passing at the time, and one of them rushed right on him.  Making sure he would be killed, I uttered an ejaculation of horror.  Judge, then, of my amazement, when, instead of seeing him lying on the ground, crushed out of all shape, I saw him still riding on, as leisurely and unconcernedly as if he had been on a country road.  THE VEHICLE HAD PASSED RIGHT THROUGH HIM.  Though I had hitherto scoffed at ghosts, I was now certain I had seen one, and suddenly becoming conscious how very cold it was, I tore on, not feeling at all comfortable till I had reached the warm, cheery, and thoroughly material quarters of my Club.”

To corroborate the evidence of “Mr. Bates,” I append a narrative given me verbally by Miss Hartly, who, like Mr. Bates, had, up to the time of her experience, posed as a pronounced and somewhat bitter sceptic.  She was an emphatic freethinker, and had then no belief whatsoever in a future life.  Now she believes “a sight” more than most people.

“One afternoon, in February, 1911,” she stated, “just as twilight was commencing, I left the Park, where I had been exercising my dog, and turning into Pablo Street, made for Bright Street.  At the corner of Wolf Street I saw something so strange that I involuntarily halted.  Riding slowly along on a big white horse, a few paces ahead of me, was an enormous policeman in the quaint attire of the ’forties—­top hat, tail coat, tight trousers, just as I had so often seen portrayed in old books.  He was riding stiffly, as if unaccustomed to the saddle, and kept looking rigidly in front of him.  Thinking it was someone doing it either for a joke or a wager, I was greatly tickled, and kept saying to myself, ‘Well, you are a sport, an A1 sport.’  I tried to catch him up, to see how he made up his face, but could not, for although the horse never seemed to quicken its pace—­a mere crawl—­and I ran, it nevertheless maintained precisely the same distance in front of me.  When we had progressed in this fashion some hundred or so yards, I perceived a City policeman advancing towards us.

“‘Come, now,’ I said to myself, ’we shall see some fun—­the 1911 copper meeting the peeler of 1840.  I wonder what he will think of him.’

“To my intense astonishment, however, neither even as much as gave the other a fleeting glance, but passed by unmoved, and, to all appearance, wholly unconscious of each other.

“A few yards further, I espied a negro looking intently in a store window.  Just as the strange policeman came up to him, he gave a violent start, turned round and stared at him, gasped, his cheeks ashy pale, his eyes bulging, made some exclamation I could not catch, and, dashing past me, fled.  Then, and not till then, did I begin to feel funny.  Further on still we came to a crossing.  A carriage and pair with a coronet on the panels of the door was standing waiting.  Directly the policeman approached, both the horses reared so violently, they all but threw the coachman off the box.  One of the men cried out, ’Heavens, Bill, what’s that?’ But the other and older of the two, who was clinging to the reins with all his might, merely swore.