An account

Icomb Rectory, Stow-on-the-Wold. February 12th, 1886. I regret that, at this distance, I cannot give you dates. As far as my recollections go, Tracy told me of his dream on the morning following the night on which he had it. It was simply that his mother had died. Beyond this, it was mixed up with all the inconsistencies and absurdities common to dreams, and which I do not think it necessary to mention, unless you particularly wish to hear them. The news of his mother's death reached him on the day after he told me of his dream, her death having happened on the same clay — that is, the day on which he told me. I believe she died late in the afternoon, but of this I am not sure. « L. G. Sandford. (453) From a lady who prefers that her name should not appear. My father was one of a family of 21 children, between many of whom naturally little or no communication was kept up in after years. Among them was an uncle living at Blackheath, whose wife I had never seen, and all I knew of her was that she was sufiering from a mortal disease, but of her prospects of a more or less prolonged life I had heard nothing, nor had my thoughts been in any way turned towards her — when one Sunday night, while I was on a visit to an aunt in Hampshire, I dreamt that I had a letter from my aunt at Blackheath, urgently pressing me to come and see her. Accordingly in my dream I set out, and travelling all night, arrived at Blackheath on Monday morning. I was shown up to my aunt's room, who lamented to me that she had been so much estranged from our branch of the family, and after talking for a while, she looked at her watch and said, 'It is a quarter past 8, now you must go ' ; telling me to go down to the others. I had great difficulty in finding my way in an unknown house, and was a long time about it, but at last, when I saw by my watch that it was a quarter to 9, I reached the dining-room, and found there a number of my relations in mourning, who explained it by saying that my aunt was dead. In the morning I had a very vivid impression of my dream, which I told to my relations with whom I was staying ; and I had so strong a feeling of the reality of the intimation, that I wrote privately to my dressmaker to countermand a pink silk dress that I had ordered. The next day, when a mourning letter arrived, I said, ' Now you will see that Aunt Eliza is dead.' And so it proved to be the case, my aunt having died at 8.30 on Monday morning, midway between the time at which she had told me in my dream that I must go, and the time I