Dear Watson: You asked me to write you about the injured man, and I do so now to tell you he is dead. He died a minute or two before seven o'clock last evening; I know the hour exactly, because I was watching him at the time, and for some moments he had been whispering and muttering to himself, but all I could catch was something about, "I withdraw my command;" when, suddenly raising himself, he shouted, "Wake up, wake up!" and fell back dead just as the clock in the church-yard struck seven.
I should be much interested to hear whether his story was true or not. Drop me a line about it when you have time.
Very sincerely yours,
F. Morse.
[1] This is unusual; the subject rarely falls asleep after carrying out a post-hypnotic suggestion unless commanded to do so.—Ed.
STORY OF AN INSANE SAILOR.
"That pocket-piece of yours," said the doctor, "reminds me that I have an interesting one of my own; perhaps you can tell me what it is." He took from his pocket a silver coin and handed it to Jennings, as he spoke. One edge had been flattened, and a hole pierced in it.
"Ah! an old Spanish piece," said Jennings, "evidently of the time of Pope Leo Fourth, sometime in the sixteenth century. A very interesting piece. Where did you get it?"