fortnight before the news of the casualty arrived
in this country.

_The Case of Lieutenant Colt._

Captain G. F. Russell Colt, of Gartsherrie, Coatbridge, N.B., reports
the case as follows to the Psychical Society (Vol. i. page 125):--

"I had a very dear brother (my eldest brother), Oliver, lieutenant in
the 7th Royal Fusiliers. He was about nineteen years old, and had at
that time been some months before Sebastopol. I corresponded frequently
with him, and once when he wrote in low spirits, not being well, I said
in answer that he was to cheer up, but that if anything did happen to
him he was to let me know by appearing to me in my room. This letter, I
found subsequently, he received as he was starting to receive the
sacrament from a clergyman who has since related the fact to me.

"Having done this he went to the entrenchments and never returned, as in
a few hours afterwards the storming of the Redan commenced. He, on the
captain of his company falling, took his place and led his men bravely
on. He had just led them within the walls, though already wounded in
several places, when a bullet struck him in the right temple and he fell
amongst heaps of others, where he was found in a sort of kneeling
posture (being propped up by the other dead bodies) thirty-six hours
afterwards. His death took place, or rather he fell, though he may not
have died immediately, on September 8th, 1855.

"That night I awoke suddenly and saw facing the window of my room by my
bedside, surrounded by a light sort of phosphorescent mist, as it were,
my brother kneeling. I tried to speak but could not. I buried my head in
the bedclothes, not at all afraid (because we had all been brought up
not to believe in ghosts and apparitions), but simply to collect my
ideas, because I had not been thinking or dreaming of him, and indeed
had forgotten all about what I had written to him a fortnight before. I
decided that it must be fancy and the moonlight playing on a towel, or
something out of place; but on looking up again there he was, looking
lovingly, imploringly, and sadly at me. I tried again to speak, but
found myself tongue-tied. I could not utter a sound. I sprang out of
bed, glanced through the window, and saw that there was no moon, but it
was very dark and raining hard, by the sound against the panes. I turned
and still saw poor Oliver. I shut my eyes, walked through it, and
reached the door of the room. As I turned the handle, before leav