With the single additional remark that Mr.
M. P. Andrews always declared that a compact
existed between Lord Lyttelton and himself,
that whichever departed first should visit the
other, we turn to incidents of kindred
character, but more recent date.

Several years ago (so commences a story
related to the writer by a lady well known in
London society), the brother of Colonel C. was
killed in battle, leaving a widow and one little girl.

The widow subsequently married a German
baron, and the little girl, Maud, was brought
up entirely in Germany. The latter was about
twelve years old, when her mother, being
attacked with an illness that threatened to prove
fatal, became very uneasy about the probable
future of her child, and feeling, one evening,
more depressed than usual, called the little
Maud to her bedside. She warned her that
their parting was near, and enjoined the weeping
girl to write immediately to Mrs. B. (a
friend of many years' standing), entreating her
to come at once, to receive her last embrace,
and take charge of her orphan child.

Maud obeyed without delay, but the dying
woman's eyes were not gladdened by the
appearance of her friend. The summons had
reached its destination, but the absence of her
husband, without whom she felt unwilling to
travel so far, had induced Mrs. B. to postpone
her departure, consoling herself with the hope
that her friend, being naturally of a nervous
and desponding temperament, had somewhat
magnified her own danger.

Mrs. B. resided at Hampton Court, and here it
was that, on the night of the ninth ot November,
a curious incident occurred. Retiring to her room
between eleven and twelve, she rang for her
maid, and the latter not appearing as promptly
as usual, went to her still-open door to listen
if she was coming. Opposite to her was a wide
staircase, and up this came, noiselessly, a figure
which the lamp held by Mrs. B. showed to be
that of a lady dressed in black—with white
gloves. A singular tremor seized her. She
could neither stir nor speak. Slowly the figure
approached her, reached the landing, made a
step forward, and seemed to cast itself on
her neck; but no sensation accompanied the
movement! The light fell from her hand; she
uttered a shriek that alarmed the house, and
fell senseless on the floor.

On recovering, Mrs. B. related minutely
what she had seen, her memory especially
retaining the image of the white gloves; but
nothing more than the usual unsatisfactory
solutions were propounded, nor does it appear
that the occurrence was at all associated with
the dying baroness in Germany.

In a few days, however, came a letter from
little Maud, announcing that her mother was
no more, that her latest thoughts were directed
to Mrs. B., and her sole regrets the not being
permitted to embrace her before her spirit
passed away. She had died a little before
midnight on the ninth of November.

Mrs. B. hastened to Germany to claim her
orphan charge, and then was added a
noteworthy confirmation of the vision. Little Maud,
in one of their conversations, observed:

"Mamma had a curious fancy. On the night,
she died, she made the baron promise that she
should be buried in her black satin dress—with
white kid gloves."

The request had been complied with.

The following example is of yet more recent
occurrence, and took place in one of the large
and fashionable mansions in the district of
South Kensington, which had been taken by a
family whose name can only be designated by
the initial L.

On the first night of their occupation, the
lady of the house, while arranging her hair at
the glass, saw in the latter the reflexion of the
figure of a man. He was old, of strange
appearance, and was seated in an arm-chair that
stood near her bed. He wore a grey coat with
a cape, and had spectacles.

The lady possessed strong nerves, and after
the first moment of surprise, finding that the
spectrum did not disappear, came to the
conclusion that her vision was affected by some
disarrangement in the system. Resolved to
test it, she turned calmly round, walked straight
to the mysterious object, and sat down upon its
very knees! She found herself alone in the
chair.

The next morning she sent for her doctor,
and related to him what had occurred, laughing
merrily at the remembrance of her visitor's
grotesque appearance. Observing that the doctor
hardly participated in her mirth, she inquired if
he for a moment believed that what she had
witnessed had any material existence?

"I do not say that," was the answer, "but
there is this singular coincidence in the matter,
that your description of the man's person agrees
precisely with that of an old gentleman living—
or, rather, who did live—a few doors from
hence. He was missing all yesterday, and was
found dead in a piece of ground prepared for
building, late last night, with every appearance
of having been murdered. His age, dress, his
very spectacles, were exactly as you describe."

An example of a similar kind happened two
years since in Dumfries-shire. A man employed
in the quarries was walking home late, by
moonlight. Suddenly he came upon two objects
lying on the road, which resolved themselves,
as he approached, into the bodies of his brother
and nephew, workmen in the same quarry, with
whom he had parted, still at their work, half
an hour before. Stooping to touch them, they
faded into the white dust on which they seemed
to lie! In alarm and amazement, he hastened
back to the quarry. An accident had occurred
a few minutes after he had left, which cost
several lives. Among the victims were his
brother and his nephew.

Nothing would be easier than to fill fifty
pages with similar examples. These, however,
will suffice to illustrate the theoretical principle
on which we base the presumption of possibility.