In this simple illustration I have tried to convey the idea of a life--or perhaps I should rather say a Consciousness--coincident and connected with this life that we know, but separated from it by a difference of consciousness which the majority of us are not able at present to bridge. A few have done so, either by a system of mystic training, or by the natural gift of the "sixth sense," clairvoyance, second sight, whatever we like to call it, which in olden days often caused its possessors to be classed as magicians and witches. And if we grasp this idea of a consciousness, interwoven and yet by matter separated from this life, of which only a few of us can get glimpses from time to time, but which is as absolutely real, perhaps more so than the life we live here, it will help us enormously to understand the meaning of psychic phenomena, or what we call "ghost stories." Because we shall realise that there is _continuity_ behind the veil which hides the Unseen, just as there is continuity in this life, and that the law of cause and effect goes with us "behind the scenes," just as it governs our present existence. So that we must cease to think of any supernatural incident as irrelevant or inconsequent, even if it means nothing to ourselves. It is just a glimpse--seen "through a glass darkly"--of a life organised on lines at present unfamiliar to our own, and infused with a meaning which we cannot trace, and which we yet feel has the most intimate connection with our life here.
However, these are paths of metaphysics, in which it is not well to linger, unless one can give time and all one's thoughts to their exploration. A little knowledge about occult matters is worse than useless; it is absolutely dangerous, and every furlong of the road that leads to such knowledge should be marked with a red signal, for it is strewn with the wrecked intellects of those who, unequipped, have lightly followed its windings.
Regarding the chapters in this book which concern Welsh superstitions, the first idea which occurred to me when reading them over was the exceedingly gloomy character of these ancient beliefs. They all seem to dwell morbidly on death and its surroundings, ignoring the lighter and happier side of life altogether. And any one who did not know Wales might imagine from reading these tales that the Welsh were a sullen and silent people, given to solitude and brooding. Nothing could be further from the truth; they are a lively and gregarious race and never seem to cease talking amongst themselves. Nobody is fonder of junketing than a Welshman or Welshwoman, nothing in the way of an outing comes amiss; fairs, eisteddfodau, "auctions," church and chapel festivals, political meetings, anything for a jaunt! But the most important functions of all are--funerals. Every one goes to a funeral, and makes it a point of honour to do so, for the more burials you attend in your lifetime, the greater are the number of people who will come to your own obsequies. I often think of the characteristic remark addressed by a Welshwoman I knew to an English neighbour, who had no taste for gadding, and found Cardiganshire rather _triste_. "Well indeed, Mrs. Brown _fach_, I am sorry for you; but indeed you should go about to fairs and funerals, and enjoy yourself."