"In the latter part of the autumn of 1878, between half-past three andfour in the morning, I was leisurely walking home from the house of asick friend. A middle-aged woman, apparently a nurse, was slowlyfollowing, going in the same direction. We crossed Tavistock Squaretogether, and emerged simultaneously into Tavistock Place. Thestreets and squares were deserted, the morning bright and calm, myhealth excellent, nor did I suffer from anxiety or fatigue. A mansuddenly appeared, striding up Tavistock Place, coming towards me, andgoing in a direction opposite to mine. When first seen he wasstanding exactly in front of my own door (5 Tavistock Place). Youngand ghastly pale, he was dressed in evening clothes, evidently made bya foreign tailor. Tall and slim, he walked with long measured stridesnoiselessly. A tall white hat, covered thickly with black crape, andan eyeglass, completed the costume of this strange form. Themoonbeams falling on the corpse-like features revealed a face wellknown to me, that of a friend and relative. The sole and only personin the street beyond myself and this being was the woman alreadyalluded to. She stopped abruptly, as if spell-bound, then rushingtowards the man, she gazed intently and with horror unmistakable onhis face, which was now upturned to the heavens and smiling ghastly.She indulged in her strange contemplation but during very few seconds,then with extraordinary and unexpected speed for her weight and ageshe ran away with a terrific shriek and yell. This woman never have Iseen or heard of since, and but for her presence I could haveexplained the incident: called it, say, subjection of the mentalpowers to the domination of physical reflex action, and the man'spresence could have been termed a false impression on the retina."A week after this event, news of this very friend's death reached me.It occurred on the morning in question. From the family I learnedthat according to the rites of the Greek Church and the custom of thecountry he resided in, he was buried in his evening clothes madeabroad by a foreign tailor, and strange to say, he wore goloshes overhis boots, according also to the custom of the country he died in. . .. When in England, he lived in Tavistock Place, and occupied my roomsduring my absence." {95a}THE WYNYARD WRAITH {95b}"In the month of November (1785 or 1786), Sir John Sherbrooke andColonel Wynyard were sitting before dinner in their barrack room atSydney Cove, in America. It was duskish, and a candle was placed on atable at a little distance. A figure dressed in plain clothes and agood round hat, passed gently between the above people and the fire.While passing, Sir J. Sherbrooke exclaimed, 'God bless my soul, who'sthat?'"Almost at the same moment Colonel W. said, 'That's my brother JohnWynyard, and I am sure he is dead'. Colonel W. was much agitated, andcried and sobbed a great deal. Sir John said, 'The fellow has adevilish good hat; I wish I had it'. (Hats were not to be got thereand theirs were worn out.) They immediately got up (Sir John was oncrutches, having broken his leg), took a candle and went into thebedroom, into which the figure had entered. They searched the bed andevery corner of the room to no effect; the windows were fastened upwith mortar. . . ."They received no communication from England for about five months,when a letter from Mr. Rush, the surgeon (Coldstream Guards),announced the death of John Wynyard at the moment, as near as could beascertained, when the figure appeared. In addition to thisextraordinary circumstance, Sir John told me that two years and a halfafterwards he was walking with Lilly Wynyard (a brother of Colonel W.)in London, and seeing somebody on the other side of the way, herecognised, he thought, the person who had appeared to him and ColonelWynyard in America. Lilly Wynyard said that the person pointed outwas a Mr. Eyre (Hay?), that he and John Wynyard were frequentlymistaken for each other, and that money had actually been paid to thisMr. Eyre in mistake."A famous tale of an appearance is Lord Brougham's. His Lordship wasnot reckoned precisely a veracious man; on the other hand, this wasnot the kind of fable he was likely to tell. He was brought up underthe regime of common-sense. "On all such subjects my father was verysceptical," he says. To disbelieve Lord Brougham we must supposeeither that he wilfully made a false entry in his diary in 1799, orthat in preparing his Autobiography in 1862, he deliberately added afalsehood--and then explained his own marvel away!
