An intelligent public will perceive the mental effort incident upon the production of a series of articles so unusually varied; embracing the distinctive qualities of Philosophy, Science, Religion, Political Economy, Government, Satire, Humor, Poetry, Fiction, Narrative, Art, Astronomy, etc., etc.; and the query has fitly been advanced,--what mind, in the exercise of its normal functions,--has furnished a consecutive number of essays so surprising in novelty, so diverse in sentiment, so consistent in treatment, and so forcibly original, as those embraced in this volume? What intellect so versatile as to reproduce in song and narrative the characteristic styles of so many, and yet so dissimilar authors? In designating the locality of the Second Life, frequent repetition of certain terms, such as spirit world, etc., were unavoidable. For weeks and months the unseen visitors were punctual to their appointments, and this novel mode of book-making proceeded steadily in interest and variety until the volume was completed. The work is now inscribed to a discriminating public, with a lively confidence that the advanced intelligence and freedom of the age will yield it an ingenuous reception. HENRY J. HORN. NEW YORK, _October 1st_, 1869. STRANGE VISITORS. HENRY J. RAYMOND. _TO THE NEW YORK PUBLIC_. I have often thought that if it should ever be my privilege to become a ghost I would enlighten the poor, benighted denizens of the earth as to how _I did it_, and give a more definite account of what I should see, and the transformation that would befall me, than either Benjamin Franklin or George Washington had been able to do in the jargon that had been set before me by Spiritualists as coming from those worthies. “Stuff!” I have exclaimed again and again, after looking over spirit communications and wondering why a man should become so stilted because he had lost his avoirdupoise. The opportunity which I boasted I would not let slip has arrived. The public must judge of how I avail myself of this ghostly power. Now and then I was troubled with strange misgivings about the future life. I had a hope that man might live hereafter, but death was a solemn fact to me, into whose mystery I did not wish too closely to pry. “Presentiments,” as the great English novelist remarks, “are strange things.” That connection with some coming event which one feels like a shadowy hand softly touching him, is inexplicable to most men. I remember to have felt several times in my life undefined foreshadowings of some future which was to befall me; and just previous to my departure from earth, as has been generally stated in the journals of the day, I experienced a similar sensation. An awful blank seemed before me--a great chasm into which I would soon be hurled. This undefined terror took no positive shape. After the death of my son I felt like one who stood upon a round ball which rolled from under him and left him nowhere.