mind of any one, unless it were some person in Italy, whence the desk
had come. It is more likely that the remarkable supersensory power given
enabled reading through the wood.

We may now turn our attention to another class of phenomena of great
interest, and that is the visions persons in the ordinary state have of
friends who are on the point of death. It would seem that by an
extraordinary effort the mind of a person in the waking state might be
impressed through a great distance. At the moment of death an almost
superhuman mental effort is more likely and possible than at any other
time, and it is peculiar that these visions or phantasms are largely
confined to that moment. The natural explanation that rises to the
ordinary mind is, of course, "Spirits." This supposition is strengthened
by the fact that the visions sometimes appear immediately after death,
as well as at the time and just before. This may be explained, however,
on the theory that the ordinary mind is not easily impressed, and when
unconsciously impressed some time may elapse before the impression
becomes perceptible to the conscious mind, just as in passing by on a
swift train, we may see something, but not realize that we have seen it
till some time afterward, when we remember what we have unconsciously
observed.

The British Society for Psychical Research has compiled two large
volumes of carefully authenticated cases, which are published under the
title, "Phantasms of the Living." We quote one or two interesting cases.

A Miss L. sends the following report:

January 4, 1886.

"On one of the last days of July, about the year 1860, at 3 o'clock
p.m., I was sitting in the drawing room at the Rectory, reading, and my
thoughts entirely occupied. I suddenly looked up and saw most distinctly
a tall, thin old gentleman enter the room and walk to the table. He wore
a peculiar, old-fashioned cloak which I recognized as belonging to my
great-uncle. I then looked at him closely and remembered his features
and appearance perfectly, although I had not seen him since I was quite
a child. In his hand was a roll of paper, and he appeared to be very
agitated. I was not in the least alarmed, as I firmly believed he was my
uncle, not knowing then of his illness. I asked him if he wanted my
father, who, as I said, was not at home. He then appeared still more
agitated and distressed, but made no remark. He then left the room,
passing through the open door. I no