Shortly after I had settled down, I had
occasion to leave home for a few days, and on
my return, being unexpectedly delayed on the
road, I did not arrive at my house until rather
late ; there were several letters awaiting my
return, and as I had to be at a neighbouring town
early next day, and as some of the letters
related to matters of urgent importance, I
determined to answer them that night. I
ordered what we call in our part of the country
" a high tea" and, having finished it, brought
the blotting-book, &c., to the table, and, sitting
down in my old accustomed chair, went to
work.

I had written two letters, and was about to
commence a third, when, happening to raise my
eyes, I saw what seemed to be my old friend
sitting in the chair at the other end of the table,
just as he had been used to sit there in the old
time. I confess I was startled. I rubbed my
eyes and looked more attentively, but there he
sat, looking at me with the old benignant smile.
As soon as I could collect my thoughts I got
up, and feeling that there must be some delusion,
went and stirred the fire, hoping to divert my
mind from the subject. On looking round,
to my great relief I saw that the chair was
empty.

So I sat down again and went on writing,
but I could not help from time to time giving
a hasty glance towards the other end of the
table. Suddenly, there he sat again, as distinct
as if in bodily presence.

I had read that the spirits of the departed
could not rest in peace under certain
circumstances, and not being in a frame of
mind to reason calmly, I thought that my old
friend had something to communicate, so I
spoke:

"Why do you come here?"

No answer.

"Can I do anything for you ?"

Still dead silence.

"This won't do at all!" cried I, starting up
and going round the table. But, as I moved,
my old friend's form faded away.

I felt unfit for more letter-writing that night,
and, shutting up the blotting-book, hastily
retreated to my bedroom.

Consider, now, what it is that we do, when
we see.

The eye is furnished inside, with a sensitive
curtain, upon which are produced, or reflected,
the pictures of such objects as may happen to
be within the range of vision; and those
pictures are, in a wonderful manner, communicated
to our intelligence, so that without touching a
thing at which we look, we know what the
thing is. As long as the object remains before
the eye, the picture of it remains on what we
have called the sensitive curtain, and sometimes
the picture is retained after the object is
removed. For instance:– if we happen to look
at the sun when the first dazzling effect is over,
there remains on the sensitive curtain an
impression, which causes us to see a round disc of
a darkish colour on any object at which we may
look. After a short time the disc fades, but it
comes back again, once, twice, sometimes three
times, according to the strength of the first
impression. So, also, with figures in black,
white, or any brilliant colour ; if we look steadfastly
for half a minute or so at a highly-coloured
figure upon which a strong light is thrown, and
then turn the eye to a white wall or window-
blind, we see a figure of the same shape as that
at which we have been gazing – this also will
fade and return several times. Of course the
figure is not on the wall ; of course the effect
is produced by an impression remaining on the
eye.

Now, I do not propose to attempt to account
for mistakes which people make through fear,
or any other cause; we know that the eye is
liable to be deceived, and that " a friendly hand-
post" has, ere now, been mistaken for a ghost.
What I wish to deal with is the fact that
impressions are sometimes revived on the eye,
without there being a corresponding object
actually within view, and although the object
which originally caused the impression may not
have been seen for weeks, for months, perhaps
for years. This is more likely to occur if there
be anything presented to the eye suggestive
merely of any one particular object at which
we have been accustomed to look.

I contend, also, that imagination has
something to do with the matter. If it be admitted
(and it can scarcely be denied) that a complete
picture may be revived on the sensitive curtain,
if anything merely suggestive of such picture is
presented to the eye, then it will not be difficult
to understand how I, being in the room where I
had been accustomed to sit with my old friend,
occupying the position I was so familiar with,
and looking at the very chair in which he always
used to sit, had before me an object sufficiently
suggestive to reproduce on the sensitive curtain
of my eye not only the chair, which I did see,
but also the form of my old friend, who was
not present.

There is nothing which should be thought
incredible in this. We experience every day
sensations quite as wonderful, and more
inexplicable. Take, for example, Memory. An
impression is made on the mind by a particular
fact. We can recal it at pleasure, as well as
innumerable other events, but we don't in the
least understand how it is, or by what process
we remember; nor is there anything to
demonstrate the existence of such, or any
particular impression as existing permanently on
the mind, yet we know, by every-day experience,
that a very slight circumstance suggestive
of any past event will suffice to bring back,
as it were, the picture of such event to our
mind as clearly as when the event actually took
place.

Why should not the eye, or its sensitive
curtain, have a reproductive faculty? And may it
not exercise such faculty very readily in cases
where there is any object presented to it
suggestive of a former impression? Whether the