pt to be complex and intricate;
but the purer and simpler the thought is, the greater is its force.
Perhaps the prayers that one prays for those whom one loves send the
strongest ripple of all. If it happens that two of these ripples of
personal emotion are closely similar, a reflex action takes place; and
thus is explained the phenomenon which often takes place, the sudden
sense of a friend's personality, if that friend, in absence, writes one
a letter, or bends his mind intently upon one. It also explains the way
in which some national or cosmic emotion suddenly gains simultaneous
force, and vibrates in thousands of minds at the same time.

The body, by its joys and sufferings alike, offers a great obstruction
to these emotional waves. In the land of spirits, as I have indicated,
an intention of congenial wills gives an instantaneous perception; but
this seems impossible between an embodied spirit and a disembodied
spirit. The only communication which seems possible is that of a vague
emotion; and it seems quite impossible for any sort of intellectual idea
to be directly communicated by a disembodied spirit to an embodied
spirit.

On the other hand, the intellectual processes of an embodied spirit are
to a certain extent perceptible by a disembodied spirit; but there is a
condition to this, and that is that some emotional sympathy must have
existed between the two on earth. If there is no such sympathy, then the
body is an absolute bar.

I could look into the mind of Amroth and see his thought take shape, as
I could look into a stream, and see a fish dart from a covert of weed.
But with those still in the body it is different. And I will therefore
proceed to describe a single experience which will illustrate my point.

I was ordered to study the case of a former friend of my own who was
still living upon earth. Nothing was told me about him, but, sitting in
my cell, I put myself into communication with him upon earth. He had
been a contemporary of mine at the university, and we had many interests
in common. He was a lawyer; we did not very often meet, but when we did
meet it was always with great cordiality and sympathy. I now found him
ill and suffering from overwork, in a very melancholy state. When I
first visited him, he was sitting alone, in the garden of a little
house in the country. I could see that he was ill and sad; he was making
pretence to read, but the book was wholly disregarded.

When I attempted