er hand, being withdrawn from the body, you are
not yet sufficiently material to descry material bodies."

"Then in fact," I observed, "the vision that I see before me is the
spirit leg of someone who in my world has lost his material leg?"

"Precisely so," the sage replied, "for mortals live in two worlds at the
same time; in the material world as to their bodies, in the spiritual
world as to their spirits. I should imagine," added he, regarding the
vision fixedly, "from the way in which it seems to approach you that it
belonged to some friend or relation of yours. Have you no relation in
the world who has lost a leg?" he asked.

"A relation who has lost a leg?" I exclaimed, for instantly my uncle,
the admiral, flashed across my mind.

"Exactly so, your uncle, the admiral," he replied, reading my thoughts.

There was an individuality about the limb that from the beginning
seemed familiar to me. It was a right leg, too, the very leg that my
uncle had lost. There could be no mistake about it.

Then said I to my guide, "I recognise the leg, sure enough, but is its
appearance now a sign that he is near me in the body?"

"If not so, at least in thought," responded the sage.

By this time my companion told me that we had already arrived on earth,
and said that he must now leave me, so we embraced, and he vanished from
my sight. Then the mist around me suddenly cleared away, and I was
surprised to find myself once again in my laboratory, seated in the same
old carved arm-chair, and surrounded by several persons.

Well, gentlemen, amongst those persons I instantly recognised a face
long familiar to me. It was my uncle's!

Poor old man! He had dreadfully changed. His iron grey hair had become
perfectly white, his black eyebrows "a sable silvered." He stooped very
much, and the muscles of his face were drooping and flaccid, while his
ruby nose had lost its fine rich colour and faded into a sickly ashen
hue. The individual next to him I recognised at once as our common
friend, Mr. Langton. Then I saw a strange face which I concluded must be
the doctor. There was also my deaf and dumb boy, who had not long
brought up my basin of broth, as it was still steaming, and he was
awaiting my recovery.

Little more remains to be told. My poor uncle, as our friend Langton had
prophesied, had been obliged to sue for a divorce, shortly after which
his worthless partner eloped with a paramour. The whole sad occurrence
preyed upon t