A REAL GHOST.
[To THE EDITOR OF THE "SPECTATOR."] Sta,—If I were to tell you that I have seen and analysed the waters of a river which runs two degrees north of the Equator, and found in those waters eleven per cent, of sulphuric acid and one and a half per cent, of hydrochloric, I might cause some surprise, but little or no incredulity, even if I were to add the little-known fact that in that region of the world there is thrown away in twenty-four hours more of those two acids than is artificially produced in Europe in a year. But if I tell you that I once saw, outside my fancy, a woman who was two thousand miles off at the time, I shall not only be generally disbelieved, but laughed at as well. I have often told the story in private life, but not till now have I told it in print. Twenty- three years ago, as I was looking out of the window of General Torico's rancho at Chorillos, ten miles south of Lima, Peru, there passed by several ladies and gentlemen on horseback. A lady, whom I will call Mrs. Morena (the Spanish rendering of a common English name), was one of the gay cavalcade. She VMS so beautiful, that I have remembered her face with the ease with which I am able to recall the Victoria Regina, or the yellow convolvulus, or the blue orchid, as when I first saw those beautiful flowers in their native lands. I had never spoken with Mrs. Morena, or her husband, who accompanied her, and who was then on his way to Jauja, from the United States, to get healed of consumption.
Three years ago, as one morning I lay musing in my bunk in a Cunard steamer crossing the Atlantic, in full daylight, and having my eyes wide open, Mrs. Morena came into my cabin, and, to my sorow, went out of it as quickly as she came in. Thereupon I rose, bathed, dressed, and went up to breakfast, It was late ; the saloon was nearly deserted, and I found only two fellow-passengers, talking together and eating ham and eggs. I had never seen either. The common name of Morena was mentioned between the two, and I, being full of my vision, remarked, at a venture to him who sat next to me, "Mrs. Morena is more plump than she was twenty years ago." My neighbour turned on me a quiet look of inquiring surprise. Putting his hand into the breast-pocket of his coat, he drew ont one of those excellent photographs for which some Ame- rican photographers are so celebrated. "Is that the lady you mean ?" he gently demanded; and I answered, "Certainly, and you see she is rather stouter." " When did you see her last ?" was the next question ; and I answered, " This morning." The gentleman with the photograph was Mr. Morena, the husband of my beautiful lady. We became friends, we had many social yarns together ; he told me of his residence in Jauja, of the complete cure of his lungs, the number of his children, and many more dear, delightful, household things, in which I had no interest. He invited me to his house. On our arrival at New York, Morena telegraphed to his wife, who replied, whilst he waited in the telegraph office, that they were all quite well at home. Nothing happened. I had not, to my recollection, thought of the Morenas for years before. Is it very difficult to understand, when two or three are Met together under certain given circumstances, that a real presence may be vouchsafed to each P—I am, Sir, &c., Belle Vies House, Newlyn, Penzance. A. J. DUFFIELD.
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