rise, but\ncould not--fear, an awful, ungovernable fear, held me spellbound. The\nsteps paused outside the door, the handle of which was gently turned.\nThen there was a suggestive silence, then whispering, then another\nturning of the handle, and then--my state of coma abruptly ended, and I\nstepped noiselessly out of bed and crept to the window. I was heard.\n'Stop him,' the woman cried out, 'he's trying to escape. Use the gun.'\nShe hurled herself against the door as she spoke, whilst the man tore\ndownstairs.\n\n\"It was now a matter of seconds, the slightest accident, a hesitation,\nand I was lost. Swinging open the window, I scrambled on the ledge, and\nwithout the slightest idea of the distance--dropped! There was a brief\nrushing through air and I alighted--safe and sound--on the snow.\nBlessed snow! Had it not been for the snow I should in all probability\nhave hurt myself! I alighted not an instant too soon, for hardly had I\ntouched the ground before my gigantic host came tearing round the angle\nof the wall with a lantern in one hand and gun in the other. I\nimmediately dashed away, and, thanks to the intense darkness of the\nmorning--for it must have been two o'clock--had no difficulty in evading\nmy pursuer, who fired twice in rapid succession.\n\n\"On and on I went, sometimes falling up to my armpits in the snowdrift,\nand sometimes stunning myself against a low-hanging branch of a tree.\nWith the first rays of sunlight, however, my troubles came to an end.\nThe snow had ceased falling, and I quickly alighted on a track, which\nbrought me to a village, whence I obtained a conveyance into Liffre.\n\n\"I reported the affair to the local police, and a party of gendarmes at\nonce set off to arrest the miscreants. But, alas, they had fled. The\nhouse was pulled down, and, on the soil being excavated, a dozen or more\nskeletons of men and women--all showing unmistakable signs of foul\nplay--together with the remains of a horse, were found in various parts\nof the premises. The place was a veritable Golgotha. I suppose the\nphantom horse and rider had appeared to me with the sole purpose of\nmaking their fate known. If so, they at all events partly achieved their\nend, though the mystery surrounding their identity was never solved. All\nthe remains, both human and animal, were removed elsewhere, and accorded\na decent burial. The site of their original interment, however, is, I\nbelieve, still haunted, and maybe will remain so till the miscreants are\nbrought to book.\"\n\n\n_Brief Summary_\n\nAfter a little consideration I am inclined to think there are quite as\nmany authentic cases of hauntings by the phantasms of horses as by the\nphantasms of cats and dogs. Innumerable horses die unnatural deaths.\nApart from those killed in war, many,--more particularly, it is true, in\nthe olden times,--have been murdered in the highways along with their\nmasters; whilst all but the comparative few, when no longer of use to\ntheir owners, are butchered in the slaughter-house, and subsequently\ndespatched to the Zoological Gardens, to be eaten by lions and tigers.\nSo much for Christianity, and for man's gratitude. How much better would\nthe promoters of the White Slave Traffic Act be employed, if,--instead\nof trying to pass a bill which obviously cannot cure the evil it aims\nat, but can only, by diverting the course of that evil, drive from\npillar to post thousands of defenceless, albeit erring women,--they were\nto labour to secure a peaceful ending for our four-footed toilers, who\nwork for us all their lives, never strike, never think of a pension for\nold age, and never even dream of a vote. Alas! If only our poor horses\ncould vote, what a different attitude would our pharisaical politicians\nat once adopt towards them!\n\n\n_Phantasms of Living Horses_\n\nFrom what I have experienced and have been told, I am of the opinion\nthat horses possess the same faculty of separating their immaterial from\ntheir material bodies, as cats and dogs. I knew a Virginian lady who had\na piebald horse that frequently appeared simultaneously in two places.\nShe lived in an old country house near Winchfield, and one morning when\nshe went into the breakfast-room, she was surprised to see the piebald\nhorse standing on the gravel path, outside the window, looking in at\nher. When she called it by name, it immediately melted into fine air.\nGoing round to the stables she found the horse in its stall, and on\nenquiry was informed that it had been there all the time.\n\nThe same thing frequently occurred, other members of the household\nbesides herself witnessing it, and so like, in all its details, was the\nimmaterial horse to the material, that they were often at a loss to tell\nwhich was which. The phenomenon sometimes occurring when the real horse\nwas awake, and sometimes when it was asleep, proves that the animal\npossessed the faculty of projecting its spiritual ego--astral body, or\nwhatever you like to call it--both consciously and unconsciously. I know\nof many similar instances.\n\n\n_Horses and the Psychic Faculty of Scent_\n\nHorses, in a rather less degree than cats, and in much the same degree\nas dogs, possess the property of scenting the advent and presence of\nspirits. On more than one occasion, when I have been riding after dusk,\nmy horse has suddenly come to an abrupt halt and shown unmistakable\nsigns of terror. I have not been able to see anything to account for its\nconduct, but on subsequent enquiry have learned, either that a tragedy\nwas actually known to have taken place there, or that the spot had long\nborne a reputation for being haunted. And my experiences are the\nexperiences of countless other people.\n\nBefore a death a horse will often neigh repeatedly outside the house of\nthe doomed person, and not infrequently show evidences of terror in\npassing close to it, from which I deduce the horse can at all events\nscent the proximity of the phantom of death. Like the dog, however, I\nthink it only possesses this peculiar psychic property in a limited\ndegree. It can, for example, readily detect the whereabouts of phantasms\nhaunting localities, but not so easily those haunting people.\n\nIt shows little or no discrimination on sight, between cruel and brutal\npeople and those who are kind, giving the same amount of passing space\nto the one as it does to the other. Yet, on the other hand, I have\nwatched horses at night, standing in the fields, their heads thrown\nback, a transfixed, far-off expression in their eyes, sniffing the\natmosphere--and snuffling it in a manner that strongly suggested to me\nthey were carrying on, by means of some silent, secret code, a\nconversation with some superphysical presence, which they either saw or\nscented, very likely both.\n\nScent, I am convinced, is the medium of conversation, not only between\nsuperphysical animals, but between material animals, and if we ever wish\nto converse with spirits we must employ cats, dogs, and horses to teach\nus.\n\n\n_Phantom Coaches_\n\nThere are few parts of the British Isles--few countries in Europe--which\nhave not their phantom coaches. Perhaps the most famous are those that\nhaunt a road near Newport, South Wales, and an old highway in Devon.\n\n\n_A Spectre Coach and Horses in Pembrokeshire_\n\nMiss Mary L. Lewes, in an article called \"Some More Welsh Ghosts,\" that\nappeared in the _Occult Review_ for December, 1907, writes thus:--\n\n\"In common with several other districts in Great Britain and Ireland,\nPembrokeshire possesses a good 'phantom coach' legend, localized in the\nsouthern part of the county, at a place where four roads meet, called\nSampson Cross. In old days the belated farmer driving home in his gig\nfrom market was apt to cast a nervous glance over his shoulder as his\npony slowly climbed the last pitch leading up to the Cross. For\ntradition says that every night a certain Lady Z. (who lived in the\nseventeenth century, and whose monument is in the church close by)\ndrives over from Tenby, ten miles distant, in a coach drawn by headless\nhorses, guided by a headless coachman. She also has no head, and\narriving by midnight at Sampson Cross, the whole equipage is said to\ndisappear in a flame of fire, with a loud noise of explosion.\"\n\nMiss Mary L. Lewes goes on to add:--\n\n\"A clergyman living in the immediate neighbourhood, who told the writer\nthe story, said that some people believed the ghostly traveller had been\nsafely 'laid' many years ago in the waters of the lake not far off. He\nadded, however that might be, it was an odd fact that his sedate and\nelderly cob, when driven home past the Cross after nightfall, would\ninvariably start as if frightened there, a thing which never happened by\ndaylight.\"\n\nWhat these kinds of spectral horses are no one can say. At the\nmost--despite what theosophists and occultists may declare to the\ncontrary--one can only theorize--and the speculations of one person, be\nhe who he may, seem to me to be of no more consequence than those of\nanother.\n\nFor my own part I am inclined to think that whereas, in some cases, the\nghostly coach horses are the phantoms of horses that were killed on the\nhighways, in others they are either Vice-Elementals, or Elementals whose\nparticular function it is to prognosticate death,--either the death of\nthose who see them, or the death of someone connected with those who see\nthem.\n\n\n_A Phantom Horse and Policeman_\n\nAccording to one of my correspondents, Mr. T---- P----, a comparatively\nmodern phantom rider has been seen in Canada. Writing to me from C----,\nwhere he lives, he says: \"It is stated that this town is periodically\nhaunted by the phantom of a tall, fair policeman mounted on a white\nhorse and clothed in the uniform of the 'forties--namely, tail coat,\ntight trousers, and tall hat. His 'phantom' beat extends from a gateway\nat the commencement of Cod Hill, along the Park side of Pablo Street to\nSutton Street, and Adam Street, down Dane Street, and back, through\nPablo Street, to the gateway on Cod Hill.\"\n\nA gentleman well known in the art world, who, in order to avoid\npublicity, wishes to be designated Mr. Bates, gave me his experience of\nthe phenomena as follows:--\n\n\"Yes, I have seen the ghostly policeman and his milk-white horse. I was\nwalking along Pablo Street on the Park side, one grey afternoon in\nNovember, with the express intention of meeting a friend at my Club in\nRoyal Street, when to my surprise, just as I was about a hundred yards\nfrom the gateway on Cod Hill, I was overtaken by a tall, fair-haired\nman, riding a white horse. He was so dressed that I stared in\nastonishment. He was wearing the costume of seventy or eighty years ago,\nand reminded me of the policemen in Cruikshank's illustrations of\nDickens. I was not frightened, because I thought he must be someone\nmasquerading; and, in my curiosity to see his face, I hastened my steps\nto overtake him. I failed; for although he appeared to be riding slowly,\nhardly moving at all, I could not draw an inch nearer to him. This made\nme think, and I examined him more critically. Then I noticed several\nthings about him, that, at first, had escaped my notice. They were\nthese: (one) that although he was mounted he was wearing walking\nclothes--he had on long trousers and thick, clumsy boots; (two) that his\nears and neck were perfectly colourless, of an unnatural and startling\nwhite; (three) that despite the incongruity of his attire, no one but\nmyself seemed to see him. On he rode, neither looking to the left nor to\nthe right, until he came to Sutton Street, when, without paying the\nslightest attention to the traffic, he began to cross over. There were\ncrowds of vehicles passing at the time, and one of them rushed right on\nhim. Making sure he would be killed, I uttered an ejaculation of\nhorror. Judge, then, of my amazement, when, instead of seeing him lying\non the ground, crushed out of all shape, I saw him still riding on, as\nleisurely and unconcernedly as if he had been on a country road. THE\nVEHICLE HAD PASSED RIGHT THROUGH HIM. Though I had hitherto scoffed at\nghosts, I was now certain I had seen one, and suddenly becoming\nconscious how very cold it was, I tore on, not feeling at all\ncomfortable till I had reached the warm, cheery, and thoroughly material\nquarters of my Club.\"\n\nTo corroborate the evidence of \"Mr. Bates,\" I append a narrative given\nme verbally by Miss Hartly, who, like Mr. Bates, had, up to the time of\nher experience, posed as a pronounced and somewhat bitter sceptic. She\nwas an emphatic freethinker, and had then no belief whatsoever in a\nfuture life. Now she believes \"a sight\" more than most people.\n\n\"One afternoon, in February, 1911,\" she stated, \"just as twilight was\ncommencing, I left the Park, where I had been exercising my dog, and\nturning into Pablo Street, made for Bright Street. At the corner of Wolf\nStreet I saw something so strange that I involuntarily halted. Riding\nslowly along on a big white horse, a few paces ahead of me, was an\nenormous policeman in the quaint attire of the 'forties--top hat, tail\ncoat, tight trousers, just as I had so often seen portrayed in old\nbooks. He was riding stiffly, as if unaccustomed to the saddle, and kept\nlooking rigidly in front of him. Thinking it was someone doing it either\nfor a joke or a wager, I was greatly tickled, and kept saying to myself,\n'Well, you are a sport, an A1 sport.' I tried to catch him up, to see\nhow he made up his face, but could not, for although the horse never\nseemed to quicken its pace--a mere crawl--and I ran, it nevertheless\nmaintained precisely the same distance in front of me. When we had\nprogressed in this fashion some hundred or so yards, I perceived a City\npoliceman advancing towards us.\n\n\"'Come, now,' I said to myself, 'we shall see some fun--the 1911 copper\nmeeting the peeler of 1840. I wonder what he will think of him.'\n\n\"To my intense astonishment, however, neither even as much as gave the\nother a fleeting glance, but passed by unmoved, and, to all appearance,\nwholly unconscious of each other.\n\n\"A few yards further, I espied a negro looking intently in a store\nwindow. Just as the strange policeman came up to him, he gave a violent\nstart, turned round and stared at him, gasped, his cheeks ashy pale, his\neyes bulging, made some exclamation I could not catch, and, dashing past\nme, fled. Then, and not till then, did I begin to feel funny. Further\non still we came to a crossing. A carriage and pair with a coronet on\nthe panels of the door was standing waiting. Directly the policeman\napproached, both the horses reared so violently, they all but threw the\ncoachman off the box. One of the men cried out, 'Heavens, Bill, what's\nthat?' But the other and older of the two, who was clinging to the reins\nwith all his might, merely swore.\n\n\"Convinced now that I was on the trail of something not human--something\nin all probability superphysical, and, impelled by a fascination I could\nnot resist, I followed.\n\n\"At the top of Wolf Street the policeman paused, then crossing slowly\nover, turned into Dane Street, down which he continued to ride with the\nsame mechanical and automatic tread. At length, when within a few feet\nof a certain shop, over which is a flat that has long borne a reputation\nfor being haunted, the horse came to a dead halt, and horse and rider,\nveering slowly round, looked at me. What I saw I shall never forget. I\nsaw the faces of the DEAD--the LONG SINCE dead. For some moments they\nconfronted me, and then--vanished, vanished where they stood. I saw them\nagain, under precisely the same conditions, two days later, and I have\nseen them once since. I am not an imaginative or highly-strung person,\nbut am, on the contrary, exceedingly practical and matter-of-fact, no\nbetter proof of which I can give than this fact--I am engaged to be\nmarried to a Quebec solicitor!\"\n\n\n_An Irish Haunting_\n\nMr. Reginald B. Span, in a most interesting article called \"Some\nGlimpses of the Unseen,\" that appeared in the _Occult Review_ for\nFebruary, 1906, writes as follows:--\n\n\"Another strange incident, which also occurred in Ireland, was told me\nby a coachman in my cousin's employ at Kilpeacon, near Limerick. This\nman had previously been a park-keeper to Lord Doneraile in Co. Cork. One\nbright moonlight night, he was coming across Lord Doneraile's park,\nhaving been round to see that the gates were shut, when his attention\nwas drawn to the distant baying of hounds, and he stopped to listen, as\nthe sounds seemed to proceed from within the park walls, and he knew\nthere were no hounds kept on the estate. His young son was with him, and\nalso heard the noise, which was getting louder and clearer, and was\nevidently moving rapidly in their direction. His first idea was that a\npack of hounds which were kept in the hunting kennels a few miles away,\nhad escaped and had somehow got into the park, although he had seen that\nthe gates were closed, and there was really no way by which they could\nhave entered. The baying of hounds, as if in 'full cry,' sounded closer\nand closer, and suddenly, out of the shadow of some trees, a number of\nfoxhounds, running at full speed, appeared in the clear light of the\nmoon. They raced past the amazed spectators (a whole pack of them),\nfollowed closely by an elderly man on a large horse. Although they came\nvery near, no sound could be heard but the baying of one or two of the\nhounds. The galloping of the horse was not heard at all. They swung\nacross the grass at a tremendous pace, and were lost to view round the\nend of a plantation. The park-keeper knew that all the gates were shut,\nand that it would be impossible for a pack of hounds to pass out, and he\nthought the mystery might be solved the next day. However, it never was\nexplained--by any natural cause. No hounds or horseman had been in the\npark. The mansion was closed, Lord Doneraile being away, and no one had\nthe right of entering the grounds within the park walls. He heard later\nthat there was a story in the neighbourhood about 'the ghost' of a\nformer Lord Doneraile 'haunting' the park--and possibly the spectral\nhorseman was he. I questioned the man and his son closely about it, and\nam convinced they were not deceived by hallucination, and that their\naccount is perfectly true.\"\n\nTo this account Mr. Span adds this note:--\n\n\"The apparition of hounds and huntsman was witnessed on an estate\nbelonging to Lord Doneraile, in the South of Ireland (Doneraile Park);\nthe man who told me the incident was coachman in the service of my\ncousin, near Limerick. His young son confirmed his father's account, as\nhe also saw it.\n\n          \"Yours faithfully,\n\n                    \"REGINALD B. SPAN.\"\n\nTo throw additional light on the matter Mr. Ralph Shirley, editor of the\n_Occult Review_, published the following letter, written to him by Lord\nDoneraile:--\n\n\"DEAR SHIRLEY,\n\n\"It is rather a curious thing that neither Lady Castletown nor Lady\nDoneraile has ever heard of the story of the moonlight vision of Lord\nDoneraile and the pack of hounds. However, there is a man at Doneraile\ncalled Jones, a chemist, who is a most enthusiastic antiquarian and a\ndabbler in the occult sciences, and he takes the greatest interest in\nall that concerns the St. Legers. Lady Castletown wrote to him, and the\nreply comes from his brother (I suppose he is away), and that I send\nyou.\n\n\"Lady Doneraile says it must refer to the third Lord Doneraile of the\nfirst creation, who was killed in a duel afterwards; and there appear to\nbe a lot of stories which Jones has ferreted out or been told. Of\ncourse, I don't know how far you could say Jones was authentic. All I\ncan say is that he believes the things himself.\n\n          \"Yours sincerely,\n\n                    \"DONERAILE.\"\n\n\"_Dec. 27, 1905._\"\n\n\"I should explain,\" adds Mr. Shirley, \"that Lady Castletown is daughter\nto the late Lord Doneraile, and present owner of Doneraile House. Here\nfollows the enclosure, i.e. the extract made by Walter A. Jones,\nDoneraile, from his MS. notes on the Legends of Peasantry in connection\nwith Doneraile branch of the St. Leger family. Dated December 21, 1905.\n\n\"I have heard,\" so it runs, \"the following story respecting the Lord\nDoneraile, who pursues the chase from Ballydineen through Gloun-na-goth\nWilkinson's Lawn, through Byblox, across the ford of Shanagh aha\nKeel-ahboobleen into Waskin's Glen into the old Deer Park at Old Court,\nthence into the Horse Close, and from thence into the park. He appears\nto take particular delight in Wilkinson's Lawn according to tradition,\nfor it was there that the noble stag was lost sight of, and of course it\nwas there he was most searched for. It was only last autumn that two\ngentlemen were going to a fair, as I heard, and leading a very fine\nhorse behind the trap. The night being fine and moonlight, they stopped\nat the iron gate there to light their pipes, when a gentleman dressed in\nold style, with buckskin leggings, walked through the iron gate, though\nclosed, and patted the led horse on the neck. They both agreed that he\nwas most like to gentlemen of the St. Leger family whom they had known.\nThe Radiant Boy also appears here, and for years in the early part of\nlast century no one would pass there after nightfall. The Lord\nDoneraile, who is believed by the peasantry to stand under Lord\nDoneraile's Oak, it has been told me positively, was third Viscount.\n\n\"There is an old man called Reardon here now who saw a gentleman riding\na powerful black horse along Lord Doneraile's route in the middle of the\nday, and his sister who was with him failed to see the horseman, though\nher brother had to pull her out of his way.\n\n\"I went up to Saffron Hill last winter to see the ostrich-like ghost\nwhich is there, and I heard a great sweep as of hounds and horses going\npast me. Paddy Shea, late herd to Lord Doneraile, also would swear he\nsaw the phantom Lord Doneraile pursuing the chase often. I have heard\nthat James Mullaine also saw him in Wilkinson's Lawn, but have not any\nfurther proof.\n\n\"It is very few people will admit having seen these things. George\nBuckley, present keeper of the Doneraile Park, got a great fright one\nnight which might have been from the same cause.\"\n\nIn this case it seems more than likely the huntsman, horse and hounds\nwere all _bona fide_ phantasms of the dead.\n\n\n_Wild Darrell_\n\nLittlecote, as everyone knows, is haunted by the spirits of the\nnotorious \"Wild Will Darrell\" and the horse he invariably rode, and\nwhich eventually broke his neck.\n\nBut there are many Wild Darrells; all Europe is overrun by them. They\nnightly tear, on their phantom horses, over the German and Norwegian\nforests and moor-lands that echo and re-echo with their hoarse shouts\nand the mournful baying of their grisly hounds.\n\nMany travellers in Russia and Germany journeying through the forests at\nnight have caught the sound of wails,--of moans that, starting from the\nfar distance, have gradually come nearer and nearer. Then they have\nheard the winding of a horn, the shouting and cursing of the huntsman,\nand in a biting cold wind have seen the whole cavalcade sweep by.\n\nAccording to various authorities on the subject this spectral chase goes\nby different names. In Thuringia and elsewhere, it is \"Hakelnberg\" or\n\"Hackelnbarend,\"--the story being that Hakelnberg, a German knight, who\nhad devoted his whole life to the chase, on his death-bed had told the\nofficiating priest that he cared not a jot for heaven, but only for\nhunting; the priest losing patience and exclaiming, \"Then hunt till\nDoomsday.\"\n\nSo, in all weathers, in snow and ice, Hakelnberg, his horse and hounds,\nare seen careering after imaginary game.\n\nThere are similar stories current in the Netherlands, Denmark, Russia,\nand practically all over Europe, and not only Europe, but in many of the\nstates and departments of the New World. This being so, I think there\nmust be a substantial substratum of truth underlying the beliefs,\nphantastic as they may appear, and yet, are no more phantastic than many\nof the stories we are asked to give absolute credence to in the Bible.\n\nIn Old Castile the spirit of a Moorish leader who won many victories\nover the Spaniards, and was drowned by reason of his heavy armour in a\nswamp of the River Duero, still haunts his burial-place, a piece of\nmarshy ground, near Burgos. There, weird noises, such as the winding of\na huntsman's horn and the neighing of a horse, are heard, and the\nphantasm of the dead Moor is seen mounted on a white horse followed by\ntwelve huge, black hounds.\n\nIn Sweden many of the peasants say, when a noise like that of a coach\nand horses is heard rumbling past in the dead of night, \"It is the White\nRider,\" whilst in Norway they say of the same sounds, \"It is the hunt of\nthe Devil and his four horses.\" In Saxony the rider is believed to be\nBarbarossa, the celebrated hero of olden days. Near Fontainebleau, Hugh\nCapet is stated to ride a gigantic sable horse to the palace, where he\nhunted before the assassination of Henry IV; and in the Landes the rider\nis thought to be Judas Iscariot. In other parts of France the wild\nhuntsman is known as Harlequin or Henequin, and in some parts of\nBrittany he is \"Herod in pursuit of the Holy Innocents.\" (Alas, that no\nsuch Herod visits London! How welcome would he be, were he only to flout\na few of the brawling brats who, allowed to go anywhere they please,\nmake an inferno of every road they choose to play in.)\n\nHere my notes on horses end; and although the evidence I have offered\nmay have failed to convince many, I myself am fully satisfied that these\nnoble and indispensable animals do not terminate their existence in this\nworld, but pass on to another, and, let us all sincerely hope, far\nhappier, plane.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nBULLS, COWS, PIGS, ETC.\n\n\nFrom the Hebrides there comes to me a case of the phantasm of a black\nbull, that, on certain nights in the year, is heard bellowing inside the\nshed where it was killed.\n\nThere are many accounts of ghostly cows heard \"mooing\" in the moors and\nbog-lands of Scotland and Ireland respectively, and not a few cases of\nwhole herds of phantom cattle seen, gliding along, one behind the other,\nwith silent, noiseless tread. Though I have never had the opportunity of\nexperimenting with cows to see if they are sensitive to the\nsuperphysical, I see no reason why they should not be, and I feel quite\ncertain they will participate in \"the future life.\"\n\nApropos of pigs, Mr. Dyer, in his _Ghost World_, says, \"Another form of\nspectre animal is the kirk-grim, which is believed to haunt many\nchurches. Sometimes it is a pig, sometimes a horse, the haunting spectre\nbeing the spirit of an animal buried alive in the churchyard for the\npurpose of scaring away the sacrilegious.\"\n\nMr. Dyer goes on to say that it was the custom of the old Christian\nchurches to bury a lamb under the altar; and that if anyone entered a\nchurch out of service time and happened to see a little lamb spring\nacross the choir and vanish, it was a sure prognostication of the death\nof some child; and if this apparition was seen by the grave-digger the\ndeath would take place immediately. Mr. Dyer also tells us that the\nDanish kirk-grim was thought to hide itself in the tower of a church in\npreference to any other place, and that it was thought to protect the\nsacred buildings. According to the same writer, in the streets of\nKroskjoberg, a grave sow, or, as it was called, a \"gray-sow,\" was\nfrequently seen, and it was said to be the apparition of a sow formerly\nburied alive; its appearance foretelling death or calamity.\n\n\n_Phantasm of a Goat_\n\nMrs. Crowe, in her _Night Side of Nature_, relates one case of a house\nnear Philadelphia, U.S.A., that was haunted by a variety of phenomena,\namong others that of a spectre resembling a goat.\n\n\"Other extraordinary things happened in the house,\" she writes, \"which\nhad the reputation of being haunted, although the son had not believed\nit, and had thereupon not mentioned the report to the father.\n\n\"One day the children said they had been running after 'such a queer\nthing in the cellar; it was like a goat, and not like a goat, but it\nseemed to be like a shadow.'\"\n\nThis explanation does not appear to be very satisfactory, but as I have\nheard of one or two other cases of premises being haunted by what,\nundoubtedly, were the phantasms of goats, I think it highly probable it\nwas the ghost of a goat in this instance, too.\n\n\n_The Phantom Pigs of the Chiltern Hills_\n\nA good many years ago there was a story current of an extraordinary\nhaunting by a herd of pigs. The chief authority on the subject was a\nfarmer, who was an eye-witness of the phenomena. I will call him Mr. B.\n\nMr. B., as a boy, lived in a small house called the Moat Grange, which\nwas situated in a very lonely spot near four cross-roads, connecting\nfour towns.\n\nThe house, deriving its name from the fact that a moat surrounded it,\nstood near the meeting point of the four roads, which was the site of a\ngibbet, the bodies of the criminals being buried in the moat.\n\nWell, the B----s had not been living long on the farm, before they were\nawakened one night by hearing the most dreadful noises, partly human and\npartly animal, seemingly proceeding from a neighbouring spinney, and on\ngoing to a long front window overlooking the cross-roads, they saw a\nnumber of spotted creatures like pigs, screaming, fighting and tearing\nup the soil on the site of the criminals' cemetery.\n\nThe sight was so unexpected and alarming that the B----s were appalled,\nand Mr. B. was about to strike a light on the tinder-box, when the most\ndiabolical white face was pressed against the outside of the window-pane\nand stared in at them.\n\nThis was the climax, the children shrieked with terror, and Mrs. B.,\nfalling on her knees, began to pray, whereupon the face at the window\nvanished, and the herd of pigs, ceasing their disturbance, tore\nfrantically down one of the high roads, and disappeared from view.\n\nSimilar phenomena were seen and heard so frequently afterwards, that the\nB----s eventually had to leave the farm, and subsequent enquiries led\nto their learning that the place had long borne the reputation of being\nhaunted, the ghosts being supposed to be the earth-bound spirits of the\nexecuted criminals. Whether this was so or not must, of course, be a\nmatter of conjecture--the herd of hogs may well have been the phantasms\nof actual earth-bound pigs--attracted to the spot by a sort of\nfellow-feeling for the criminals, whose gross and carnal natures would\nno doubt appeal to them.\n\nA lane in Hertfordshire was--and, perhaps, still is--haunted by the\nphantasm of a big white sow which had accidentally been run over and\nkilled. It was occasionally heard grunting, and had the unpleasant knack\nof approaching one noiselessly from the rear, and of making the most\nunearthly noise just behind one's back.\n\n\n_Sheep_\n\nLambs and sheep, possessing finer natures than goats and pigs, would\nappear to be less earth-bound, and, in all probability, only temporarily\nhaunt the spots that witnessed their usually barbarous ends.\n\nMost slaughter-houses are haunted by them--as, indeed, by many other\nanimals. A Scottish moor long bore the reputation for being haunted by a\nphantom flock of sheep, which were always heard \"baaing\" plaintively\nbefore a big storm.\n\nIt was supposed they were the ghosts of a flock that had perished in\nthe memorable severe weather of Christmas, 1880. Here is a case that may\nbe regarded as typical of hauntings by sheep, presumably the earth-bound\nspirits of sheep, overwhelmed in some great storm or unexpected\ncatastrophe.\n\n\n\"_The Spectre Flock of Sheep in Germany_\"\n\n\"During the seven years' war in Germany,\" writes Mrs. Crowe, in her\n_Night Side of Nature_, \"a drover lost his life in a drunken squabble on\nthe high road.\n\n\"For some time there was a sort of rude tombstone, with a cross on it,\nto mark the spot where his body was interred, but this has long fallen,\nand a milestone now fills its place. Nevertheless, it continues to be\ncommonly asserted by the country people, and also by various travellers,\nthat they have been deluded on that spot by seeing, as they imagine,\nherds of beasts, which on investigation prove to be merely visionary. Of\ncourse, many people look upon this as a superstition; but a very regular\nconfirmation of the story occurred in the year 1826, when two gentlemen\nand two ladies were passing the spot in a post-carriage. One of these\nwas a clergyman, and none of them had ever heard of the phenomenon said\nto be attached to the place. They had been discussing the prospects of\nthe minister, who was on his way to a vicarage, to which he had just\nbeen appointed, when they saw a large flock of sheep, which stretched\nquite across the road, and was accompanied by a shepherd and a\nlong-haired black dog. As to meet cattle on that road was nothing\nuncommon, and indeed they had met several droves in the course of one\nday, no remark was made at the moment, till suddenly each looked at the\nother, and said, 'What's become of the sheep?' Quite perplexed at their\nsudden disappearance, they called to the postilion to stop, and all got\nout, in order to mount the little elevation and look around, but still\nunable to discover them, they now bethought themselves of asking the\npostilion where they were; when, to their infinite surprise, they\nlearned that he had not seen them. Upon this, they bade him quicken his\npace, that they might overtake a carriage that had passed them shortly\nbefore, and enquire if that party had seen the sheep; but they had not.\n\n\"Four years later a postmaster, named J., was on the same road, driving\na carriage, in which were a clergyman and his wife, when he saw a large\nflock of sheep near the same spot. Seeing they were very fine wethers,\nand supposing them to have been bought at a sheep-fair that was then\ntaking place a few miles off, J. drew up his reins and stopped his\nhorses, turning at the same time to the clergyman to say that he wanted\nto enquire the price of the sheep, as he intended going next day to the\nfair himself. Whilst the minister was asking him what sheep he meant, J.\ngot down and found himself in the midst of the animals, the size and\nbeauty of which astonished him. They passed him at an unusual rate,\nwhilst he made his way through them to find the shepherd; when, on\ngetting to the end of the flock, they suddenly disappeared. He then\nfirst learnt that his fellow-travellers had not seen them at all.\"\n\nSo writes Mrs. Crowe, and I quote the case in support of my argument\nthat sheep, like horses, cats, dogs and all other kinds of animals,\npossess spirits, and consequently have a future state of existence.\n\nI have not yet experimented with sheep, goats, or pigs, but I do not\ndoubt but that they are more or less sensitive to superphysical\ninfluences, and possess the psychic faculty of scenting the\nUnknown--though not, perhaps, in so great a degree as any of the other\nanimals I have enumerated.\n\n\n\n\nPART II\n\nWILD ANIMALS AND THE UNKNOWN\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nWILD ANIMALS AND THE UNKNOWN\n\n\n_Apes_\n\nThe following case of animal hauntings was recorded in automatic\nwriting:--\n\n\"I sank wearily into my easy chair before the fire, which burned with a\nfitful and sullen glow in the tiny grate of my one room--bare and\ndesolate as only the room of an unsuccessful author can be.\n\n\"My condition was pitiable. For the past twelve months I had not earned\na cent, and of my small capital there now remained but two pounds to\nward the hound of starvation from my door. In the moonlight I could\nperceive all the bareness of the apartment. Would to God Fancy would\nride to me on this moonbeam and give me inspiration! 'Twas indeed\nweird--this silver ethereal path connecting the moon with the earth, and\nthe more I gazed along it, the more I wished to leave my body and escape\nto the star-lighted vaults. Certainly, from a conversation I had once\nhad with a member of the New Occult Society, I believed it possible by\nconcentrating all the mental activities in one channel, so to overcome\nthe barriers which prevent the soul visiting scenes of the ethereal\nworld, as to pass materialized to the spot upon which the ideas are\nfixed. But although I had essayed--how many times I do not like to\nconfess--to gain that amount of concentration necessary for the\nseparation of the soul from the body, up to the present all my attempts\nhad been fruitless. Doubtless there had been a something--too minute\neven for definition--that had interrupted my self-abstraction--a\nsomething that had wrecked my venture, just when I felt it to be on the\nverge of completion. And was it likely that now, when my ideas were\nmisty and vague, I should be more successful? I wanted to quit the cruel\nbonds of nature and be free--free to roam and ramble. But where?\n\n\"At length, as I gazed into the moonlight, I lost all cognizance of the\nobjects around me, and my eyes became fixed on the mountains of the\nmoon, which I discovered, with a start, were no longer specks. I found,\nto my amazement, I had left my body and was careering swiftly through\nspace--infinite space. The range opened up in front of me, spreading out\nfar and wide, winding, black and awful--their solemn grandeur lost in\nthat terrible desolation which makes the moon appear like a hideous\nnightmare. I could see with amazing clearness the sides of the\nmountains; there were enormous black fissures, some of them hundreds of\nfeet in width--and the more I gazed the more impressed I grew with the\nsilence. There was no life. There were no seas, no lakes, no trees, no\ngrass, no sighing nor moaning of the wind, nothing to remind me of the\nearth I now found to my terror I had actually quitted. Everything around\nme was black--the sky, the mountains, the vast pits, the dried-up mouths\nof which gaped dismally.\n\n\"With the movements of a man in a fit, I essayed to hinder the finis of\nmy mad plunge. I waved my limbs violently, kicking out and shrieking in\nthe agonies of fear. I cursed and prayed, wept and laughed alternately,\ndid everything, yet nothing, that could save me from contact with the\nlone desert so horribly close. Nearer and nearer I approached, until at\nlast my feet rested on the hard caked soil. For the first few minutes\nafter my arrival I was too overwhelmed with fear to do other than remain\nstationary. The ground beneath my feet swarmed with myriads of foul and\nlong-legged insects, things with unwieldy pincers and protruding eyes;\nthings covered with scaly armour; hybrids of beetles and scorpions. I\nhave a distinct recollection of one huge-jointed centipede making a\nvicious grab at my leg; he failed to make his teeth meet in anything\ntangible, and emitting a venomous hiss disappeared in a circular pit.\n\n\"Whilst I was the victim of this insect's ferocity the horizon had\nbecome darkened by the shadowy outline of an enormous apish form. I\nwanted to run away, but could not, and was compelled, sorely against my\nwill, to witness its approach. Never shall I forget the agonies of doubt\nI endured during its advance. No man in a tiger's den, nor deer tied to\na tree awaiting its destroyer, could have suffered more than I did then,\nand my terror increased tenfold when I recognized in the\nmonster--Neppon--a young gorilla that had been under my charge and had\ngiven me no end of trouble when I was head keeper in the Zoological\nGardens at Berne.\n\n\"I never hated anything so much as I had hated that baboon. At my hands\nit had undergone a thousand subtle torments. I had pinched it, poked it,\npulled its hair, frightened it by putting on masks and making all sorts\nof queer noises, and finally I had secretly poisoned it. And now we\nstood face to face without any bars between us. Never shall I forget the\nlook of intense satisfaction in its hideous eyes, as its gaze\nencountered mine.\n\n\"In that strange forlorn world we faced each other; I, the tyrant once,\nnow the quarry. In the wildness of its glee it capered about like a mad\nthing, executing the most exaggerated antics that augmented my terror.\nEvery second I anticipated an assault, and the knowledge of my fears\nlent additional fierceness to its gambols. A sudden change in my\nattitude at length made it cease. The use had returned to my limbs; my\nmuscles were quivering, and before it could stop me I had fled! The\nwildest of chases then ensued. I ran with a speed that would have shamed\na record-beater on earth. With extraordinary nimbleness I vaulted over\ntitanic boulders of rocks; jumped across dykes of infinite depth,\nscurried like lightning over tracts of rough, lacerating ground, and\nnever for one instant felt like flagging.\n\n\"Suddenly, to my horror, I came to an abrupt standstill, and the cry of\nsome hunted animal burst from my lips. Unwittingly I had run against a\nhuge wall of granite, and escape was now impossible. Again and again I\nclawed the hard rock, until the skin hung in shreds from my fingers, and\nthe blood pattered on the dark soil, that in all probability had never\ntasted moisture before. All this amused my pursuer vastly; it watched\nwith the leisure of one who knows its fish will be landed in safety, and\nthere suddenly came to me, through my olfactory nerves, a knowledge that\nit was speaking to me in the language of scents--the language I never\nunderstood till now was the language of all animals.\n\n\"'Reach, a little higher,' it said; 'there are niches up there, and you\nmust stretch your limbs. Ha! ha! Do you remember how you used to make me\nstretch mine? You do! Well, you needn't shiver. Explain to me how it is\nI find you here.'\n\n\"'I cannot comprehend,' I gasped with a gesticulation that was\ngrotesque.\n\n\"The great beast laughed in my face. 'How so?' it queried. 'You used to\nquibble me upon my dull wits; must I now return the compliment? Ha!\nThere's blood on your hands. Blood! I will lick it up.' And with a\nmocking grin it advanced.\n\n\"'Keep off! Keep off!' I shouted. 'My God, will this dream never cease?'\n\n\"'The dream, as you call it,' the gorilla jeered, 'has only just begun;\nthe climax of your horrors has yet to come. If you cannot tell me the\npurport of your visit I will tell you mine. Can your lordship spare the\ntime to listen?'\n\n\"I gave no answer. I clutched the wall and uttered incoherent cries like\nsome frightened madman.\n\n\"The gorilla felt the muscles in its hairy fingers, and showed its huge\nteeth. I looked eagerly at my enemy.\n\n\"'Come, you haven't yet guessed my riddle; you are dull to-night,' it\nsaid lightly. 'That old wine of yours made you sleep too soundly. Don't\nlet me disturb you. I will explain. This moon is now my home--I share it\nwith the spirits of all the animals and insects that were once on your\nearth. And now that we are free from such as you--free to wander\nanywhere we like without fear of being shot, or caught and caged--we are\nhappy. And what makes us still happier is the knowledge that the\nmajority of men and women will never have a joyous after-state like\nours. They will be earth-bound in that miserable world of theirs, and\ncompelled to keep to their old haunts, scaring to death with their ugly\nfaces all who have the misfortune to see them. There is another fate in\nstore for you, however. Do you know what it is?'\n\n\"It paused. No sound other than that occasioned by his bumping on the\nsoil broke the impressive hush.\n\n\"'Do you know?' it said again. 'Well, I will tell you. I'm going to kill\nyou right away, so that your spirit--it's all nonsense to talk about\nsouls, such as you have no soul--will be earth-bound here--here for\never--and will be a perpetual source of amusement to all of us animal\nghosts.'\n\n\"It then began to jabber ferociously, and, crouching down, prepared to\nspring.\n\n\"'For Heaven's sake,' I shrieked, 'for Heaven's sake.'\n\n\"But I might as well have appealed to the wind. It had no sense of\nmercy.\n\n\"'He, he!' it screamed. 'What a joke--what a splendid joke. Your wit\nnever seems to degenerate, Hugesson! I'm wondering if you will be as\nfunny when you're a ghost. Get ready. I'm coming, coming,' and as the\nsky deepened to an awe-inspiring black, and the stars grew larger,\nbrighter, fiercer; and the great lone deserts appealed to me with a\nforce unequalled before, it sprang through the air.\n\n\"A singing in my ears and a great bloody mist rose before my eyes. The\nwailing and screeching of a million souls was borne in loud protracted\nechoings through the drum of my ears. Men and women with evil faces rose\nup from crag and boulder to spit and tear at me. I saw creatures of such\ndamning ugliness that my soul screamed aloud with terror. And then from\nthe mountain tops the bolt of heaven was let loose. Every spirit was\nswept away like chaff before the burst of wind that, hurling and\nshrieking, bore down upon me. I gave myself up for lost. I felt all the\nagonies of suffocation, my lungs were torn from my palpitating body; my\nlegs wrenched round in their sockets; my feet whirled upwards in that\ngust of devilish air. All--excruciating, damning pain--and _pro\ntempore_--I knew no more.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nN.B.--It was subsequently ascertained, by my friend the late Mr. Supton,\nthat a man named Hugesson, who had been for a short time head keeper at\nthe Zoological Gardens, had been found dead, in bed, by his landlady,\nwith a look on his face so awful that she had fled shrieking from the\nroom. The death was, of course, attributed to syncope, but my\nfriend--who, by the way, had never heard of Hugesson before he received\nthe foregoing account through the medium of planchette--told me, and I\nagreed with him, that from similar cases that had come within his\nexperience, it was most probable that Hugesson had in reality projected\nhimself, and had perished in the manner described.\n\nNo more improbable than the above story is that sent me by my old school\nfriend Martin Tristram, who died last year.\n\nI style it \"The Case of Martin Tristram.\" It is reproduced from a\nmagazine published some three years ago.\n\nAfter Martin Tristram once took up spiritualism his visits to me became\nmost erratic, and I not only never knew when to expect him, but I was\nnot always sure, when he did come, that it was he.\n\nThis sounds extraordinary--to see a man is assuredly to recognize him!\nNot always--by no means always!\n\nThere are circumstances in which a man loses his identity, when his\n\"ego\" is supplanted by another ego, when he ceases to be himself, and\nassumes an individuality which is entirely different from himself.\n\nThis is undoubtedly the case in madness, imbecility, epilepsy, so-called\ntotal loss of memory through cerebral injury, hypnotism, sometimes in\nprojection when the astral body gets detained, and also not infrequently\nin investigating peculiar instances of psychic phenomena.\n\nBut if the astral body has been evicted from its carnal home, whither\nhas it gone? and what is the nature of the thing that has taken its\nplace?\n\nAh! These are indeed puzzles--puzzles I am devoting a lifetime to solve.\n\nThere have been moments when unseen hands have gradually begun to pull\naside the obscuring veil, when the identity of the usurping spirit has\nseemed on the verge of being disclosed to me, and I have been about to\nbe initiated into the greatest and most zealously guarded of all\nsecrets.\n\nThere have been times, I say, when my occult researches have actually\nbrought me to this climax; but up to the present I have invariably been\ndisappointed--the curtain has suddenly fallen, the esoteric ego has\nshrunk into its shell, and the mystery surrounding it has remained\nimpenetrable.\n\nThis is but one, albeit perhaps the most striking, of the many methods\nthrough which the superphysical endeavours to get in immediate contact\nwith the physical.\n\nI was unpleasantly reminded of it when Martin Tristram's carnal body\ncame to visit me one night several years ago. I was aware that it was\nnot Tristram. His mannerisms were the same, his voice had not altered;\nbut there was an expression in his eyes that told of a very different\nspirit from Martin's dwelling within that body.\n\nThe night being cold, he closed the door carefully, and crossing the\nroom to where I sat by the fire, threw himself in an easy chair, and\ngazed meditatively at me.\n\nMy rooms in Bloomsbury were not lonely. They had more than their share\nof \"brawling brats\" on either side; there were no gloomy recesses or\nghost-suggestive cupboards, and I never once experienced in them the\nslightest apprehension of sudden superphysical manifestations, yet I\ncannot help saying that as I met that glance from the pseudo-Tristram's\neyes I felt my flesh begin to creep.\n\nHe sat for so long in silence that I began to wonder if he ever meant to\nspeak.\n\n\"The secret of success in seeing certain classes of apparitions,\" he\nsaid at length, \"to a very great extent lies in sympathy. Sympathy! And\nnow for my story. I will tell it to you in the 'third person.'\"\n\nI looked at Tristram's face in dismay. \"The third person!\"\n\n\"Yes, the third person,\" he gravely rejoined, \"and under the\ncircumstances the only person. You see it is now close on midnight.\"\n\nI looked at the clock. Great heavens! What he said was correct. A whole\nevening had slipped by without my knowledge. He would, of course, have\nto stay the night. I suggested it to him.\n\n\"My dear fellow,\" he replied, with an odd smile, \"don't worry about me.\nI am not dependent on any trains. I shall be home by two o'clock.\"\n\nI shivered--a draught of cold air had in all probability stolen through\nthe cracks of the ill-fitting window-frames.\n\n\"You have on one of your queer moods, Martin,\" I expostulated. \"To be\nhome by two o'clock you must fly! But proceed--at all costs, the story.\"\n\nTristram raised an eyebrow, a true sign that something of special\ninterest would follow.\n\n\"You know Bruges?\" he began.\n\nI nodded.\n\n\"Very well, then,\" he went on. \"Exactly a week ago Martin Tristram\narrived there from Antwerp. The hour was late, the weather boisterous,\nTristram was tired, and any lodging was better than none.\n\n\"Hailing a four-wheeler, he asked the Jehu to drive him to some decent\nhostel where the sheets were clean and the tariff moderate; and the\nfellow, gathering up the reins, took him at a snail's pace to a\nmediaeval-looking tavern in La Rue Croissante. You remember that street?\nPerhaps not! It is quite a back street, extremely narrow, very tortuous,\nand miserably lighted with a few gas-lamps of the usual antique Belgian\norder.\n\n\"Tristram was too tired, however, to be fastidious; he felt he could lie\ndown and go to sleep anywhere, and what scruples he might have had were\nentirely dissipated by the appearance of the charming girl who answered\nthe door.\n\n\"It is not expedient to dwell upon her--she plays a very minor part, if,\nindeed, any, in the story. Martin Tristram merely thought her pretty,\nand that, as I have said, fully reconciled him to taking up his quarters\nin the house.\n\n\"He has, as you are doubtless aware, a weakness for vivid colouring, and\nher bright yellow hair, carmine lips, and scarlet stockings struck him\nimpressively as she led the way to his bed-chamber, where she somewhat\nreluctantly parted from him with a subtly attractive smile.\n\n\"Left to himself, Martin sleepily examined his surroundings. The room,\noak-panelled throughout, was long, low, and gloomy; an enormous,\nold-fashioned, empty fireplace occupied the centre of one of the walls;\non the one side of it was an oak settee, on the other an equally\nponderous black oak chest.\n\n\"Heavy oaken beams traversed the ceiling, and the sombre, funereal\ncharacter of the room was further increased by a colossal and antique\nfour-poster which, placed in the exact middle of the chamber, faced a\ngigantic mirror attached to grotesquely carved and excessively lofty\nsable supports.\n\n\"Viewed in the feeble, fluctuating candlelight, the latter seemed\nendowed with some peculiar and emphatically weird life--their\nglistening, polished surfaces threw a dozen and one fantastic but oddly\nhuman shadows on the boards, as at the same time they appeared in\nbewildering alternation to increase and diminish in stature.\n\n\"Tristram hastily undressed, and stretching himself between the\nblankets, prepared to go to sleep. Like yourself, and for a similar\nreason, he never sleeps on his left side. Accordingly he occupied the\nright portion only of the enormous bed.\n\n\"Why he did not fall asleep at once he could not explain; he fancied\nthat it might be because he was overtired. This undoubtedly had\nsomething to do with it, as also had the remarkable noises--footfalls,\ncreaks, and sighs--that came from every corner of the apartment the\nmoment the light was out.\n\n\"He listened to these inexplicable sounds with increasing alarm until\nthe sonorous clock from somewhere outside boomed 'one,' when, quite\nunaccountably, he fell asleep, awaking on the stroke of two from a\ndreadful nightmare.\n\n\"To his intense astonishment and consternation he was no longer alone in\nthe bed--someone, or something, was lying by his side on the left-hand\nside of the bed.\n\n\"At first his thoughts reverted to the young lady with the scarlet\nstockings; then, a sensation of icy coldness, whilst speedily reassuring\nhim with regard to her, struck him with the utmost terror. Who or what\ncould it be?\n\n\"For some seconds he lay in breathless silence, too frightened even to\nstir, and panic-stricken lest the violent beating of his heart should\narouse the mysterious visitor. But at length, impelled by an\nirresistible impulse, he sat up in bed and opened his eyes. The room\nwas aglow with a phosphorescent light, and in the depths of the\nglittering mirror he saw a startling reproduction of the phantasmagoric\nfour-poster.\n\n\"He instinctively felt that there was some extraordinary change in the\nsupports, and that the suspicions he had at first entertained as to\ntheir semi-human properties had become verified; but, mercifully for his\nsanity, he found it impossible to look. His attention was immediately\nriveted on the object by his side, which he recognized with a thrill of\nsurprise was a bronzed and bearded man of rather more than middle age,\nwho appeared to be buried in the most profound sleep.\n\n\"The picture was so vividly portrayed in the glass that Tristram could\nsee the gentle heaving of the bedclothes each time the sleeper breathed.\n\n\"Fascinated beyond measure at such an unlooked-for spectacle, and\ndesirous of a closer inspection, Tristram, with a supreme effort,\nmanaged to tear away his eyes from the mirror and to glance at the bed,\nwhere, to his unmitigated astonishment, he saw no one.\n\n\"Quite unable to know what to make of the phenomenon, he again directed\nhis gaze to the glass, and there right enough lay the sleeper.\n\n\"A cold shudder now ran through Tristram--he could no longer disguise\nfrom himself what he had in reality thought all along, that the room was\nhaunted!\n\n\"The usual symptoms accompanying occult manifestations rapidly made\nthemselves known. Tristram was constrained to stare at the luminous\nglitter before him in helpless expectation; to save his soul he could\nneither have stirred nor uttered the faintest ejaculation. He saw in the\nmirror the door of the bedroom slowly open, and a hideous, apish face\npeep stealthily in, not at him, but at the sleeper.\n\n\"Next he watched a figure, brown, hairy and lurid--the figure of some\nhuge monkey--come crawling into the room on all-fours, and followed each\nof its tell-tale movements as, sidling up to its sleeping victim, it\nsuddenly hurled itself at him, choking him to death with its long\nfingers.\n\n\"This was the climax--Tristram saw no more. The phosphorescent light\ndied out, the mirror darkened, and on sinking back on his pillow, he\nrealized with the wildest delight he was once again alone--his bedfellow\nhad gone!\n\n\"Tristram was so unnerved by all that had happened that he made up his\nmind to leave the house at daybreak, a decision which, however, was\naltered on the appearance of the sun and the charming little girl in\nthe red stockings.\n\n\"After breakfasting, Tristram strolled about the town, chancing to meet\nan old school-fellow, named Heriot, in the Rue de Mermadotte.\n\n\"Heriot had only recently come to Bruges; he was dissatisfied with his\nlodgings, and readily fell in with Tristram's suggestion that they\nshould 'dig' together.\n\n\"The maid with the yellow hair was more pleasing than ever, Heriot fell\ndesperately in love with her, and it was close on midnight before he\ncould be persuaded to bid her good night and accompany Tristram to the\nbed-chamber.\n\n\"'I wonder why she told me not to sleep on the left side of the bed?' he\nsaid to Martin, as they began to undress.\n\n\"Tristram glanced guiltily at the mirror. For reasons of his own he\nhadn't as much as hinted to Heriot what he had seen there the previous\nnight, and he was not at all sure now that it might not have been a\nnightmare or an hallucination; anyhow, he would like to put it to the\ntest before mentioning it to anyone, and Heriot, whom he knew to be a\nsceptic with regard to ghosts, was so strong and hale a man physically\nthat, happen what might, he had no apprehensions whatever concerning\nhim.\n\n\"Regretting that he was obliged to disobey the wishes of a lady, Heriot\ndeclared his preference for the left side of the bed, adding that if the\nmaiden was so highly enamoured of him, she must put herself to the\ninconvenience of a few extra yards. 'Infatuation like hers,' he\nmaintained, 'should surely overcome all obstacles.'\n\n\"Nothing loth, Tristram gave in to him, and before many minutes had\nelapsed both men had fallen into a deep sleep.\n\n\"On the stroke of two Tristram awoke, perspiring horribly. The room was\nonce again aglow with a phosphorescent light, and he felt the presence\nnext to him of something cold and clammy.\n\n\"Unable to look elsewhere, he was again compelled to gaze in the mirror,\nwhere he saw, to his consternation and horror, no Heriot, but in his\nplace the man with the bronzed face and bushy beard.\n\n\"He had hardly recovered from the shock occasioned by this discovery\nwhen the door surreptitiously opened, and the figure of the ape glided\nnoiselessly in.\n\n\"Again he was temporarily paralysed, his limbs losing all their power of\naction and his tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth.\n\n\"The movements of the phantasm were entirely repetitionary of the\nprevious night. Approaching the bed on 'all-fours,' it leapt on its\nvictim, the tragedy being accompanied this time by the most realistic\nchokings and gurgles, to all of which Tristram was obliged to listen in\nan agony of doubt and terror. The drama ended, Tristram was overcome by\na sudden fit of drowsiness, and sinking back on to his pillow, slept\ntill broad daylight.\n\n\"Anxious to question Heriot as to whether he, too, had been a witness of\nthe ghostly transaction he touched him lightly on the shoulder. There\nwas no reply. He touched him again, and still no answer. He touched him\nyet a third time, and as there was still no response, he leaned over his\nshoulder and peered into his face.\n\n\"Heriot was dead!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"'This is the fourth death in that bed within the last twelve months\nthat I can swear to,' the English doctor remarked to Tristram, as they\nwalked down the street together, 'and always from the same cause,\nfailure of the heart due to a sudden shock. If you take my advice,\nyou'll clear out of the place at once.'\n\n\"Tristram thought so too, but before he went he had a talk with the\ngirl in the red stockings.\n\n\"'I can't tell you all I know,' she said to him, as he kissed her; 'but\nI wouldn't sleep a night in that room for a fortune, though I believe\nit's quite safe if you keep on the right side of the bed. I wish your\nfriend had done so, he was so handsome,' and Tristram, not a little\nhurt, let go her hand, and made arrangements for the funeral.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"And is that all?\" I asked, as Tristram's material body paused.\n\n\"It may be,\" was the reply, \"but that is why I've come to you. Don't be\ngulled by Tristram into any investigations in that house. Enthusiasm for\nhis research work makes him unconsciously callous, and if he once got\nyou there he might, even against your better judgment, persuade you to\nsleep on the left side! Good night!\"\n\nI shook hands with him and he departed. The following evening I heard it\nall again from Tristram himself--the real Tristram.\n\nNeedless to say, his concluding remarks differed essentially. With\nunbounded cordiality he urged me to accompany him back again to Bruges,\nand I--declined!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe wrote to me afterwards to say that he had discovered the history of\nthe house--a man, a music-hall artist, answering to the description of\nthe figure in the bed--had once lived there with a performing ape, an\norang-outang, and happening to annoy the animal one day, the latter had\nkilled him. The brute was eventually shot!\n\n\"This experience of mine,\" Tristram added, \"is of the greatest value,\nfor it has thoroughly convinced me of one thing at least--and that--that\napes have spirits! And if that be so, so must all other kinds of\nanimals. Of course they must.\"\n\n\n_Phantasms of Cat and Baboon_\n\nA sister of a well-known author tells me there used to be a house called\n\"The Swallows,\" standing in two acres of land, close to a village near\nBasingstoke.\n\nIn 1840 a Mr. Bishop of Tring bought the house, which had long stood\nempty, and went to live there in 1841. After being there a fortnight two\nservants gave notice to leave, stating that the place was haunted by a\nlarge cat and a big baboon, which they constantly saw stealing down the\nstaircases and passages. They also testified to hearing sounds as of\nsomebody being strangled, proceeding from an empty attic near where\nthey slept, and of the screams and groans of a number of people being\nhorribly tortured in the cellars just underneath the dairy. On going to\nsee what was the cause of the disturbances, nothing was ever visible. By\nand by other members of the household began to be harassed by similar\nmanifestations. The news spread through the village, and crowds of\npeople came to the house with lights and sticks, to see if they could\nwitness anything.\n\nOne night, at about twelve o'clock, when several of the watchers were\nstationed on guard in the empty courtyard, they all saw the forms of a\nhuge cat and a baboon rise from the closed grating of the large cellar\nunder the old dairy, rush past them, and disappear in a dark angle of\nthe walls. The same figures were repeatedly seen afterwards by many\nother persons. Early in December, 1841, Mr. Bishop, hearing fearful\nscreams, accompanied by deep and hoarse jabberings, apparently coming\nfrom the top of the house, rushed upstairs, whereupon all was instantly\nsilent, and he could discover nothing. After that, Mr. Bishop set to\nwork to get rid of the house, and was fortunate enough to find as a\npurchaser a retired colonel, who was soon, however, scared out of it.\nThis was in 1842; it was soon after pulled down. The ground was used\nfor the erection of cottages; but the hauntings being transferred to\nthem, they were speedily vacated, and no one ever daring to inhabit\nthem, they were eventually demolished, the site on which they stood\nbeing converted into allotments.\n\nThere were many theories as to the history of \"The Swallows\"; one being\nthat a highwayman, known as Steeplechase Jock, the son of a Scottish\nchieftain, had once plied his trade there and murdered many people,\nwhose bodies were supposed to be buried somewhere on or near the\npremises. He was said to have had a terrible though decidedly unorthodox\nending--falling into a vat of boiling tar, a raving madman. But what\nwere the phantasms of the ape and cat? Were they the earth-bound spirits\nof the highwayman and his horse, or simply the spirits of two animals?\nThough either theory is possible, I am inclined to favour the former.\n\n\n_Psychic Bears_\n\nEdmund Lenthal Swifte, appointed in 1814 Keeper of the Crown Jewels in\nthe Tower of London, refers in an article in _Notes and Queries_, 1860,\nto various unaccountable phenomena happening in the Tower during his\nresidence there. He says that one night in the Jewel Office, one of the\nsentries was alarmed by a figure like a huge bear issuing from\nunderneath the Jewel Room door. He thrust at it with his bayonet, which,\ngoing right through it, stuck in the doorway, whereupon he dropped in a\nfit, and was carried senseless to the guard-room. When on the morrow Mr.\nSwifte saw the soldier in the guard-room, his fellow-sentinel was also\nthere, and the latter testified to having seen his comrade, before the\nalarm, quiet and active, and in full possession of his faculties. He was\nnow, so Mr. Swifte added, changed almost beyond recognition, and died\nthe following day.\n\nMr. George Offer, in referring to this incident, alludes to queer noises\nhaving been heard at the time the figure appeared. Presuming that the\nsentinel was not the victim of an hallucination, the question arises as\nto the kind of spirit that he saw. The bear, judging by cases that have\nbeen told me, is by no means an uncommon occult phenomenon. The\ndifficulty is how to classify it, since, upon no question appertaining\nto the psychic, can one dogmatize. To quote from a clever poem that\nappeared in the January number of the _Occult Review_, to pretend one\nknows anything definite about the immaterial world is all \"swank\". At\nthe most we--Parsons, Priests, Theosophists, Christian Scientists,\nPsychical Research Professors,--at the most can only speculate.\nNothing--nothing whatsoever, beyond the bare fact that there are\nphenomena, unaccountable by physical laws, has as yet been discovered.\nAll the time and energy and space that have been devoted by scientists\nto the investigation of spiritualism and to making tests in automatic\nwriting are, in my opinion--and, I believe, I speak for the man in the\nstreet--hopelessly futile. No one, who has ever really experienced\nspontaneous ghostly manifestations, could for one moment believe in the\ngenuineness of the phenomena produced at seances. They have never\ndeceived me, and I am of the opinion spirits cannot be convoked to\norder, either through a so-called medium falling into a so-called\ntrance, through table-turning, automatic writing, or anything else. If a\nspirit comes, it will come either voluntarily, or in obedience to some\nUnknown Power--and certainly neither to satisfy the curiosity of a crowd\nof sensation-loving men and women, nor to be analysed by some cold,\ncalculating, presumptuous Professor of Physics whose proper sphere is\nthe laboratory.\n\nBut to proceed. The phenomenon of the big bear, provided again it was\nreally objective, may have been the phantasm of some prehistoric\ncreature whose bones lie interred beneath the Tower; for we know the\nValley of the Thames was infested with giant reptiles and quadrupeds of\nall kinds (I incline to this theory); or it may have been a\nVice-Elemental, or--the phantasm of a human being who lived a purely\nanimal life, and whose spirit would naturally take the form most closely\nresembling it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nJudging by the number of experiences related to me, hauntings by phantom\nhares and rabbits would appear to be far from uncommon. There is this\ndifference, however, between the hauntings by the two species of\nanimal--phantom hares usually portend death or some grave catastrophe,\neither to the witness himself, or to someone immediately associated with\nhim; whereas phantom rabbits are seldom prophetic, and may generally be\nlooked upon merely as the earth-bound spirits of some poor rabbits that\nhave met with untimely ends.\n\n\n_Hauntings by a White Rabbit_\n\nMr. W.T. Stead, in his _Real Ghost Stories_, gives an account of the\nhauntings by a phantom rabbit in a house in ---- Road. He does not,\nhowever, mention any locality. After describing several of the phenomena\nwhich disturbed various occupants of the place, he goes on to say, in\nthe language of Mrs. A., who narrates the incident:--\n\n\"A dog which lay on the rug also heard the sounds, for he pricked up his\nears and barked. Without a moment's delay she flew to the door, calling\nthe dog to follow her, intending as she did so to open the hall door and\ncall for assistance, but the dog, though an excellent house dog,\ncrouched at her feet and whined, but would not follow her up the stairs,\nso she carried him up in her arms, and reaching the door, called for\nassistance; when, however, the dining-room doors were opened, the rooms\nwere in perfect quiet and destitute of any signs of life.\"\n\nThe behaviour of the dog here accords exactly with the behaviour of dogs\nI have had in haunted houses, and substantiates my theory that dogs are\nexcellent psychic barometers.\n\n\"After the family had been in the house a few weeks, a white rabbit made\nits appearance. This uncanny animal would suddenly appear in a room in\nwhich members of the family were seated, and after gliding round and\nslipping under chairs and tables, would disappear through a brick wall\nas easily as through an open door.\"\n\nThis is the invariable trick of ghosts; they seldom, however, open\ndoors. Mrs. A. adds:--\n\n\"Some years have now elapsed since the incident I have now related took\nplace, and again, in response to orders given by the enterprising\nlandlord of the property, long-closed doors and windows have been thrown\nopen, and painters and paperhangers have brought their skill to bear\nupon gruesome rooms and halls; the house is once more inhabited, this\ntime by a widow lady and some grown-up sons. These tenants come from a\ndistance, and are entirely strangers both to the neighbourhood and the\nformer history of the house, but, to use her own words, the mistress\n'cannot understand what ails the house,' her sons insist on sleeping\ntogether in one room, and the quiet of the house is constantly being\nbroken by the erratic appearances of a large white rabbit, which the\ninmates are frequently engaged chasing, but are never able to find.\"\n\nMr. Stead offers no explanation. I can see no other conclusion, however,\nthan that this ghost was the actual phantasm of some rabbit that had\nbeen done to death in the house, probably by the boy whose apparition\nwas among the other manifestations seen there.\n\n\n_John Wesley's Ghost_\n\nIn his article \"More Glimpses of the Unseen\" (_Occult Review_, October,\n1906), Mr. Reginald B. Span writes:--\n\n\"During the extraordinary manifestations which occurred in the house of\nJohn Wesley at Epworth, the phantom forms of two animals appeared, one\nbeing a large white rabbit, and the other an animal like a badger, which\nused to appear in the bedrooms and run about and then disappear, whilst\nthe various bangings and rappings were at their loudest.\"\n\nThis is the only case I have ever come across of the ghost of a badger.\nI think it must be unique. Mr. Span adds: \"Many strange and inexplicable\nthings occurred in that house which were not due to any natural cause or\nreason. I remember that loud rappings used to sound round my room at\nnights, even when I had a light burning. I was often awakened by\nrappings on the floor of my bedroom, which would then sound on the walls\nand furniture, and were heard by others occupying rooms some distance\noff.\" This, again, is most interesting, as ghosts seldom visit lighted\nrooms. Mr. Span continues:--\n\n\"It was in the afternoon in broad daylight when my brother saw this\nmysterious animal.\n\n\"He was in the drawing-room alone, and as he was standing at one side of\nthe room looking at a picture on the walls, he heard a noise behind him,\nand found, on looking round, that a sofa which generally lay against\none of the walls had been lifted by some unknown power into the middle\nof the room, at the same time he saw an animal like a rabbit run from\nunder the sofa across the room and disappear into the wall. He searched\neverywhere for the animal, which could not have escaped from the room,\nas the doors and window were closed, but was unable to find any sign of\none or any hole whereby one might have passed out.\"\n\n\n_The Psychic Faculty in Hares and Rabbits_\n\nHares and rabbits are very susceptible to the superphysical, the\npresence of which they scent in the same manner as do horses and dogs.\n\nI have known them to evince the greatest symptoms of terror when brought\ninto a haunted house.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nINHABITANTS OF THE JUNGLE\n\n\n_Elephants, Lions, Tigers, etc._\n\nElephants undoubtedly possess the faculty of scenting spirits in a very\nmarked degree. It is most difficult to get an elephant to pass a spot\nwhere any phantasm is known to appear. The big beast at once comes to a\nhalt, trembles, trumpets, and turning round, can only be urged forward\nby the gentlest coaxing.\n\nJungles are full of the ghosts of slain men and animals, and afford more\nvariety in hauntings than any other localities. The spirits of such\ncruel creatures as lions, tigers, leopards, are very much earth-bound,\nand may be seen or heard night after night haunting the sites of their\nformer depredations.\n\nThe following case of a tiger ghost was narrated to me years ago by a\ngentleman whom I will style Mr. De Silva, P.W.D. I published his account\nin a popular weekly journal, as follows:--\n\n\n_The White Tiger_\n\n\"Tap! tap! tap. Someone was coming behind me. I halted, and in the\nbrilliant moonlight saw a figure hobbling along--first one thin leg,\nthen the other, always with the same measured stride--accompanied with\nthe same tapping of the stick. I had no wish for his company, though the\nroad was lonely, and I feared the presence of tigers, so I hurried on,\nand the faster I went, the nearer he seemed to come. Tap! tap! tap! The\nman was blind and a leper, and so repulsively ugly that the niggers on\nthe settlement regarded him with superstitious awe. I had a horror of\ntigers, but of lepers even greater. And I loved my wife with no ordinary\nlove. So I hurried on, and he followed quickly after me.\n\n\"The night was brilliant, even more so, I thought, than was ordinary,\nand the very brilliancy made me fear, for my shadow, the shadow of the\ntrees, shadows for which I had no name, flickered across the road, were\nlost to sight to return again, and the jungle was getting nearer. The\nopen country on either side ceased, one by one tall blades of jungle\ngrass shook their heads in the gentle breeze, and the silence of the\ndarkness beyond began to make itself felt. A night bird whizzed past me,\ncroaking out a dismal incantation from its black throat; something at\nwhich I did not care to look clattered from under a stone I loosened\nwith my foot, and sped into the shade, and I hastened on.\n\n\"Tap! tap! tap! Faster and faster, and faster came the blind man. I\ncould smell the oil on his body, hear his breathing.\n\n\"'Whoever you are, sahib, stop!'\n\n\"There was fear in his voice as he whined out these words, a fear which\nincreased my own; but I pretended not to hear, and pressed on faster.\n\n\"The darkness grew; high over my head at either side of the road waved\nthe grass, rustling to and fro, and singing to sleep the insects\nnestling on its green stalks with its old-time song of the jungle.\n\n\"The grass ahead of me slowly parted; my heart beat quicker, the tapping\nbehind me ceased--it was only some small animal. What was it? A small\nhyaena? No. A jackal, a lame jackal, and it looked at me from out of\neyes that for some reason or other made me shiver. I did not know what\nthere was about the jackal that was different from what I had seen in\nany other jackal, but there was a something. And as I looked at it in\nawe, it vanished--melted into thin air.\n\n\"The moment after a second jackal appeared just where the other one had\nbeen standing, but there was nothing remarkable about this one, and on\nmy bending down, pretending to look for a stone to throw at it, it slunk\nback silently and stealthily whence it had come, and I hurried on\nfaster than ever, knowing a tiger was near at hand.\n\n\"Tap! tap! tap! I blessed the presence of the blind man.\n\n\"'For God's sake, sahib, stop! For the love of Allah, sahib, stop!' (You\nknow how they talk, O'Donnell.) 'The jackals, did you see them? I knew\nthem by their smell, the smell of the living and of the dead. Walk with\nme, sahib, for Allah's sake.'\n\n\"Presently, O'Donnell, I heard a heavier rustling in the grass than the\nwind makes; a rustling that kept pace with me and went along by my side,\nnever halting, but faster and faster, and faster.\n\n\"A short distance ahead of me was a patch of bright light, where the\ncross-roads met. A few yards more and the jungle grass would end.\n\n\"I thought of this, O'Donnell--the beggar might not know the road so\nwell as I. He had no wife, no child; he was a leper, only a leper--and\nmy teeth chattered.\n\n\"Here the Colonel paused and wiped his forehead.\n\n\"I slackened my speed, the rustling by my side slowing down, and the\ntapping grew faster. I was close to the whitened road.\n\n\"'Sahib, the blessing of Allah be on you for stopping. Sahib, let me\nwalk by your side.'\n\n\"(To the end of my days, O'Donnell, I shall never forgive myself, and\nyet I want you to understand it was for my wife--and child.) I slunk\ninto the shade. Two steps more and the tapping would pass me. The stick\nstruck the ground within one inch of my foot; my heart almost ceased to\nbeat; I gazed in fascination at the spot in the jungle opposite. The\nheavy rustling had stopped; only the gentle sighing of the wind went on.\nThe two steps were taken, the blind man paused on the cross-roads. He\nwas ghastly in the moonlight. I shuddered. His eyes peered enquiringly\nround on all sides; he was looking for me; he had lost his way; he\nfeared the tiger.\n\n\"Suddenly something huge shot like an arrow from the darkness opposite\nme. I bowed my head, O'Donnell, and muttered a prayer, for I thought my\nend had come.\n\n\"A terrible scream rang out in the clear night air. I was saved.\n\n\"'Allah curse you and yours, sahib.'\n\n\"I opened my eyes; an enormous tiger was bending over the leper,\nsearching for the most convenient spot in his body to afford a tight\ngrip.\n\n\"The man's sightless eyes were turned towards the moon, his teeth shone\nwhite and even; with the striped horror purring in his face, he thought\nof vengeance on me.\n\n\"I dared not move. I could not pass, O'Donnell. I had no gun. The big\nbrute found a nice place to catch hold. It opened its mouth so that I\ncould see its glistening teeth. It looked down at its paws, where the\ncruel claws glittered, and they seemed to afford it keen\nsatisfaction--it was a tigress and vain--then it lowered its head, and\nthe leper shrieked. I watched it pick him up as if he were one of its\ncubs; saw the blood trickle down its soft white throat into the dusty\nroad, and then it trotted gracefully away, and was lost in the darkness\nof the jungle. There was a deathlike silence after this. I waited a few\nminutes, and then I got up.\n\n\"I had only a short distance to go, and I no longer feared the presence\nof man-eaters--there was not likely to be another. Hours afterwards,\nO'Donnell, when I lay in my hammock as safe as a fortress, I fancied I\nheard the dead man's cry, fancied I heard his curse. No one was more\ndevoted to a wife than I was to mine. Ours had been purely a love match,\nand it was against my wish that she had accompanied me to such an\nout-of-the-way place as Seconee. I told her about my adventure,\nsuppressing the leper's curse; and I was glad I did so, as she was\ngreatly distressed.\n\n\"'Thank goodness you escaped, Charlie,' she said. 'I am so sorry for the\npoor leper. I suppose you couldn't have helped him.'\n\n\"'I might have fetched my rifle,' I replied, 'and tried to rescue him,\nof course. But I fear it wouldn't have been of much avail, as he would\nhave been badly mauled by then.'\n\n\"My wife sighed. 'Ah, well,' she said, 'love is selfish! It makes one\nforget others. Still, I wouldn't have it otherwise.'\n\n\"'I wish this railway job here was over,' I murmured, sitting with my\nelbows on my knees and looking over the flat ground, sun-baked and\nbarren, away towards the dark jungles and the still darker mountains\ntowering above them; and as I gazed a shadow seemed to blur my vision\nand a voice to whisper in my ears, 'Beware of my curse.'\n\n\"I took Cushai, one of the native servants, into confidence.\n\n\"'Now, Cushai,' I said, 'you know all the superstitions of the\ncountry--the evil eye and the rest of them. Tell me, what can the dying\ncurse of a leper do?'\n\n\"Cushai turned pale under his skin.\n\n\"'Not of Nahra!' he stuttered, swinging the knife with which he had been\ncutting maize in his hand, 'not of Nahra, the leper of Futtebah. Sahib,\nif you were cursed by him, beware. He was learned in the black arts; he\ncould heal ulcers by repeating a prayer, he could bring on fever.'\n\n\"At this, O'Donnell, I turned cold. I had lived long in India. I had\nseen their so-called juggling, had experienced also strange cases of\ntelepathy, and knew quite sufficient of their intimacy with the\nsupernatural elements to be afraid.\n\n\"'You must keep the young sahib safe,' Cushai said, 'and the white lady.\nI wish it hadn't been Nahra.'\n\n\"I took his advice. My boy, Eric, was more closely supervised than ever,\nand as to my wife, I begged and entreated her not to move from the house\nuntil the tiger was dead, and I searched for it everywhere.\n\n\"The dry season passed, the wet came, and my work still kept me in\nSeconee. At times there came to us rumours of the man-eater--of another\nvictim--but it never visited our bungalow, where the bright rifle leaned\nagainst the wall waiting for it.\n\n\"I certainly did meet with slight misfortunes, which the more timid\nmight have put down to the working of the curse.\n\n\"My little finger was squashed in the laying down of a rail, and Eric\nhad several bouts of sickness.\n\n\"It was nearly a year after the leper's death that alarming rumours of a\nman-eater having been at work again were spread about us. Several\nniggers were carried off or badly bitten, and the wounded showed\nsymptoms of the loathsome disease so well known and feared by us\nall--leprosy.\n\n\"I knew from that it must be the same tiger.\n\n\"'The tiger is near,' someone would cry out, and a stampede among the\nnative workmen would ensue.\n\n\"'Why the white tiger?' I asked Cushai.\n\n\"'Because, sahib,' he replied, 'the leprosy has made it so! Tigers, like\nmen, and all other animals, go white even to their hair. I have not told\nthem the story, sahib; they only know it must have caught the leprosy.\nTo them Nahra is still living.'\n\n\"Then, O'Donnell, when I thought of what was at stake, and of all the\nhideous possibilities the presence of this brute created, I took my\nrifle and went out to search for it. In the evenings, when the dark\nclouds from the mountains descended and the wind hissed through the\njungle grass, I plodded along with no other companion than my Winchester\nrepeater--searching, always searching for the damned tiger. I found it,\nO'Donnell, came upon it just as it was in the midst of a meal--dining\noff a native--and I shot it twice before it recovered from its\nastonishment at seeing me. The second shot took effect--I can swear to\nthat, for I took particular note of the red splash of blood on its\nforehead where the bullet entered, and I went right up to it to make\nsure. As God is above us, no animal was more dead.\n\n\"'The curse won't come now, Cushai,' I said, laughing. 'I've killed the\nwhite tiger.'\n\n\"'Killed the white tiger, sahib! Allah bless you for that!' Cushai\nreplied.\n\n\"'But don't laugh too soon. Nahra was a clever man, wonderfully clever;\nhe did not speak empty words,' and as his eyes wandered to the dark\nhills again I fancied a shadow darted along the sky, and the curse came\nback to my ears.\n\n\"I was superintending the line one afternoon; the backs of the niggers\nwere bending double under the burden of the great iron rods when I heard\na terrible cry.\n\n\"'The white tiger! the white tiger!' Rods fell with a crash, spades\nfollowed suit, a chorus of shrieks filled the air, and legs scampered\noff in all directions. I was fifty yards from my rifle, and a huge\ncreature was slowly approaching between it and me.\n\n\"I could hardly believe my eyes--the white tiger, the tiger I knew I had\nkilled! Here it was! Here before me! The same in every detail, and yet\nin some strange, indefinable manner not the same. On it came, a huge\npatch of luminous white, noiselessly, stealthily--the mark of the bullet\nplainly visible on its big, flat forehead. Step by step it approached\nme, its paws no longer with the colouring of health, but dull and worn.\nAnd as it came, the cold shadow of desolation seemed to fall around it.\nNothing stirred; there was no noise whatever, not even the sound of its\nfeet crushing the loosened soil. On, on, on nearer, nearer and nearer.\n\n\"Shunned by all, avoided by its fellow-creatures of the jungle, a blight\nto all and everything, it drew in a line with me. Not once did its eyes\nmeet mine, O'Donnell; not once did it glare at the natives who were\nhiding on the banks of the cutting; but it stole silently on its way\nwith a something in its movements that left no doubt but that it was\nengaged in no casual venture. I remembered, O'Donnell, that my wife had\npromised to come with Eric to meet me along the cutting, as she was sure\nno tiger would be there. I ran as fast as I could, and yet somehow my\nfeet seemed weighted down. I cursed my folly for not forbidding my wife\nto come.\n\n\"It was uphill till I got to the bend, and it might have been a\nmountain, it seemed so steep. I knew if the thing I had seen met them a\nlittle farther on, they would be cornered, as the cutting narrowed very\nmuch, leaving not more than twenty yards, and that was a generous\nestimate. At last, after what seemed an eternity, I reached the summit\nof the slope; the tiger was a mere speck along the line. I rushed after\nit as fast as I could go, stumbling, half falling, pulling myself\ntogether, and tearing on, and the faster I went the quicker moved the\ngreat white figure. A feeling of despair seized me; all my fondness for\nmy wife became intensified tenfold, and was revealed to me then in its\ntrue nature; she was the one great tie that made life dear to me. Even\nmy love for Eric paled away before the blinding affection I bore her. I\ntore madly on, shouting at the same time, anything to make the white\ntiger aware of my presence, to keep it from seeing her. Another bend in\nthe road hid it from view. The same hideous fears gripped me hard and\nfast, as I strained every muscle in the mad pursuit. At last I ran round\nthe curve, and saw before me the tableau I had dreaded. The tiger was\ncrouching, ready to spring on the group of three--Eva, Eric and the\nayah. They were paralysed with fear, and stood on the rails staring at\nit, unable to move or utter a sound. I well understood their feelings,\nand knew they were labouring in their minds as to whether the thing that\nconfronted them was a creature of flesh and blood, or what it was. They\ncould not take their eyes off it, and, as a consequence, did not see me.\nThe white tiger now went through a series of actions, so lifelike that I\ncould not but believe it was real, and that I had been deceived in\nthinking I had killed it. Its haunches quivered, it got ready to spring,\nand my rifle flew to my shoulder. I saw it mark Eric, and read the\nincreased agony in my wife's eyes. The critical moment came. Another\nsecond, and the thing, be it material or supernatural, would jump. I\nmust fire at all costs. If mortal, I must kill it, if ghostly, the noise\nof my rifle might dematerialize it. And, as God is my judge, O'Donnell,\nat that moment I had not the least idea which of it was--tiger or\nphantom. It sprang--my brain reeled--my fingers grew numb, and as my\nwife suddenly bounded forward, the shadowy form of Nahra seemed to rise\nfrom the ground and mock me. With a supreme effort I jerked my finger\nback and fired. Bang! The sound of the explosion acted like a\nsafety-valve to the pent-up feelings of all, and there was a chorus of\nshrieks. I rushed forward--the ayah lay on the ground, face downward and\nmotionless. My wife had hold of Eric, who was shaking all over. Of the\ntiger there were no signs. It had completely vanished.\n\n\"'Thank God,' I exclaimed, kissing my wife feverishly. 'Thank God! It\nwas only a ghost! but it was very alarming, wasn't it?'\n\n\"'Alarming!' my wife gasped, 'it was awful! I quite thought it was real!\nso did Eric, and so did ---- '--then her eyes fell on the ayah, and she\ngave a great start. 'Charlie!' she cried, 'for mercy's sake look at her!\nI dare not! Is she all right?'\n\n\"I turned the ayah over--she was dead! Fright had killed her!\n\n\"I then told my wife of the curse of Nahra, and of the phantom I thought\nI had seen of him, when the white tiger was springing. When I had\nfinished, my wife hid her face in my shoulder.\n\n\"'Charlie!' she said, 'I did something awful. I saw what I then took to\nbe the real white tiger single out Eric, and in my anxiety to save him\nfrom the brute, I pushed the ayah in front of him. And the thing sprang\non her instead. It was nothing short of murder! And yet--well, there\nwere extenuating circumstances, weren't there?'\n\n\"'Of course there were,' I said--for I verily believed, O'Donnell, fear\nhad, for the time being, turned her brain.\n\n\"On our way home she suddenly called my attention to Eric.\n\n\"'Charlie,' she cried, 'what's that mark on his cheek? He's hurt!'\n\n\"I looked--and my heart turned sick within me. On the boy's cheek was a\nfaint red scratch, just as might have been caused by a slight, very\nslight contact with some animal's claw.\n\n\"'Sahib!' Cushai whispered to me, when he saw it and heard of our\nadventure. 'Sahib! Beware! Nahra was a clever man. He must have used the\nspirit of the white tiger as his tool. Let the medicine man examine the\nscar.'\n\n\"I did so. I took Eric to a Dr. Nicholson, who lived close by.\n\n\"He looked at the wound curiously for a few moments, and then said to\nme--he was renowned for his plain speaking--'Mr. De Silva, there's no\nuse beating about the bush, and prolonging the agony unnecessarily for\nyou and your wife. The boy's got leprosy--God alone knows how! At the\nmost he may live six weeks.'\n\n\"The shock, of course, was terrible. Eric had to be isolated from\neveryone--even from those who loved him best--and died within a month.\n\n\"'Sahib, I knew!' Cushai said to me the day of the funeral, 'I knew some\ndisaster would befall you. Nahra was a wonderful man, and his curse had\nto be fulfilled. You may rest assured, however, nothing further will\nbefall you, for I saw Nahra in a vision this morning, and he told me\nboth his and the white tiger's spirit were now on friendly terms, and\nwould trouble you no more.'\n\n\"My wife and I left the place at once, and for a long time I lived in a\nhell of suspense lest she should develop the infernal disease. By a\nmerciful providence, however, she did no such thing, but, on the\ncontrary, picked up in health in the most marvellous fashion; indeed,\nshe only told me yesterday, she felt better than she had done for years.\nI've told you the story, O'Donnell--and it is true in every\ndetail--because it goes a long way to substantiate your theory that\nanimals, as well as human beings, have a future life.\"\n\n\"I am absolutely sure they have!\" I replied.\n\n\n_Jungle Animals and Psychic Faculties_\n\nIt is, of course, impossible to say whether animals of the jungle\npossess psychic faculties, without putting them to the test, and this,\nfor obvious reasons, is extremely difficult. But since I have found that\nsuch properties are possessed--in varying degree--by all animals I have\ntested, it seems only too probable that bears and tigers, and all beasts\nof prey, are similarly endowed.\n\nIt would be interesting to experiment with a beast of prey in a haunted\nlocality; to observe to what extent it would be aware of the advent of\nthe Unknown, and to note its behaviour in the actual presence of the\nphenomena.\n\n\n\n\nPART III\n\nBIRDS AND THE UNKNOWN\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nBIRDS AND THE UNKNOWN\n\n\nAs Edgar Allan Poe has suggested in his immortal poem of \"The Raven,\"\nthere is a strong link between certain species of birds and the Unknown.\n\nWe all know that vultures, kites and crows scent dead bodies from a\ngreat way off, but we don't all know that these and other kinds of birds\npossess, in addition, the psychic property of scenting the advent not\nonly of the phantom of death, but of many, if not, indeed, all other\nspirits. Within my knowledge there have been cases when, before a death\nin the house, ravens, jackdaws, canaries, magpies, and even parrots,\nhave shown unmistakable signs of uneasiness and distress. The raven has\ncroaked in a high-pitched, abnormal key; the jackdaw and canary have\nbecome silent and dejected, from time to time shivering; the magpie even\nhas feigned death; the parrot has shrieked incessantly. Owls, too, are\nsure predictors of death, and may be heard hooting in the most doleful\nmanner outside the house of anyone doomed to die shortly.\n\nIn an article entitled \"Psychic Records,\" the editor of the _Occult\nReview_ (in the August number, 1905) supplies the following anecdotes of\nghosts of birds furnished him by his correspondents.\n\n\"In the autumn of 1877 my husband was lying seriously ill with rheumatic\nfever, and I had sat up several nights. At last the doctors insisted on\nmy going to bed; and very unwillingly I retired to a spare room. While\nundressing I was surprised to see a very large white bird come from the\nfireplace, make a hovering circle round me, and finally go to the top of\na large double chest of drawers. I was too tired to trouble about it,\nand thought I would let it remain until morning. The next morning I said\nto the housemaid:\n\n\"'There was a large bird in the spare room last night, which flew to the\ntop of the drawers. See that it is put out.'\n\n\"The nurse, who was present, said:\n\n\"'Oh, dear, ma'am, I am afraid that is an omen, and means the master\nwon't live,' and she was confirmed in her opinion by the maid saying she\nhad searched, and there was no trace of any bird.\n\n\"I was quite angry, as my husband was decidedly better, had slept\nthrough the night, and we thought the crisis had passed. I went to his\nbedside and found him quietly sleeping, but he never woke, and in about\nan hour passed quietly away.\n\n\"I thought no more of the bird, fancying I must have been mistaken from\nbeing overtired.\n\n\"Some months after my husband's death my youngest little one was born;\nhe lived for twelve months, and then had an attack of bronchitis. He\nslept in a cot in my room, and I was undressing one night, when this\nsame large white bird came from his cot, floated round me, and\ndisappeared in the fireplace. At the time I did not for a moment think\nof it as anything but a strange coincidence, and in no way connected it\nwith baby's illness.\n\n\"The next morning I was sitting by the drawing-room fire with baby on my\nlap. The doctor came in, looked at him, sounded his chest, and\npronounced him much better. As he was a friend of the family, he sat\ndown on the other side of the fireplace and was chatting in an ordinary\nway, when he suddenly jumped up with an exclamation, 'Why, what does\nthis mean?' and took the child from my arms quite dead!\n\n\"For two years we saw nothing more of the white bird, and we had moved\nto another place.\n\n\"One day I was in my room, and my two little girls, aged six and eight,\nwere standing at the window watching a kitten in the garden, when\nsuddenly the youngest cried out:\n\n\"'Oh, mamma! Look at that great white bird,' putting her hands as if to\ncatch it, exactly in the way it flies round one.\n\n\"I saw nothing, and the elder child said, 'Don't be silly, Jessie; there\nis no bird.'\n\n\"'But there is,' said the child. 'Don't you see? There, look! There it\nis!'\n\n\"I looked at my watch. It was twenty minutes past three.\n\n\"Two days after we received the news that a niece of mine had died at\ntwenty minutes past three. The children had never known anything of the\nformer appearances, as we had never talked about it before them. We have\nseen nothing since of the bird, but have for some years had no death in\nthe family.\"\n\nSo runs the article in the _Occult Review_, and I can corroborate it\nwith similar experiences that have happened to my friends and to me.\n\nSome years ago, for instance, a great friend of my wife's died, and on\nthe day of the funeral a large bird tried to fly in at the window of the\nroom where the corpse lay; while, shortly afterwards, an exactly similar\nbird visited the window of my wife's and my room in a house, several\nhundreds of miles away. If it was only a coincidence, it was a very\nextraordinary one.\n\nThen again, this spring, just before the death of one of my wife's\nrelatives, a large bird flew violently against the window-pane behind\nwhich my wife was sitting--an incident that had never happened to her in\nthat house before.\n\nUndoubtedly, spirits in the guise of birds--most probably they are the\nphantasms of birds that have actually once lived on the material\nplane--are the messengers of death.\n\n\n_A Case of Bird haunting in East Russia_\n\nSome years ago the neighbourhood of Orskaia, in East Russia, was roused\nby an affair of a very remarkable nature. The body of a handsome young\npeasant woman, called Marthe Popenkoff, was found in a lonely part of\nthe road, between Orskaia and Orenburg, with the skin of her face and\nbody shockingly torn and lacerated, but without there being any wounds\ndeep enough to cause her death, which the doctor attributed to syncope.\n\nThe people of Orskaia, not satisfied with this verdict, declared Marthe\nhad been murdered, and made such a loud clamour that the editor of the\nlocal paper at last voiced their sentiments in the _East Russia\nChronicle_. It was then that M. Durant, a smart young French engineer,\ntemporarily residing in those parts, became interested in the case, and\ndecided to investigate it thoroughly. With this end in view he wrote to\nhis friend M. Hersant--a keen student of the Occult--in Saratova, to\njoin him, and three days after the despatch of his letter met the latter\nat the Orskaia railway station. M. Durant retailed the case as they\ndrove to his house.\n\n\"It is a remarkable affair, in every way,\" he said. \"The woman was\nleading a perfectly respectable married life; she was hard-working and\nindustrious, and beyond the fact that she was over-indulgent to her\nchildren, does not seem to have had any serious faults. As far as I can\nascertain she had no enemies.\"\n\n\"Nor secret lovers?\" M. Hersant asked.\n\n\"No; she was quite straight.\"\n\n\"And you feel sure she was murdered?\"\n\n\"I do. Public opinion so strongly favours that view.\"\n\n\"Did you see the marks on the woman?\"\n\n\"I did, and could make nothing of them. After supper I will take you to\nsee her, in the morgue.\"\n\n\"What--she is still unburied?\"\n\n\"Yes--but there is nothing unusual about that. In these parts bodies\nare often kept for ten days--sometimes even longer.\"\n\nM. Durant was as good as his word; after they had partaken of a somewhat\nhasty meal, they set out to the morgue, where they made a careful\ninspection of the poor woman's remains.\n\nM. Hersant examined the marks on the woman's body very closely with his\nmagnifying-glass.\n\n\"Ah!\" he suddenly exclaimed, bending down and almost touching the corpse\nwith his nose, \"Ah!\"\n\n\"Have you made a discovery?\" M. Durant enquired.\n\n\"I prefer not to say at present,\" M. Hersant replied. \"I should like to\nsee the spot where this body was found--now.\"\n\n\"We will go there at once,\" M. Durant rejoined.\n\nThe scene of the tragedy was the Orenburg road, at the foot of two\nlittle hills; and on either side were the sloping fields, yellow with\nthe nodding corn.\n\n\"That is the exact place where she lay,\" M. Durant said, indicating with\nhis finger a dark patch on a little wooden bridge spanning a stream,\nwithin a stone's throw of a tumbledown mill-house, all overgrown with\nivy and lichens. M. Hersant looked round and sniffed the air with his\nnostrils.\n\n\"There is an air of loneliness about this spot,\" he remarked, \"that in\nitself suggests crime. If this were an ordinary murder, one could well\nimagine the assassin was aided in his diabolical work by the\nconfiguration of the land which, shelving as it does, slips down into\nthe narrow valley, so as to preclude any possibility of escape on the\npart of the victim. The place seems especially designed by Providence as\na death-trap. Let us have a look at the interior of this building.\"\n\n\"The police have searched it thoroughly,\" M. Durant said.\n\n\"I've no doubt,\" M. Hersant replied drily. \"No one knows better than I\nwhat the thoroughness of the police means.\"\n\nThey entered the premises cautiously, since the roof was in a rickety\ncondition, and any slight concussion might dislodge an avalanche of\nstones and plaster. While M. Durant stood glancing round him rather\nimpatiently, M. Hersant made a careful scrutiny of the walls.\n\n\"Humph,\" he said at last. \"As you so rightly observed, Henri, this is a\nremarkable case. I have finished my investigation for to-night. Let us\nbe going home. To-morrow I should like to visit Marthe's home.\"\n\nThis conversation took place shortly before midnight; some six hours\nlater all Orskaia was ringing with the news that Marthe Popenkoff's\nthree children had all been found dead in their beds, their faces and\nbodies lacerated in exactly the same manner as their mother's. There\nseemed to be no doubt now that Marthe had been murdered, and the\npopulace cried shame on the police; for the assassin was still at large.\nThey agreed that the murderer could be no other than Peter Popenkoff,\nand the editor of the local paper repeating these statements, Peter\nPopenkoff was duly charged with the crimes, and arrested. He was\npronounced guilty by all excepting M. Hersant; and of course M. Hersant\nthought him guilty, too; only he liked to think differently from anyone\nelse.\n\n\"I don't want to commit myself,\" was all they could get out of him. \"I\nmay have something to say later on.\"\n\nM. Durant laughed and shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"It, undoubtedly, is Peter Popenkoff,\" he observed. \"I had an idea that\nhe was the culprit all along.\"\n\nBut a day or two later, Peter Popenkoff was found dead in prison with\nthe skin on his face and hands all torn to shreds.\n\n\"There! Didn't we say so?\" cried the inconsequent mob. \"Peter Popenkoff\nwas innocent. One of the police themselves is the murderer.\"\n\n\"Come, you must acknowledge that we are on the right track now--it is\none of the police,\" M. Durant said to his friend.\n\nBut M. Hersant only shook his head.\n\n\"I acknowledge nothing of the sort,\" he said. \"Come with me to the\nmill-house to-night, and I will then tell you what I think.\"\n\nTo this proposition M. Durant willingly agreed, and, accompanied by his\nfriend and the village priest, set off. On their arrival, M. Hersant\nproduced a big compass, and on the earth floor of the mill-house drew a\nlarge circle, in which he made with white chalk various signs and\nsymbols. He then sat in the middle of it, and bade his two companions\nstand in the doorway and watch. The night grew darker and darker, and\npresently into the air stole a something that all three men at once\nrealized was supernatural. M. Hersant coughed nervously, the priest\ncrossed himself, and M. Durant called out, \"This is getting ridiculous.\nThese mediaeval proceedings are too absurd. Let us go home.\" The next\nmoment, from the far distance, a church clock began to strike. It was\nmidnight, and an impressive silence fell on the trio. Then there came a\nnoise like the flutterings of wings, a loud, blood-curdling scream, half\nhuman and half animal, and a huge black owl, whirling down from the roof\nof the building, perched in the circle directly in front of M. Hersant.\n\n\"Pray, Father! Pray quickly,\" M. Hersant whispered. \"Pray for the dead,\nand sprinkle the circle with holy water.\"\n\nThe priest, as well as his trembling limbs would allow, obeyed;\nwhereupon the bird instantly vanished.\n\n\"For Heaven's sake,\" M. Durant gasped, \"tell us what it all means.\"\n\n\"Only this,\" M. Hersant said solemnly, \"the phantasm we saw caused the\ndeath of the Popenkoff family. It is the spirit of an owl that the\nchildren, encouraged by their parents, killed in a most cruel manner. As\nsoon as I examined Marthe's body, I perceived the mutilations were due\nto a bird; and when I visited this mill on the eve of my arrival, I knew\nthat a bird had once lived here; that it had been captured with lime and\nmurdered, and that it haunted the place.\"\n\n\"How could you know that?\" the priest exclaimed in astonishment.\n\n\"I am clairvoyant. I saw the bird's ghost as it appeared to us just now.\nAfterwards I enquired of the Popenkoffs' neighbours, and the information\nI gathered fully confirmed my suspicions--that the unfortunate bird had\nbeen put to death in a most barbarous manner. The deaths of the three\nchildren laid to rest any doubt I may have had with regard to the\nsuperphysical playing a part in the death of Marthe. Then when her\nbetter-half had been served likewise, I was certain that all five\npseudo-murders were wholly and solely acts of retribution, and that they\nwere perpetrated--I am inclined to think involuntarily--by the spirit of\nthe owl itself. Accordingly, I decided to hold a seance here--here in\nits old haunt, and if possible to put an end to the earth-bound\ncondition and wanderings of the soul of the unhappy bird. Thanks to\nFather Mickledoff we have done so, and there will be no more so-called\nmurders near Orskaia.\"\n\n\n_Hauntings by the Phantasms of Birds_\n\nOne of the most curious cases of hauntings by the phantasms of birds\nhappened towards the end of the eighteenth century in a church not\ntwenty miles from London. The sexton started the rumours, declaring that\nhe had heard strange noises, apparently proceeding from certain vaults\ncontaining the tombs of two old and distinguished families. The noises,\nwhich generally occurred on Friday nights, most often took the form of\nmockings, suggesting to some of the listeners--the enaction of a murder,\nand to others merely the flapping of wings.\n\nThe case soon attracted considerable attention, people flocking to the\nchurch from all over the country-side, and it was not long before\ncertain persons came forward and declared they had ascertained the cause\nof the disturbance. The churchwarden, sexton, and his wife and others\nall swore to seeing a huge crow pecking and clawing at the coffins in\nthe vaults, and flying about the chancel of the church, and perching on\nthe communion rails. When they tried to seize it, it immediately\nvanished.\n\nAn old lady, who came of a family of well-to-do yeomen, and who lived\nnear the church about that time, said that the people in the town had\nfor many years been convinced the church there was haunted by the\nphantom of a bird, which they believed to be the earth-bound soul of a\nmurderer, who, owing to his wealth, was interred in the churchyard,\ninstead of being buried at the cross-roads with the customary wooden\nstake driven through the middle of his body. This belief of the yokels\nreceived some corroboration from a neighbouring squire, who said he had\nseen the phantasm, and was quite positive it was the earth-bound soul of\na criminal whose family history was known to him, and whose remains lay\nin the churchyard.\n\nThis is all the information that I have been able to gather on the\nsubject, but it is enough to, at least, suggest the church was, at one\ntime, haunted by the phantom of a bird, but whether the earth-bound soul\nof a murderer taking that guise, or the spirit of an actual dead bird,\nit is impossible to say.\n\n\n_The Ghost of an Evil Bird_\n\nHenry Spicer, in his _Strange Things Amongst Us_, tells the story of a\nCaptain Morgan, an honourable and vivacious gentleman, who, arriving in\nLondon in 18--, puts up for the night in a large, old-fashioned hotel.\nThe room in which he slept was full of heavy, antique furniture,\nreminiscent of the days of King George I, one of the worst periods in\nmodern English history for crime. Despite, however, his grimly\nsuggestive surroundings, Captain Morgan quickly got into bed and was\nsoon asleep. He was abruptly awakened by the sound of flapping, and, on\nlooking up, he saw a huge black bird with outstretched wings and fiery\nred eyes perched on the rail at the foot of the four-poster bed.\n\nThe creature flew at him and endeavoured to peck his eyes. Captain\nMorgan resisted, and after a desperate struggle succeeded in driving it\nto a sofa in the corner of the room, where it settled down and regarded\nhim with great fear in its eyes. Determined to destroy it, he flung\nhimself on the top of it, when, to his surprise and terror, it\nimmediately crumbled into nothingness. He left the house early next\nmorning, convinced that what he had seen was a ghost, but Mr. Spicer\noffers no explanation as to how one should classify the phenomenon.\n\nIt may have been the earth-bound spirit of the criminal or viciously\ninclined person who had once lived there, or it may have been the\nphantom of an actual bird. Either alternative is feasible.\n\nI have heard there is an old house near Poole, in Dorset, and another in\nEssex, which were formerly haunted by spectral birds, and that as late\nas 1860 the phantasm of a bird, many times the size of a raven, was so\nfrequently seen by the inmates of a house in Dean Street, Soho, that\nthey eventually grew quite accustomed to it. But bird hauntings are not\nconfined to houses, and are far more often to be met with out of doors;\nindeed there are very few woods, and moors, and commons that are not\nsubjected to them. I have constantly seen the spirits of all manner of\nbirds in the parks in Dublin and London. Greenwich Park, in particular,\nis full of them.\n\n\n_Addendum to Birds and the Unknown_\n\nThough their unlovely aspect and solitary mode of life may in some\nmeasure account for the prejudice and suspicion with which the owl,\ncrow, raven, and one or two other birds have always been regarded, there\nare undoubtedly other and more subtle reasons for their unpopularity.\n\nThe ancients without exception credited these birds with psychic\nproperties.\n\n\"Ignarres bubo dirum mortalibus omen,\" said Ovid; whilst speaking of the\nfatal prognostications of the crow Virgil wrote:\n\n     \"Saepe sinistra cava praedixit ab ilice cornix.\"\n\nA number of crows are stated to have fluttered about Cicero's head on\nthe day he was murdered.\n\nPliny says, \"These birds, crows and rooks, all of them keep much\nprattling, and are full of chat, which most men take for an unlucky sign\nand presage of ill-fortune.\"\n\nRamesay, in his work _Elminthologia_ (1688), writes:\n\n\"If a crow fly over the house and croak thrice, how do they fear they,\nor someone else in the family, shall die.\"\n\nThe bittern is also a bird of ill omen. Alluding to this bird, Bishop\nHall once said:\n\n\"If a bittern flies over this man's head by night, he will make his\nwill\"; whilst Sir Humphry Davy wrote:\n\n\"I know a man of very high dignity who was exceedingly moved by omens,\nand who never went out shooting without a bittern's claw fastened to his\nbutton-hole by a riband, which he thought ensured him 'good luck.'\"\n\nRavens and swallows both, at times, prognosticate death. In Lloyd's\n_Stratagems of Jerusalem_ (1602) he says:\n\n\"By swallows lighting upon Pirrhus' tents, and lighting upon the mast of\nMar. Antonius' ship, sailing after Cleopatra to Egypt, the soothsayers\ndid prognosticate that Pirrhus should be slaine at Argos in Greece, and\nMar. Antonius in Egypt.\"\n\nHe alludes to swallows following Cyrus from Persia to Scythia, from\nwhich the \"wise men\" foretold his death. Ravens followed Alexander the\nGreat from India to Babylon, which was regarded by all who saw them as a\nfatal sign.\n\n\"'Tis not for nought that the raven sings now on my left and, croaking,\nhas once scraped the earth with his feet,\" wrote Plautus.\n\nOther references to the same bird are as follows:\n\n     \"The raven himself is hoarse\n     That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan\n     Under my battlements.\"--(_Macbeth._)\n\n     \"It comes o'er my memory\n     As doth the raven o'er the infected house,\n     Boding to all.\"--(_Othello._)\n\n     \"That tolls\n     The sick man's passport in her hollow beak,\n     And in the shadow of the silent night\n     Doth shake contagion from her sable wings.\"\n     (_Jew of Malta._)\n\n  \"Is it not ominous in all countries where crows\n  and ravens croak upon trees?\"--(_Hudibras._)\n\n     \"The boding raven on her cottage sat,\n     And with hoarse croakings warned us of our fate.\"\n     (_The Dirge._)\n\n\"In Cornwall,\" writes Mr. Hunt, in his work on popular beliefs, etc., of\nthe West of England, \"it is believed that the croaking of a raven over\nthe house bodes evil to some of the family. The following incident,\ngiven to me by a really intelligent man, illustrates the feeling:\n\n\"'One day our family were much annoyed by the continual croaking of a\nraven over the house. Some of us believed it to be a token; others\nderided the idea. But one good lady, our next-door neighbour, said:\n\n\"'\"Just mark the day, and see if something does not come of it.\"\n\n\"'The day and hour were carefully noted. Months passed away, and\nunbelievers were loud in their boastings and enquiries after the token.\nThe fifth month arrived, and with it a black-edged letter from\nAustralia, announcing the death of one of the members of the family in\nthat country. On comparing the dates of the death and the raven's croak,\nthey were found to have occurred on the same day.'\"\n\nIn an old number of _Notes and Queries_ a correspondent relates that in\nSomersetshire the appearance of a single jackdaw is regarded as a sure\nprognostication of evil. He goes on to add that the men employed in the\nquarries in the Avon Gorge, Clifton, Bristol, had more than once noticed\na jackdaw perched on the chain that spanned the river, prior to some\ncatastrophe among them.\n\nDead magpies were once hung over the doorways of haunted houses to keep\naway ghosts; it being almost universally believed that all phantasms\nshared the same dread of this bird. Ghosts of magpies themselves are,\nhowever, far from uncommon; on Dartmoor and Exmoor, for example, I have\nseen several of them, generally in the immediate vicinity of bogs or\ndeep holes.\n\nWitches were much attached to this bird, and were said to often assume\nits shape after death.\n\n\"Magpies,\" says Mr. William Jones, in his _Credulities, Past and\nPresent_, \"are mysterious everywhere. A lady living near Carlstad, in\nSweden, grievously offended a farm woman who came into the court of her\nhouse asking for food. The woman was told 'to take that magpie hanging\nupon the wall and eat it.' She took the bird and disappeared, with an\nevil glance at the lady, who had been so ill-advised as to insult a\nFinn, whose magical powers, it is well known, far exceed those of the\ngipsies.\" (Other authorities corroborate this statement; and I have\nheard it said that the Finns can surpass even the famous tricks of the\nIndians.) Mr. Jones, in the same story, says: \"Presently the number\nincreased, and the lady, who at first had been amused, became troubled,\nand tried to drive them away by various devices. All was to no purpose.\nShe could not move without a large company of magpies; and they became\nat length so daring as to hop on her shoulder.\" (This reads like\nhallucination. However, as I have heard of similar cases, in which there\nhas been no doubt as to the objectivity of the phenomena, I see no\nreason why these magpies should not have been objective too.) \"Then she\ntook to her bed in a room with closed shutters, although even this was\nnot an effectual protection, for the magpies kept tapping at the\nshutters day and night.\" Mr. Jones adds: \"The lady's death is not\nrecorded; but it is fully expected that, die when she may, all the\nmagpies of Wermland will be present at her funeral.\"\n\nThere is a house in Great Russell Street, W.C., where the hauntings take\nthe form of a magpie that taps at one of the windows every morning\nbetween two and three, and then appears inside the room, perched on what\nlooks like a huge alpine stick, suspended horizontally in the air, about\nseven feet from the floor. The moment a sound is made the apparition\nvanishes. It is thought to be the spirit of a magpie that was done to\ndeath in a very cruel manner in that room many years ago. There is a\nstory current to the effect that a lady, when visiting the British\nMuseum one day, happened to pass some slighting remark about one of the\nEgyptian mummy cases (not the notorious one), and that on quitting the\nbuilding she felt a sharp peck on her neck. She put up her hand to the\ninjured part, and felt the distinct impression of a bird's claw on it.\nShe could see nothing, however. That night--and for every succeeding\nnight for six weeks--she was awakened at two o'clock by the phantom of\nan enormous magpie that fluttered over the bed, and was clearly visible\nto herself and her sister. The phenomenon worried her so that she became\nill, and was eventually ordered abroad. She went to Cairo and enjoyed a\nbrief respite; the hauntings, however, began again, and this time became\nso persistent that she at last lost her reason, and had to be brought\nhome and confined in a private asylum, where she shortly afterwards\ndied. Though I cannot vouch for the truth of this story, I do think it\nis somewhat risky to make fun of certain of the Egyptian relics in the\nMuseum. They may be haunted by something infinitely more alarming than\nthe ghosts of magpies. There are many sayings respecting the magpie as a\nharbinger of ill luck. In Lancashire, for example, there is this rhyme:\n\n     \"One for anger, two for mirth,\n     Three for a wedding, four for a birth,\n     Five for rich, six for poor,\n     Seven for a witch, I dare tell you no more.\"\n\nFrom further north comes this couplet:\n\n     \"Magpie, magpie, chatter and flee,\n     Turn up thy tail, and good luck fall me.\"\n\nRooks, again, are very psychic birds; they always leave their haunts\nnear an old house shortly before a death takes place in it, because\ntheir highly developed psychic faculty of scent enables them to detect\nthe advent of the phantom of death, of which they have the greatest\nhorror. A rook is of great service, when investigating haunted houses,\nas it nearly always gives warning of the appearance of the Unknown by\nviolent flappings of the wings, loud croaking, and other unmistakable\nsymptoms of terror.\n\nOwls, though no less sensitive to superphysical influence, are not\nscared by it; they and bats, alone among the many kinds of animals I\nhave tested, take up their abode in haunted localities, and with the\nutmost sang-froid appear to enjoy the presence of the Unknown, even in\nits most terrifying form.\n\nThe owl has been associated with the darker side of the Unknown longer\nthan any other bird.\n\n\"Solaque, culminibus ferali carmine bubo. Saepe queri et longas in\nfletum ducere voces,\" writes Virgil.\n\nPliny, in describing this bird, says, \"bubo funebris et maxime\nabominatus\"; whilst Chaucer writes: \"The owl eke that of death the bode\nybringeth.\"\n\nIn the Arundel family a white owl is said to be a sure indication of\ndeath.\n\nThat Shakespeare attached no little importance to the fatal crying of\nthe bird may be gathered from the scene in _Macbeth_, when the murderer\nasks:\n\n\"Didst thou not hear a noise?\" and Lady Macbeth answers:\n\n\"I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry\"; and the scene in _Richard\nIII_, where Richard interrupts a messenger of evil news with the words:\n\n\"Out on ye, owls! Nothing but songs of death?\"\n\nGray speaks of \"moping\" owls; Chatterton exclaims, \"Harke! the dethe\nowle loude dothe synge\"; whilst Hogarth introduces the same bird in the\nmurder scene of his _Four Stages of Cruelty_.\n\nNor is the belief in the sinister prophetic properties of the owl\nconfined to the white races; we find it everywhere--among the Red\nIndians. West Africans, Siamese, and Aborigines of Australia.\n\nIn Cornwall, and in other corners of the country, the crowing of a cock\nat midnight was formerly regarded as indicating the passage of death\nover the house; also if a cock crew at a certain hour for two or three\nnights in succession, it was thought to be a sure sign of early death to\nsome member of the household. In _Notes and Queries_ a correspondent\nremarks that crowing hens are not uncommon, that their crow is very\nsimilar to the crow of a very young cock, and must be taken as a certain\npresagement of some dire calamity.\n\nIt was generally held that in all haunted localities the ghosts would at\nonce vanish--not to appear again till the following night--at the first\ncrowing of the cock after midnight. I believe there is a certain amount\nof truth in this--at all events cocks, as I myself have proved, are\ninvariably sensitive to the presence of the superphysical.\n\nThe whistler is also a very psychic bird. Spenser, in his _Faerie\nQueene_ (Book II, canto xii, st. 31), alludes to it thus:--\n\n     \"The whistler shrill, that whoso hears doth die\";\n\nwhilst Sir Walter Scott refers to it in a similar sense in his _Lady of\nthe Lake_.\n\nThe yellow-hammer was formerly the object of much persecution, since it\nwas believed that it received three drops of the devil's blood on its\nfeather every May morning, and never appeared without presaging ill\nluck. Parrots do not appear to be very susceptible to the influence of\nthe Unknown, and indicate little or no dread of superphysical\ndemonstrations.\n\nDoves, wrens, and robins are birds of good omen, and the many\nsuperstitions regarding them are all associated with good luck. Doves, I\nhave found in particular, are very safe psychic barometers in haunted\nhouses.\n\nIt is almost universally held to be unlucky to kill a robin. A\ncorrespondent of _Notes and Queries_ (Fourth Series, vol. viii, p. 505)\nremarks:\n\n\"I took the following down from the mouth of a young miner:\n\n\"'My father killed a robin and had terrible bad luck after it. He had at\nthat time a pig which was ready for pipping; she had a litter of seven,\nand they all died. When the pig was killed the two hams went bad;\npresently three of the family had a fever, and my father himself died of\nit. The neighbours said it was all through killing the robin.'\"\n\nGeorge Smith, in his _Six Pastorals_ (1770), says:\n\n     \"I found a robin's nest within our shed,\n     And in the barn a wren has young ones bred;\n     I never take away their nest, nor try\n     To catch the old ones, lest a friend should die.\n     Dick took a wren's nest from the cottage side,\n     And ere a twelvemonth pass'd his mother dy'd!\"\n\nIn Yorkshire it was once firmly believed that if a robin were killed,\nthe cows belonging to the family of the destroyer of the bird would,\nfor some time, only give bloody milk. At one time--and, perhaps, even\nnow--the robin and wren, out of sheer pity, used to cover the bodies of\nthose that died in the woods with leaves.\n\nWebster, in his _Tragedy of Vittoria Corombona_ (1612), refers to this\ntouching habit of these birds thus:\n\n     \"Call for the robin redbreast and the wren,\n     Since o'er the shady groves they hover,\n     And with leaves and flowers do cover\n     The friendless bodies of unburied men.\"\n\nNot so harmless is the stormy petrel, whose advent is looked upon by\nsailors as a sure sign of an impending storm, accompanied by much loss\nof life.\n\nThe vulture and eagle, obviously on account of their ferocious\ndispositions, often remain earth-bound after death, and usually select\nas their haunts, spots little frequented by man. From what I have heard\nthey are by far the most malignant of all bird ghosts, and have even\nbeen known to inflict physical injury on those who have had the\nmisfortune to pass the night within their allotted precincts.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nA BRIEF RETROSPECT\n\n\nIf I have failed to convince my readers as to the reality of a future\nexistence for all species of mammalia, I trust I have at least suggested\nto them the idea of probability in such a theory; for did the belief\nthat all animals possess imperishable spirits similar to mankind only\nbecome general, I feel quite sure that a marked improvement in our\ntreatment of all the so-called \"brute\" creation--and God alone knows how\nmuch such an improvement is needed--would speedily result. It is still\nonly the comparative few who are kind to animals--the majority are\neither wholly indifferent or absolutely cruel. But if children were made\nto realize that even insects have spirits, they, at least, let us hope,\nwould cease to take delight in pulling off the wings and legs of flies.\n\nMan has hitherto entertained the ridiculously unjustifiable idea that\nall the animal and insect world has been created solely for his benefit,\nto be killed or to be kept alive entirely at his discretion. Such an\nabsurd and presumptuous belief ought to be exploded once and for all.\nThe animal world, so all sane people must agree, was undoubtedly created\nto lead the same, free, untrammelled life as does man himself. Man--save\nin cunning--is nothing superior either to the dog, horse, or other\nmammalia; indeed, he is not infrequently so inferior that one cannot\nhelp thinking that possibly the higher spiritual planes are not for him\nat all, but for those who--misnamed the lower creation--have surpassed\nman in spirituality. Let those who doubt this study the superphysical\nall around them. Let them carefully watch animals, and observe their\npropensities, their psychic faculties of scent, sight, and hearing. They\ncan easily test them in any house or locality which has a\nwell-established reputation for being haunted. They will then see how\nclose a relationship there really is between the animal and\nsuperphysical worlds. And if they want further proof,--proof of a more\nmaterial nature,--let them search around for some spot stated to be\nhaunted by a ghostly phenomenon in the form of a dog, horse, cat, or\nother animal,--and investigate there themselves.\n\nSuch investigations have convinced me, and surely, by using these same\nmethods with patience and perseverance, other people might also be\nconvinced. At all events, let them try. For, a conviction like mine--a\nconviction that an eternity exists for our canine pets and dumb\nfriends--is certainly worth a lot of striving after. At least so I\nthink.\n\n\n\nPRINTED BY\n\nWILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD.\n\nPLYMOUTH\n\n\n\n\nSTRANGER THAN FICTION\n\nBeing Tales from the Byways of Ghost and Folk-lore\n\nBy MARY L. LEWES\n\nCrown 8vo, cloth gilt, 234 pp., 3s. 6d. net.\n\n\"There is much curious matter in the volume well narrated.\"--_The\nTimes._\n\n\"Has a thrill on every page.\"--_Pall Mall Gazette._\n\n\"Everybody ... likes a good ghost story, and in the volume before us the\nauthor has many an entertaining one to tell.\"--_The Globe._\n\n\"An interesting collection ... quite worth adding to one's library of\nthe marvellous and mysterious.\"--_T.P.S. Book Notes._\n\n\"We have not, for a very long time, come across a book that interested\nus so much as this did.\"--_Sheffield Daily Telegraph._\n\n\nSHADOWS CAST BEFORE\n\nAn Anthology of Prophecies and Presentiments\n\nCollected and Edited by CLAUD FIELD\n\nAuthor of \"A Dictionary of Oriental Quotations,\" \"Tales of the Caliphs.\"\n\nCrown 8vo, xii + 223 pp., cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. net.\n\nThe present collection of anticipations fulfilled seems by its\ncumulative weight to supply a strong _prima facie_ case for the view\nthat in some men, at any rate, there is a sixth sense to which on\noccasions the future is revealed.\n\n\"Stories which range from Cicero to Mlle Louisette the tight-rope\ndancer. If you like to read about wonderful and uncanny warnings,\n'Shadows Cast Before' is full of them.\"--_The Tatler._\n\n\nRE-INCARNATION: A Study of Forgotten Truth\n\nBy E.D. WALKER\n\nCrown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. net.\n\nCONTENTS.--Introduction--What is Re-incarnation?--Western Evidences of\nRe-incarnation--Western Poets upon Re-incarnation--Re-incarnation among\nthe Ancients--Re-incarnation in the Bible--Re-incarnation in the East\nTo-day--Eastern Poetry of Re-incarnation--Esoteric Oriental\nRe-incarnation--Transmigration through Animals--Death, Heaven,\nand Hell: What then of?--Karma, the Companion Truth of\nRe-incarnation--Conclusion--Appendix--Bibliography of Re-incarnation.\n\n\"Metempsychosis is the only anti-materialistic theory that philosophy\ncan hearken to.\"--DAVID HUME.\n\n\"Scarcely less interesting as an anthology of prose and verse extracts\nabout Re-incarnation from ancient and modern writers, than as a detailed\nexposition of the theory itself.\"--_Athenaeum._\n\n\nWILLIAM RIDER AND SON, LTD.\n\n8-11 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON, E.C.","title":"Animal Ghosts; Or, Animal Hauntings and the Hereafter","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":65349}