In numerous cases of clairvoyance of this kind, there is found to exist a strong connecting link of mutual interest or affection, over which flows the healthy attention-arousing force of crave or distress, which calls into operation the clairvoyant visioning.
In other cases there seems to be lacking every connecting link, although, even in such case histories there may be a subconscious link connecting the clairvoyant with the scene or event. An fascinating instance of this last mentioned phase is that related by W.T. Stead, the English editor and author, whilst having happened to himself. Mr. Stead's recital follows:
"I got into bed and was not capable to go to sleep. I shut my eyes and waited for sleep to come; instead of sleep, however, there came to me a succession of curiously vivid clairvoyant pictures. There was no light in the room, meditation and it was perfectly dark; I had my eyes shut also. But, notwithstanding the darkness, I instantly was conscious of looking at a scene of singular beauty. It was when if I saw a living miniature about the size of a magic-lantern slide. At this moment I can recall the scene when if I saw it again. It was a seaside piece. The moon was shining referring to the water, which rippled slowly on to the beach. Right before me a lengthy mole ran into the water. On either side of the mole irregular rocks stood up above the sea-level. On the shore stood a lot of houses, square and rude, which resembled nothing that I had ever seen in house architecture. No one was stirring, but the moon was there and the sea and the gleam of the moonlight on the rippling waters, presently when if I had been looking on the true scene. It was so beautiful that I remember thinking that if it continued I must be so interested in looking at it that I should never go asleep. I was wide awake, and at the same time that I saw the scene I distinctly heard the dripping of the rain outside the window. Then, promptly having not every apparent object or reason, the scene changed.
meditations The moonlight sea vanished, and in us place I was looking right into the interior of a reading-room. It seemed while if it had been used when a school-room in the daytime, and was employed when a reading-room in the evening. I remember seeing one reader who had a strange resemblance to Tim Harrington, even if it was not he, bring up a magazine or book in his hand and laugh. It was not a picture—it was there. The scene was barely as if you were looking through an opera glass; you saw the play of the muscles, the gleaming of the eye, every part of movement of the anonymous persons in the unnamed position into which you were gazing. I saw all that without opening my eyes, nor did my eyes have anything to act with it. You notice such things as these when if it were with another sense which is more inside your head than in your eyes. The pictures were apropos of nothing; they had been suggested by nothing I had been reading or talking of; they simply came while if I had been able to look via a glass at what was occurring somewhere else in the world. I had my peep, and then it passed.
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