effect on the sight and touch. It is visible
under different forms; sometimes like a fine
light penetrating the substance of bodies,
sometimes it emanates from points, like a
flame, which reaches for instance, a couple of
inches from the tips of the fingers. Often a
vapourish brightness envelopes bodies; a
halo radiates around human heads. This
bright vapour rises principally from the poles
of all bodies that are polarised in respect to
Od, and is also produced by friction and
sound. Finally, a multitude of very small
sparks are observed moving in zig-zag directions.
The luminous apparitions are sometimes
so intense that they cause the body to
project a shadow. There is, moreover, an
invisible odie radiation, which, similar to that
of heat and chemical rays of the sun,
extends to great distances, and is dispersed
at last in infinite space.

The sensations produced by Od are of two
sorts, of an entirely opposite character; they
are recognised with the greatest ease by
approaching the tips of the fingers to a body,
or by touching it very lightly. There is then
experienced, on the one hand, that warm and
disagreeable impression which has been
already mentioned as so repulsive. The
uneasiness produced, when it reaches a high
degree, is sufficiently nauseabund to cause
vomiting. The second kind of impression,
on the contrary, is fresh and agreeable
to highly sensitives; it is beneficial and
calming, to the extent of inducing sleep.
We must also add specific sensations, varying
according to the chemical composition
of bodies, and particularly experienced by
highly-sensitives, who are able to distinguish
clearly copper from platina, silver
from gold, an alloy from a pure metal,
acids from alkalis, oil from water, even one
man from another, and probably, if the faculty
has been much exercised, the distinction
between two strongly-characterised vegetable
families. The source which furnishes odic
manifestations in the greatest abundance,
consists of chemical reactions. Wherever
there is combination or decomposition, light
and odic sensations appear. Evaporation,
fusion, crystallisation, solidification, every
movement of molecules. In fact, all vital
activity, whether vegetable or animal,
produce Od.

A NEW MOTHER.

I was with my lady when she died:
I it was who guided her weak hand
    For a blessing on each little head,
    Laid her baby by her on the bed,
Heard the words they could not understand.

And I drew them round my knee that night,
Hush'd their childish glee, and made them say
    They would keep her words with loving tears,
    They would not forget her dying fears
Lest the thought of her should fade away.

I, who guess'd what her last dread had been,
Made a promise promise to that still, cold face,
     That her children's hearts, at any cost,
     Should be with the mother they had lost,
When a stranger came to take her place.

And I knew so much: for I had lived
With my lady since her childhood: known
     What her young and happy days had been,
     And the grief no other eyes had seen
I had watch'd and sorrow'd for alone.

Ah! she once had such a happy smile!
I had known how sorely she was tried:
     Six short years before, her eyes were bright
     As her little blue-eyed May's that night,
When she stood by her dead mother's side.

No—I will not say he was unkind;
But she had been used to love and praise.
     He was somewhat grave: perhaps, in truth
     Could not weave her joyous, smiling youth,
Into all his stern and serious ways.

She who should have reign'd a blooming flower,
First in pride and honour as in grace—
     She whose will had once ruled all around,
     Queen and darling uf us all—she found
Change indeed in that cold, stately place.

Yet she would not blame him, even to me,
Though she often sat and wept alone;
     But she could not hide it near her death,
     When she said with her last struggling breath,
"Let my babies still remain my own!"

I it was who drew the sheet aside,
When he saw his dead wife's face. That test
     Seem'd to strike right to his heart. He said,
     In a strange, low whisper, to the dead,
"God knows, love, I did it for the best!"

And he wept—O yes, I will be just—
When I brought the children to him there,
     Wondering sorrow in their baby eyes;
     And he soothed them with his fond replies,
Bidding me give double love and care.

Ah, I loved them well for her dear sake:
Little Arthur, with his serious air;
     May, with all her mother's pretty ways,
     Blushing, and at any word of praise
Shaking out her sunny golden hair.

And the little one of all—poor child!
She had cost that dear and precious life.
     Once Sir Arthur spoke my lady's name,
     When the baby's gloomy christening came,
And he call'd her "Olga—like my wife."

Save that time, he never spoke of her:
He grew graver, sterner every day;
     And the children felt it, for they dropp'd
     Low their voices, and their laughter stopp'd
While he stood and watch'd them at their play.

No, he never named their mother's name.
But I told them of her: told them all
      She had been; so gentle, good, and bright;
     And I always took them every night
Where her picture hung in the great hall.