726. In three of these twelve cases of fulfilment of compact, then, the agent whose phantasm appeared was certainly still alive. In most of the other cases the exact time-relation is obscure; in a few of them there is strong probability that the agent was already dead. The inference will be that the existence of a promise or compact may act effectively both on the subliminal self before death and also probably on the spirit after death.

This conclusion is confirmed by the following cases, of which two must be quoted at length in the text, as specially instructive. I first give one in which the deceased person's impulse has been the fulfilment of an immediate engagement.

From Proceedings S. P. R., vol. viii. p. 214. The following letter was addressed to the late Professor Adams, Cambridge:-

St. Luke's Church, Cer Van Ness Avenue, and Clay Street, San Francisco, California, September 11th, 1890.

. . . [A few weeks ago] my choir-trainer, a man in robust health and with a predisposition against anything "Spiritualistic," saw plainly the apparition of one of his choir, a man of fifty years old. It happened thus:-

Mr. R[ussell], the bass-singer of the choir, fell in an apoplectic fit upon the street at to o'clock on a certain Friday; he died at 11 o'clock at his house. My wife, learning of his death, sent my brother-in-law down to the house of the choirmaster [Mr. Reeves] to ask him about music for the funeral. The messenger reached the house of the choirmaster about 1.30 p.m. He was told that the choirmaster was upstairs, busy looking over some music. He accordingly sat down in the drawing-room, and, while waiting, began to tell the ladies (sister and niece of the choirmaster) about Mr. R.'s death. While they were talking they heard an exclamation in the hall-way. Some one said, "My God!" They rushed out, and half-way down, sitting on the stairs, saw the choirmaster in his shirt-sleeves, showing signs of great fright and confusion. As soon as he saw them he exclaimed, "I have just seen R.!" The niece at once said, "Why, R. is dead!" At this the choirmaster without a word turned back upstairs and went to his room. My brother-in-law followed him and found him in complete prostration, his face white, etc.

He then told my brother-in-law what he had experienced.

He had been looking over some music; had just selected a "Te Deum" for the morning service. This "Te Deum" closed with a quartette setting for two bass and two tenor voices. He was wondering where he could get a second tenor. Finally, he went to the door on his way downstairs to look up another "Te Deum." At the door he saw Mr. R., who stood with one hand on his brow, and one hand extended, holding a sheet of music. The choir-master advanced, extended his hand, and was going to speak, when the figure vanished. Then it was that he gave the exclamation mentioned above.

You must remember that he knew nothing of R.'s death until he heard his niece speak of it as detailed above.

This is the best authenticated ghost story I ever heard. I know all the parties well, and can vouch for their truthfulness. I have no doubt that the choirmaster saw something, either subjectively or objectively. Whatever it was, the experience was so vivid that it made him sick for days, though he is a man of exceptional physique.

At first I tried to explain this on natural grounds. I thought possibly he had been in the room overhead, and had overheard, unconsciously, the story of R.'s death, and by a process of unconscious cerebration summoned up the image of the dead man. But this is impossible, because the house is very large, the rooms widely apart, etc.

My present conviction is this: Mr. R. was a man of the utmost regularity and faithfulness in fulfilling his duties. He has sung for us without pay for many years. His first thought (or one of the first), after his stroke of apoplexy, must have been: "How shall I get word to the choirmaster that I cannot go to rehearsal to-morrow night?" In an hour he died, without ever having recovered consciousness. My notion is that in some way he was enabled to make himself appear to the choirmaster. If you refer to the attitude in which he appeared, you will see that it answers to my supposition. It indicates his illness (a pain in the head), and his desire to give up, so to speak, his duty as singer. . . . Wm. W. Davis, Rector.

Mr. Reeves' own account is reported in the San Francisco Chronicle (quoted in Light, September 27th, 1890), as follows:-

Early on Friday morning Edwin Russell, an Englishman, well known as a real estate agent, was walking near the corner of Sutter and Mason Streets when he sustained an apoplectic stroke, from the effects of which he died shortly before noon. He had resided in the city ten years, and was well and favourably known in the commercial world here.

Mr. Russell was a member of the Protestant Episcopal Church, and also the possessor of a rich bass voice. This made him a welcome addition to the choir of St. Luke's Church, and brought him in immediate contact with the Rev. W. W. Davis, vicar of the church, and with Harry E. Reeves, the recently appointed choir leader. Mr. Reeves is a nephew of the distinguished English tenor of the name, and conducted the musical services at the funeral of President Chester A. Arthur.

It was to Mr. Reeves that the very sensational and startling revelation now to be recorded was vouchsafed. Mr. Reeves was found at the residence of his sister, Mrs. Cavanagh, 2121 California Street, by a Chronicle reporter. He became evidently agitated when asked if it were true that he had seen the apparition of Russell before hearing of the tatter's death. [Mr. Reeves stated that he was not a Spiritualist, and proceeded]:-

"I last saw Russell alive on the Saturday night previous to his death. Russell came to the choir rehearsal. I said to him: 'Do you know where I can get a good cigar?' and he recommended a place. I went there with him, and then took such a fancy to him that I invited him to come to my house, or rather my sister's house. We agreed to postpone his visit till the following Saturday, and he said: 'Well, I'll call on you next week anyhow.' The matter passed from my mind until Friday afternoon, about three o'clock. I always make it a point to look over my music for Sunday a day or two before, and on this occasion I was sitting in the parlour and took up two Te Deums to make a choice. One was Starkweather's in G, the other a composition of Kroell's. Just as I had taken one in my hand and was going upstairs to my room to look over it I heard the front door bell ring, and recognised that some visitor whom I did not then know had called. I afterwards learned that it was young Mr. Sprague, who can tell you his story when you ask him.