“’"Well,” he said, “about forty years ago this miller, returning from market, was waylaid and murdered on that cross-road, pockets rifled of money and watch.  The horse ran home, about a mile away.  Two serving-men set out with lanterns and found their master dead.  He was dressed, as millers often do in this part of the country, in light-coloured clothes, and the horse was a grey horse.  The murderers were never found.  These are facts,” continued the farmer.  “I took this farm soon after it all happened, and, though I have known all this, and have passed over that cross several thousands of times, I never knew anything unusual there myself, but there have been a number of people who tell the same story you have told mother and me, M——­, and describe the appearance as you have done to us to-night."’”

Mr. Stead goes on to add:  “Four evenings after all this occurred my friend related it to me as we were riding along the same road.  He continued to pass there many times every year for ten years, but never a day saw anything of that sort.”

My next case, a reproduction of a letter in the Occult Review of September, 1906, reads thus:—­

“A Phantom Horse and Rider—­Mrs. Gaskin Anderston’s Story

“The following story is, I think, very remarkable, and I give it exactly as it was told to me, and written down at the time.

“A number of members of a gentleman’s club were talking and discussing, amongst other subjects, the possibility of there being a future state for animals.  One of the members said: 

“’I firmly believe there is.  In my early youth I had a practice as a medical man in one of the Midland Counties.  One of my patients was a very wealthy man, who owned large tracts of land and had a stud composed entirely of bay horses with black points—­this was a hobby of his, and he would never have any others.  One day a messenger came summoning me to Mr. L——­, as he had just met with a very bad accident, and was on the point of death.  I mounted my horse and started off without delay.  As I was riding through the front gates to the house, I heard a shot, and to my amazement the very man I was going to visit rode past at a furious pace, riding a wretched-looking chestnut with one white forefoot and a white star on its forehead.  Arrived at the house the butler said: 

“’"He has gone, sir; they had to shoot the horse—­you would hear the shot—­and at the same moment my master died.”

“’He had had this horse sent on approval; whilst riding it, it backed over a precipice, injuring Mr. L——­ fatally, and on being taken to the stables it was found necessary to shoot it.’—­Alpha.”

The next case I append (I published it in a weekly journal some years ago) was related to me by a Captain Beauclerk.

The White Horse of Eastover

When I came down to breakfast one morning I found amongst several letters awaiting me one from Colonel Onslow, the Commanding Officer of my regiment when I first joined.  He had always been rather partial to me, and the friendship between us continued after his retirement.  I heard from him regularly at more or less prolonged intervals, and either at Christmas or Easter invariably received an invitation to spend a few days with him.  On this occasion he was most anxious that I should accept.