There were many theories as to the history of “The Swallows”; one being that a highwayman, known as Steeplechase Jock, the son of a Scottish chieftain, had once plied his trade there and murdered many people, whose bodies were supposed to be buried somewhere on or near the premises.  He was said to have had a terrible though decidedly unorthodox ending—­falling into a vat of boiling tar, a raving madman.  But what were the phantasms of the ape and cat?  Were they the earth-bound spirits of the highwayman and his horse, or simply the spirits of two animals?  Though either theory is possible, I am inclined to favour the former.

Psychic Bears

Edmund Lenthal Swifte, appointed in 1814 Keeper of the Crown Jewels in the Tower of London, refers in an article in Notes and Queries, 1860, to various unaccountable phenomena happening in the Tower during his residence there.  He says that one night in the Jewel Office, one of the sentries was alarmed by a figure like a huge bear issuing from underneath the Jewel Room door.  He thrust at it with his bayonet, which, going right through it, stuck in the doorway, whereupon he dropped in a fit, and was carried senseless to the guard-room.  When on the morrow Mr. Swifte saw the soldier in the guard-room, his fellow-sentinel was also there, and the latter testified to having seen his comrade, before the alarm, quiet and active, and in full possession of his faculties.  He was now, so Mr. Swifte added, changed almost beyond recognition, and died the following day.

Mr. George Offer, in referring to this incident, alludes to queer noises having been heard at the time the figure appeared.  Presuming that the sentinel was not the victim of an hallucination, the question arises as to the kind of spirit that he saw.  The bear, judging by cases that have been told me, is by no means an uncommon occult phenomenon.  The difficulty is how to classify it, since, upon no question appertaining to the psychic, can one dogmatize.  To quote from a clever poem that appeared in the January number of the Occult Review, to pretend one knows anything definite about the immaterial world is all “swank”.  At the most we—­Parsons, Priests, Theosophists, Christian Scientists, Psychical Research Professors,—­at the most can only speculate.  Nothing—­nothing whatsoever, beyond the bare fact that there are phenomena, unaccountable by physical laws, has as yet been discovered.  All the time and energy and space that have been devoted by scientists to the investigation of spiritualism and to making tests in automatic writing are, in my opinion—­and, I believe, I speak for the man in the street—­hopelessly futile.  No one, who has ever really experienced spontaneous ghostly manifestations, could for one moment believe in the genuineness of the phenomena produced at seances.  They have never deceived me, and I am of the opinion spirits cannot be convoked to order, either through a so-called medium falling into a so-called trance, through table-turning, automatic writing, or anything else.  If a spirit comes, it will come either voluntarily, or in obedience to some Unknown Power—­and certainly neither to satisfy the curiosity of a crowd of sensation-loving men and women, nor to be analysed by some cold, calculating, presumptuous Professor of Physics whose proper sphere is the laboratory.