slide.  At this moment I can recall the scene as if I saw it again.  It was a seaside piece.  The moon was shining upon the water, which rippled slowly on to the beach.  Right before me a long mole ran into the water.  On either side of the mole irregular rocks stood up above the sea-level.  On the shore stood several houses, square and rude, which resembled nothing that I had ever seen in house architecture.  No one was stirring, but the moon was there and the sea and the gleam of the moonlight on the rippling waters, just as if I had been looking on the actual scene.  It was so beautiful that I remember thinking that if it continued I should be so interested in looking at it that I should never go asleep.  I was wide awake, and at the same time that I saw the scene I distinctly heard the dripping of the rain outside the window.  Then, suddenly without any apparent object or reason, the scene changed.

“The moonlight sea vanished, and in us place I was looking right into the interior of a reading-room.  It seemed as if it had been used as a school-room in the daytime, and was employed as a reading-room in the evening.  I remember seeing one reader who had a curious resemblance to Tim Harrington, although it was not he, hold up a magazine or book in his hand and laugh.  It was not a picture—­it was there.  The scene was just as if you were looking through an opera glass; you saw the play of the muscles, the gleaming of the eye, every movement of the unknown persons in the unnamed place into which you were gazing.  I saw all that without opening my eyes, nor did my eyes have anything to do with it.  You see such things as these as if it were with another sense which is more inside your head than in your eyes.  The pictures were apropos of nothing; they had been suggested by nothing I had been reading or talking of; they simply came as if I had been able to look through a glass at what was occurring somewhere else in the world.  I had my peep, and then it passed.”

An interesting case of space clairvoyance is that related of Swedenborg, on the best authority.  The story runs that in the latter part of September, 1759, at four o’clock one Saturday afternoon, Swedenborg arrived home from England, and disembarked at the town of Gothenburg.  A friend, Mr. W. Castel, met him and invited him to dinner, at which meal there were fifteen persons gathered around the table in honor of the guest.  At six o’clock, Swedenborg went out a few minutes, returning to the table shortly thereafter, looking pale and excited.  When questioned by the guests he replied that there was a fire at Stockholm, two hundred miles distant, and that the fire was steadily spreading.  He grew very restless, and frequently left the room.  He said that the house of one of his friends, whose name he mentioned, was already in ashes, and that his own was in danger.  At eight o’clock, after he had been out again, he returned crying out cheerfully, “Thank heaven! the fire is out, the third door from my house!”