"There is trouble in store for you," he tells us, regretfully, "but
you will get over it." We feel that the future has no secret hidden
from him.

We have "presentiments" that people we love, who are climbing
mountains, who are fond of ballooning, are in danger.

The sister of a friend of mine who went out to the South African War
as a volunteer had three presentiments of his death. He came home
safe and sound, but admitted that on three distinct occasions he had
been in imminent danger. It seemed to the dear lady a proof of
everything she had ever read.

Another friend of mine was waked in the middle of the night by his
wife, who insisted that he should dress himself and walk three miles
across a moor because she had had a dream that something terrible was
happening to a bosom friend of hers. The bosom friend and her
husband were rather indignant at being waked at two o'clock in the
morning, but their indignation was mild compared with that of the
dreamer on learning that nothing was the matter. From that day
forward a coldness sprang up between the two families.

I would give much to believe in ghosts. The interest of life would
be multiplied by its own square power could we communicate with the
myriad dead watching us from their mountain summits. Mr. Zangwill,
in a poem that should live, draws for us a pathetic picture of blind
children playing in a garden, laughing, romping. All their lives
they have lived in darkness; they are content. But, the wonder of
it, could their eyes by some miracle be opened!