It was from a youthful revery filled with speculations of this sort that I arose one afternoon in the winter of 1900-01, when to the state psychopathic institution in which I served as an interne was brought the man whose case has ever since haunted me so unceasingly. Sometimes I believe that this less material life is our truer life, and that our vain presence on the terraqueous globe is itself the secondary or merely virtual phenomenon. We may guess that in dreams life, matter, and vitality, as the earth knows such things, are not necessarily constant and that time and space do not exist as our waking selves comprehend them.

From those blurred and fragmentary memories we may infer much, yet prove little. From my experience I cannot doubt but that man, when lost to terrestrial consciousness, is indeed sojourning in another and uncorporeal life of far different nature from the life we know, and of which only the slightest and most indistinct memories linger after waking. Whilst the greater number of our nocturnal visions are perhaps no more than faint and fantastic reflections of our waking experiences-Freud to the contrary with his puerile symbolism-there are still a certain remainder whose immundane and ethereal character permits of no ordinary interpretation, and whose vaguely exciting and disquieting effect suggests possible minute glimpses into a sphere of mental existence no less important than physical life, yet separated from that life by an all but impassable barrier. I have often wondered if the majority of mankind ever pause to reflect upon the occasionally titanic significance of dreams, and of the obscure world to which they belong. What strange, splendid yet terrible experiences came to the poor mountaineer in the hours of sleep?-a story of a supernal being from Algol, the Demon-Star

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