was largely protected from the rains. But it was now illegible, four red blotches being all that remained. A person walking through our Minnesota woods will often meet with a little mound of earth, alongside of which he will see a cupshaped depression in the ground. The depression marks the spot where at some time in the past there stood a noble tree, and it indicates that the tree yielding to the force of an ancient tornado was toppled over, and, pulling its roots out of the ground drew up with them a cubic yard, more or less, of earth. Afterwards when the roots began to decay the earth was dropped in a heap beside the hole. There was such a mound and hollow at the west end of the rotten log in question, showing that it had been overthrown by the fierce assault of a western hurricane. The mound was old, well rounded by the action of the weather and covered with a mat of grass. I sat down on this mound in a half reclining position, with the stake in my hand, and tried again without success to make out the number[1]. A solitary mosquito was singing about my right ear, and persisted in returning and constantly evaded my efforts to capture it. Directly however, its wings became still, and unaccountable stupor appeared to steal over me, my head drooped over toward the left till it touched the grass and for a moment I was unconscious. But it was only for a moment for a new consciousness almost immediately supervened. It was a consciousness composed chiefly of subjective sensations, although I hold that even subjective sensations, very often in an unperceived manner, receive their direction and stimulation to activity from objects around us. But that is a question of psychology. At all events the sensations, I am about to relate were the most remarkable I ever experienced, and at the time were not accompanied by the least intimation, that they were not purely objective. CHAPTER II. The Professor.