"The following circumstance is impressed upon my mind in a manner which will preclude its ever being forgotten by me or the members of my family interested. My little son Arthur, who was then five years old, and the pet of his grandpapa, was playing on the floor, when I entered the house a quarter to seven o'clock, Friday evening, July 11th, 1879. I was very tired, having been receiving and paying for staves all day, and it being an exceedingly sultry evening, I lay down by Artie on the carpet, and entered into conversation with my wife--not, however, in regard to my parents. Artie, as usually was the case, came and lay down with his little head upon my left arm, when all at once he exclaimed, 'Papa! papa! Grandpa!' I cast my eyes towards the ceiling, or opened my eyes, I am not sure which, when, between me and the joists (it was an old-fashioned log-cabin), I saw the face of my father as plainly as ever I saw him in my life. He appeared to me to be very pale, and looked _sad_, as I had seen him upon my last visit to him three months previous. I immediately spoke to my wife, who was sitting within a few feet of me, and said, 'Clara, there is something wrong at home; father is either dead or very sick.' She tried to persuade me that it was my imagination, but I could not help feeling that something was wrong. Being very tired, we soon after retired, and about ten o'clock Artie woke me up repeating, 'Papa, grandpa is here.' I looked, and believe, if I remember right, got up, at any rate to get the child warm, as he complained of coldness, and it was very sultry weather. Next morning I expressed my determination to go at once to Indianapolis. My wife made light of it and over-persuaded me, and I did not go until Monday morning, and upon arriving at home (my father's), I found that he had been buried the day before, Sunday, July 13th. "Now comes the mysterious part to me. After I had told my mother and brother of my vision, or whatever it may have been, they told me the following:--