"How stale and trite the fleet of a Magellan to the adventurous soul who would circumnavigate the archipelagoes of the dead!" "How commonplace Pizarro to him who would launch forth on that black and trackless Pacific across the expanse of which has ever lain the dread and the hope of our race!" "They know little who are robed in university gowns. What know they who are robed in shrouds? We gather but little from the platform; what can we learn from the grave? The wisdom of the press is foolishness. Is there no voice from the sepulchre? It is we, not you, who are in darkness, O ye dead! The splendor of the iris of eternity has flashed on your plane of vision; but our heavy eyelids droop in the shadow of the nimbus of time. "Can you tell us naught? Can we never know your secret till, in the dust, we lay down our bones with yours?" "We are here in the care, the poverty, the sin, and, above all, in the darkness. Oh, if ye can, have mercy on us; shed a ray from your shekinah-light athwart the darkness of our desolation. We are trodden down by our brothers among the living. Help us, our fathers from the dead."[A] How profoundly these words moved me cannot easily be told, for my entire life, up to this point, seems to have been made up of the various stages of a preparation enabling me to respond to just such an appeal as this, echoed, as I know full well it is, from the hearts of thousands of my fellow-beings. Yet one who should enter the rose-embowered cottage by the sea where I sit writing, would never dream that I guard treasures of knowledge gathered in the hidden realm that lies beyond the sense. For years have passed, and lonely life has changed to family life, and there have been times when I have felt almost at home again within the confines of the purely earthly realm of thoughts and things. Not quite, however, for that would be impossible. And now, shall I branch out in a tale of strange adventure? Shall I seek to convey to my readers what led to those experiences which have so isolated me in thought? Shall I describe their outward aspect, the channel through which they were received, as for instance, a dream, a trance, a vision, or _other ways less known_? To do so might amuse or entertain, but that is not my object. Besides, I understand thoroughly that in these modern days it is the truth, and not the truth-teller, that is wanted. If a man has anything to say, let him say it, and if it bear the stamp of truth, if it will stand the test of analysis the most severe, it will be accepted. If not, he may show a ticket of his travels beyond the moon, but that will not avail him. All that I ask of my readers is that they will permit me to write of that realm which is so hidden from mortals that many of them deny its very existence, as though I knew all about it. Whether I do or not, no mere statement, in the absence of other evidence, could in the least decide. THE AUTHOR.