ALLEGORICAL DREAMS, PRESENTIMENT, ETC.
IT has been the opinion of many philosophers, both ancient and modern,
that in the original state of man, as he came forth from the hands of
his Creator, that knowledge which is now acquired by pains and labor was
intuitive. His material body was given him for the purpose of placing
him in relation with the material world, and his sensuous organs for the
perception of material objects, but his soul was a mirror of the
universe, in which everything was reflected, and, probably, is so still,
but that the spirit is no longer in a condition to perceive it. Degraded
in his nature, and distracted by the multiplicity of the objects and
interests that surround him, man has lost his faculty of spiritual
seeing; but in sleep, when the body is in a state of passivity, and
external objects are excluded from us by the shutting up of the senses
through which we perceive them, the spirit, to a certain degree freed
from its impediments, may enjoy somewhat of its original privilege. “The
soul, which is designed as the mirror of a superior spiritual order” (to
which it belongs), still receives in dreams, some rays from above, and
enjoys a foretaste of its future condition; and, whatever interpretation
may be put upon the history of the Fall, few will doubt that, before it,
man must have stood in a much more intimate relation to his Creator than
he has done since. If we admit this, and that, for the above-hinted
reasons, the soul in sleep may be able to exercise somewhat of its
original endowment, the possibility of what is called prophetic dreaming
may be better understood.
“Seeing in dreams,” says Ennemoser, “is a self-illumining of things,
places, and times;” for relations of time and space form no obstruction
to the dreamer: things, near and far, are alike seen in the mirror of
the soul, according to the connection in which they stand to each other;
and, as the future is but an unfolding of the present, as the present is
of the past, one being necessarily involved in the other, it is not more
difficult to the untrammelled spirit to see what is to happen, than what
has _already_ happened. Under what peculiar circumstances it is that the
body and soul fall into this particular relative condition, we do not
know, but that certain families and constitutions are more prone to
these conditions than others, all experience goes to establish.
According to the theory of Dr. Ennemoser, we should conclude that they
are more susceptible to magnetic influences, and that the body falls
into a more complete state of negative polarity.
In the histories of the Old Testament we constantly find instances of
prophetic dreaming, and the voice of God was chiefly heard by the
prophets in sleep; seeming to establish that man is in that state more
susceptible of spiritual communion, although the being thus made the
special organ of the Divine will, is altogether a different thing from
the mere disfranchisement of the embodied spirit in ordinary cases of
clear seeing in sleep. Profane history, also, furnishes us with various
instances of prophetic dreaming, which it is unnecessary for me to refer
to here. But there is one thing very worthy of remark, namely, that the
allegorical character of many of the dreams recorded in the Old
Testament, occasionally pervades those of the present day. I have heard
of several of this nature, and Oberlin, the good pastor of Ban de la
Roche, was so subject to them, that he fancied he had acquired the art
of interpreting the symbols. This characteristic of dreaming is in
strict conformity with the language of the Old Testament, and of the
most ancient nations. Poets and prophets, heathen and Christian, alike
express themselves symbolically, and, if we believe that this language
prevailed in the early ages of the world, before the external and
intellectual life had predominated over the instinctive and emotional,
we must conclude it to be the natural language of man, who must,
therefore, have been gifted with a conformable faculty of comprehending
these hieroglyphics; and hence it arose that the interpreting of dreams
became a legitimate art. Long after these instinctive faculties were
lost, or rather obscured, by the turmoil and distractions of sensuous
life, the memories and traditions of them remained, and hence the
superstructure of jugglery and imposture that ensued, of which the
gipsies form a signal example, in whom, however, there can be no doubt
that some occasional gleams of this original endowment may still be
found, as is the case, though more rarely, in individuals of all races
and conditions. The whole of nature is one large book of symbols, which,
because we have lost the key to it, we can not decipher. “To the first
man,” says Hamann, “whatever his ear heard, his eye saw, or his hand
touched, was a living word; with this word in his heart and in his
mouth, the formation of language was easy. Man saw things in their
essence and properties, and named them accordingly.”
There can be no doubt that the heathen forms of worship and systems of
religion were but the external symbols of some deep meanings, and not
the idle fables that they have been too frequently considered; and it is
absurd to suppose that the theology which satisfied so many great minds
had no better foundation than a child’s fairy tale.
A maid-servant, who resided many years in a distinguished family in
Edinburgh, was repeatedly warned of the approaching death of certain
members of that family, by dreaming that one of the walls of the house
had fallen. Shortly before the head of the family sickened and died, she
said she had dreamed that the main wall had fallen.
A singular circumstance which occurred in this same family, from a
member of which I heard it, is mentioned by Dr. Abercrombie. On this
occasion the dream was not only prophetic, but the symbol was actually
translated into fact.
One of the sons being indisposed with a sore throat, a sister dreamed
that a watch, of considerable value, which she had borrowed from a
friend, had stopped; that she had awakened another sister and mentioned
the circumstance, who answered that “something much worse had happened,
for Charles’s breath had stopped.” She then awoke, in extreme alarm, and
mentioned the dream to her sister, who, to tranquillize her mind, arose
and went to the brother’s room, where she found him asleep and the watch
going. The next night the same dream recurred, and the brother was again
found asleep and the watch going. On the following morning, however,
this lady was writing a note in the drawing-room, with the watch beside
her, when, on taking it up, she perceived it had stopped; and she was
just on the point of calling her sister to mention the circumstance,
when she heard a scream from her brother’s room, and the sister rushed
in with the tidings that he had just expired. The malady had not been
thought serious; but a sudden fit of suffocation had unexpectedly proved
fatal.
This case, which is established beyond all controversy, is extremely
curious in many points of view; the acting out of the symbol,
especially. Symbolical events of this description have been often
related, and as often laughed at. It is easy to laugh at what we do not
understand; and it gives us the advantage of making the timid narrator
ashamed of his fact, so that if he do not wholly suppress it, he at
least insures himself by laughing, too, the next time he relates it. It
is said that Goethe’s clock stopped the moment he died; and I have heard
repeated instances of this strange kind of synchronism, or magnetism, if
it be by magnetism that we are to account for the mystery. One was told
me very lately by a gentleman to whom the circumstances occurred.
On the 16th of August, 1769, Frederick II., of Prussia, is said to have
dreamed that a star fell from heaven and occasioned such an
extraordinary glare that he could with great difficulty find his way
through it. He mentioned the dream to his attendants, and it was
afterward observed that it was on that day Napoleon was born.
A lady, not long since, related to me the following circumstance: Her
mother, who was at the time residing in Edinburgh, in a house one side
of which looked into a wynd, while the door was in the High street,
dreamed that, it being Sunday morning, she had heard a sound which
attracted her to the window; and, while looking out, had dropped a ring
from her finger into the wynd below; that she had, thereupon, gone down
in her night-clothes to seek it, but when she reached the spot it was
not to be found. Returning, extremely vexed at her loss, as she
re-entered her own door she met a respectable looking young man,
carrying some loaves of bread. On expressing her astonishment at finding
a stranger there at so unseasonable an hour, he answered by expressing
his at seeing her in such a situation. She said she had dropped her
ring, and had been round the corner to seek it; whereupon, to her
delighted surprise, he presented her with her lost treasure. Some months
afterward, being at a party, she recognized the young man seen in her
dream, and learned that he was a baker. He took no particular notice of
her on that occasion; and, I think, two years elapsed before she met him
again. This second meeting, however, led to an acquaintance, which
terminated in marriage.
Here the ring and the bread are curiously emblematic of the marriage,
and the occupation of the future husband.
Miss L——, residing at Dalkeith, dreamed that her brother, who was ill,
called her to his bedside and gave her a letter, which he desired her to
carry to their aunt, Mrs. H——, with the request that she would
“deliver it to John.” (John was another brother, who had died
previously, and Mrs. H—— was at the time ill.) He added that “he
himself was going _there_ also, but that Mrs. H—— would be _there_
before him.” Accordingly, Miss L—— went, in her dream, with the letter
to Mrs. H——, whom she found dressed in white, and looking quite
radiant and happy. She took the letter, saying she was going _there_
directly, and would deliver it.
On the following morning Miss L—— learned that her aunt had died in
the night. The brother died some little time afterward.
A gentleman who had been a short time visiting Edinburgh, was troubled
with a cough, which, though it occasioned him no alarm, he resolved to
go home to nurse. On the first night of his arrival he dreamed that one
half of the house was blown away. His bailiff, who resided at a
distance, dreamed the same dream on the same night. The gentleman died
within a few weeks.
“This symbolical language, which the Deity appears to have used”
(witness Peter’s dream, Acts ii., and others) “in all his revelations to
man, is in the highest degree, what poetry is in a lower, and the
language of dreams, in the lowest, namely, the original natural language
of man; and we may fairly ask whether this language, which here plays an
inferior part, be not, possibly, the proper language of a higher sphere,
while we, who vainly think ourselves awake, are, in reality, buried in a
deep, deep sleep, in which, like dreamers who imperfectly hear the
voices of those around them, we occasionally apprehend, though
obscurely, a few words of this divine tongue.” (_Vide Schubert._)
This subject of sleeping and waking is a very curious one, and might
give rise to strange questionings. In the case of those patients
abovementioned, who seem to have two different spheres of existence, who
shall say which is the waking one, or whether either of them be so? The
speculations of Mr. Dove on this subject merited more attention, I
think, than they met with when he lectured in Edinburgh. He maintained
that, long before he had paid any attention to magnetism, he had arrived
at the conclusion that there are as many states or conditions of mind
beyond sleep as there are on this side of it; passing through the
different stages of dreaming, revery, contemplation, &c., up to perfect
vigilance. However this be, in this world of appearance, where we see
nothing as it is, and where, both as regards our moral and physical
relations, we live in a state of continual delusion, it is impossible
for us to pronounce on this question. It is a common remark, that some
people seem to live in a dream, and never to be quite awake; and the
most cursory observer can not fail to have been struck with examples of
persons in this condition, especially in the aged.
With respect to this allegorical language, Ennemoser observes, that,
“since no dreamer learns it of another, and still less from those who
are awake, it must be natural to all men.” How different too, is its
comprehensiveness and rapidity, to our ordinary language! We are
accustomed, and with justice, to wonder at the admirable mechanism by
which, without fatigue or exertion, we communicate with our
fellow-beings; but how slow and ineffectual is human speech compared to
this spiritual picture-language, where a whole history is understood at
a glance! and scenes that seem to occupy days and weeks, are acted out
in ten minutes. It is remarkable that this hieroglyphic language appears
to be the same among all people; and that the dream-interpreters of all
countries construe the signs alike. Thus, the dreaming of deep water
denotes trouble, and pearls are a sign of tears.
I have heard of a lady who, whenever a misfortune was impending, dreamed
that she saw a large fish. One night she dreamed that this fish had
bitten two of her little boy’s fingers. Immediately afterward a
schoolfellow of the child’s injured those two very fingers by striking
him with a hatchet; and I have met with several persons who have
learned, by experience, to consider one particular dream as the certain
prognostic of misfortune.
A lady who had left the West Indies when six years old, came one night,
fourteen years afterward, to her sister’s bedside, and said, “I know
uncle is dead. I have dreamed that I saw a number of slaves in the large
store-room at Barbadoes, with long brooms, sweeping down immense
cobwebs. I complained to my aunt, and she covered her face and said,
‘Yes, he is no sooner gone than they disobey him.’” It was afterward
ascertained that Mr. P—— had died on that night, and that he had never
permitted the cobwebs in this room to be swept away, of which, however,
the lady assures me she knew nothing; nor could she or her friends
conceive what was meant by the symbol of the cobwebs, till they received
the explanation subsequently from a member of the family.
The following very curious allegorical dream I give, not in the words of
the dreamer, but in those of her son, who bears a name destined, I
trust, to a long immortality:—
“WOOER’S ABBEY-COTTAGE, DUNFERMLINE-IN-THE-WOODS, }
“_Monday morning, 31st May, 1847_. }
“DEAR MRS. CROWE: _That_ dream of my mother’s was as follows:
She stood in a long, dark, empty gallery: on her one side was my
father, and on the other my eldest sister Amelia; then myself,
and the rest of the family, according to their ages. At the foot
of the hall stood my youngest sister Alexes, and above her my
sister Catherine—a creature, by-the-way, in person and mind,
more like an angel of heaven than an inhabitant of earth. We all
stood silent and motionless. At last IT entered—the unimagined
_something_, that, casting its grim shadow before, had enveloped
all the trivialities of the preceding dream in the stifling
atmosphere of terror. It entered, stealthily descending the
three steps that led from the entrance down into the chamber of
horror: and my mother _felt_ IT _was Death_! He was dwarfish,
bent, and shrivelled. He carried on his shoulder a heavy axe;
and had come, she thought, to destroy ‘all her little ones at
one fell swoop.’ On the entrance of the shape, my sister Alexes
leaped out of the rank, interposing herself between him and my
mother. He raised his axe and aimed a blow at Catherine—a blow
which, to her horror, my mother could not intercept, though she
had snatched up a three-legged stool, the sole furniture of the
apartment, for that purpose. She could not, she felt, fling the
stool at the figure without destroying Alexes, who kept shooting
out and in between her and the ghastly thing. She tried in vain
to scream; she besought my father, in agony, to avert the
impending stroke; but he did not hear, or did not heed her, and
stood motionless, as in a trance. Down came the axe, and poor
Catherine fell in her blood, cloven to ‘the white halse bane.’
Again the axe was lifted, by the inexorable shadow, over the
head of my brother, who stood next in the line. Alexes had
somewhere disappeared behind the ghastly visitant; and, with a
scream, my mother flung the footstool at his head. He vanished,
and she awoke.
“This dream left on my mother’s mind a fearful apprehension of
impending misfortune, ‘which would not pass away.’ It was
_murder_ she feared; and her suspicions were not allayed by the
discovery that a man (some time before discarded by my father
for bad conduct, and with whom she had, somehow, associated the
_Death_ of her dream) had been lurking about the place, and
sleeping in an adjoining outhouse on the night it occurred, and
for some nights previous and subsequent to it. Her terror
increased. Sleep forsook her; and every night, when the house
was still, she arose and stole, sometimes with a candle,
sometimes in the dark, from room to room, listening, in a sort
of waking nightmare, for the breathing of the assassin, who, she
imagined, was lurking in some one of them. This could not last.
She reasoned with herself; but her terror became intolerable,
and she related her dream to my father, who, of course, called
her a fool for her pains, whatever might be his real opinion of
the matter.
“Three months had elapsed, when we children were all of us
seized with scarlet fever. My sister Catherine died almost
immediately—sacrificed, as my mother in her misery thought, to
her (my mother’s) over-anxiety for Alexes, whose danger seemed
more imminent. The dream-prophecy was in part fulfilled. I also
was at death’s door—given up by the doctors, but not by my
mother: she was confident of my recovery; but for my brother,
who was scarcely considered in danger at all, but on whose head
_she had seen_ the visionary axe impending, her fears were
great; for she could not recollect whether the blow had or had
not descended when the spectre vanished. My brother recovered,
but relapsed, and barely escaped with life; but Alexes did not.
For a year and ten months the poor child lingered, and almost
every night I had to sing her asleep—often, I remember, through
bitter tears, for I knew she was dying, and I loved her the more
as she wasted away. I held her little hand as she died; I
followed her to the grave—the last thing that I have _loved_ on
earth. And _the dream was fulfilled_.
“Truly and sincerely yours,
J. NOEL PATON.”
The dreaming of coffins and funerals, when a death is impending, must be
considered as examples of this allegorical language. Instances of this
kind are extremely numerous. Not unfrequently the dreamer, as in cases
of second-sight, sees either the body in the coffin, so as to be
conscious of who is to die, or else is made aware of it from seeing the
funeral-procession at a certain house, or from some other significant
circumstance. This faculty, which has been supposed to belong peculiarly
to the highlanders of Scotland, appears to be fully as well known in
Wales and on the continent, especially in Germany.
The language of dreams, however, is not always symbolical. Occasionally,
the scene, that is transacting at a distance, or that is to be
transacted at some future period, is literally presented to the sleeper,
as things appear to be presented in many cases of second-sight, and also
in clairvoyance; and, since we suppose him (that is, the sleeper) to be
in a temporarily magnetic state, we must conclude that the degree of
perspicuity, or translucency of the vision, depends on the degree of
that state. Nevertheless, there are considerable difficulties attending
this theory. A great proportion of the prophetic dreams we hear of are
connected with the death of some friend or relative. Some, it is true,
regard unimportant matters, as visits, and so forth; but this is
generally, though not exclusively, the case only with persons who have a
constitutional tendency to this kind of dreaming, and with whom it is
frequent; but it is not uncommon for those who have not discovered any
such tendency, to be made aware of a death: and the number of dreams of
this description I meet with is very considerable. Now, it is difficult
to conceive what the condition is that causes this perception of an
approaching death; or why, supposing, as we have suggested above, that,
when the senses sleep, the untrammelled spirit _sees_, the memory of
this revelation, if I may so call it, so much more frequently survives
than any other, unless, indeed, it be the force of the shock
sustained—which shock, it is to be remarked, always wakes the sleeper;
and this may be the reason that, if he fall asleep again, the dream is
almost invariably repeated.
I could fill pages with dreams of this description which have come to my
knowledge, or been recorded by others.
Mr. H——, a gentleman with whom I am acquainted—a man engaged in
active business, and apparently as little likely as any one I ever knew
to be troubled with a faculty of this sort—dreamed that he saw a
certain friend of his dead. The dream was so like reality, that,
although he had no reason whatever to suppose his friend ill, he could
not forbear sending in the morning to inquire for him. The answer
returned was, that Mr. A—— was out, and was quite well. The
impression, however, was so vivid, that, although he had nearly three
miles to send, Mr. H—— felt that he could not start for Glasgow,
whither business called him, without making another inquiry. This time
his friend was at home, and answered for himself, that he was very well,
and that somebody must have been hoaxing H——, and making him believe
otherwise. Mr. H—— set out on his journey, wondering at his own
anxiety, but unable to conquer it. He was absent but a few days (I think
three); and the first news he heard on his return was, that his friend
had been seized with an attack of inflammation, and was dead.
A German professor lately related to a friend of mine, that, being some
distance from home, he dreamed that his father was dying, and was
calling for him. The dream being repeated, he was so far impressed as to
alter his plans, and return home, where he arrived in time to receive
his parent’s last breath. He was informed that the dying man had been
calling upon his name repeatedly, in deep anguish at his absence.
A parallel case to this is that of Mr. R—— E—— S——, an accountant
in Edinburgh, and a shrewd man of business, who relates the following
circumstance as occurring to himself. He is a native of Dalkeith, and
was residing there, when, being about fifteen years of age, he left home
on a Saturday, to spend a few days with a friend at Prestonpans. On the
Sunday night he dreamed that his mother was extremely ill, and started
out of his sleep with an impression that he must go to her immediately.
He even got out of bed with the intention of doing so, but, reflecting
that he had left her quite well, and that it was only a dream, he
returned to bed, and again fell asleep. But the dream returned, and,
unable longer to control his anxiety, he arose, dressed himself in the
dark, quitted the house, leaping the railings that surrounded it, and
made the best of his way to Dalkeith. On reaching home, which he did
before daylight, he tapped at the kitchen-window, and, on gaining
admittance, was informed that on the Saturday evening, after he had
departed, his mother had been seized with an attack of British cholera,
and was lying above, extremely ill. She had been lamenting his absence
extremely, and had scarcely ceased crying, “Oh, Ralph, Ralph! what a
grief that you are away!” At nine o’clock he was admitted to her room;
but she was no longer in a condition to recognise him, and she died
within a day or two.
Instances of this sort are numerous, but it would be tedious to narrate
them, especially as there is little room for variety in the details. I
shall therefore content myself with giving one or two specimens of each
class, confining my examples to such as have been communicated to
myself, except where any case of particular interest leads me to deviate
from this plan. The frequency of such phenomena may be imagined, when I
mention that the instances I shall give, with few exceptions, have been
collected with little trouble, and without seeking beyond my own small
circle of acquaintance.
In the family of the above-named gentleman (Mr. R—— E—— S——),
there probably existed a faculty of presentiment; for, in the year 1810,
his elder brother being assistant-surgeon on board the “Gorgon,”
war-brig, his father dreamed that he was promoted to the “Sparrowhawk,”
a ship he had then never heard of—neither had the family received any
intelligence of the young man for several months. He told his dream, and
was well laughed at for his pains; but in a few weeks a letter arrived
announcing the promotion.
When Lord Burghersh was giving theatrical parties at Florence, a lady
(Mrs. M——, whose presence was very important) excused herself one
evening, being in great alarm from having dreamed in the night that her
sister, in England, was dead, which proved to be the fact.
Mr. W——, a young man at Glasgow college, not long since dreamed that
his aunt in Russia was dead. He noted the date of his dream on the
window-shutter of his chamber. In a short time the news of the lady’s
death arrived. The dates, however, did not accord; but, on mentioning
the circumstance to a friend, he was reminded that the adherence of the
Russians to the old style reconciled the difference.
A man of business, in Glasgow, lately dreamed that he saw a coffin, on
which was inscribed the name of a friend, with the date of his death.
Some time afterward he was summoned to attend the funeral of that
person, who, at the time of the dream, was in good health, and he was
struck with surprise on seeing the plate of the coffin bearing the very
date he had seen in his dream.
A French gentleman, Monsieur de V——, dreamed, some years since, that
he saw a tomb, on which he read very distinctly, the following date—23d
June, 184—; there were, also, some initials, but so much effaced that
he could not make them out. He mentioned the circumstance to his wife;
and for some time, they could not help dreading the recurrence of the
ominous month; but, as year after year passed, and nothing happened,
they had ceased to think of it, when at last the symbol was explained.
On the 23d of June, 1846, their only daughter died at the age of
seventeen.
Thus far the instances I have related seem to resolve themselves into
cases of simple clairvoyance, or second sight in sleep, although, in
using these words, I am very far from meaning to imply that I explain
the thing, or unveil its mystery. The theory above alluded to, seems as
yet, the only one applicable to the facts, namely, that the senses,
being placed in a negative and passive state, the universal sense of the
immortal spirit within, which sees, and hears, and knows, or rather, in
one word, _perceives_, without organs, becomes more or less free to work
unclogged. That the soul is a mirror in which the spirit sees all things
reflected, is a modification of this theory; but I confess I find myself
unable to attach any idea to this latter form of expression. Another
view, which I have heard suggested by an eminent person, is, that if it
be true, as maintained by Dr. Wigan, and some other physiologists, that
our brains are double, it is possible that a polarity may exist between
the two sides, by means of which the negative side may, under certain
circumstances, become a mirror to the positive. It seems difficult to
reconcile this notion with the fact, that these perceptions occur most
frequently when the brain is asleep. How far the sleep is perfect and
general, however, we can never know; and of course, when the powers of
speech and locomotion continue to be exercised, we are aware that it is
only partial, in a more or less degree. In the case of magnetic
sleepers, observation shows us, that the auditory nerves are aroused by
being addressed, and fall asleep again as soon as they are left
undisturbed. In most cases of natural sleep, the same process, if the
voice were heard at all, would disperse sleep altogether; and it must be
remembered that, as Dr. Holland says, sleep is a fluctuating condition,
varying from one moment to another, and this allowance must be made when
considering magnetic sleep also.
It is by this theory of the duality of the brain, which seems to have
many arguments in its favor, and the alternate sleeping and waking of
the two sides, that Dr. Wigan seeks to account for the state of double
or alternate consciousness above alluded to; and also, for that strange
sensation which most people have experienced, of having witnessed a
scene, or heard a conversation, at some indefinite period before, or
even in some earlier state of existence. He thinks that one half of the
brain being in a more active condition than the other, it takes
cognizance of the scene first; and that thus the perceptions of the
second, when they take place, appear to be a repetition of some former
experiences. I confess this theory, as regards this latter phenomenon,
is to me eminently unsatisfactory, and it is especially defective in not
accounting for one of the most curious particulars connected with it,
namely, that on these occasions people not only seem to recognise the
circumstances as having been experienced before; but they have, very
frequently, an actual foreknowledge of what will be next said or done.
Now, the explanation of this mystery, I incline to think, may possibly
lie in the hypothesis I have suggested; namely, that in profound, and
what appears to us generally to have been dreamless sleep, we are
clear-seers. The map of coming events lies open before us, the spirit
surveys it; but with the awaking of the sensuous organs, this
dream-life, with its aerial excursions, passes away, and we are
translated into our other sphere of existence. But, occasionally, some
flash of recollection, some ray of light from this visionary world, in
which we have been living, breaks in upon our external objective
existence, and we recognise the locality, the voice, the very words, as
being but a reacting of some foregone scenes of a drama.
The faculty of presentiment, of which everybody must have heard
instances, seems to have some affinity to the phenomenon last referred
to. I am acquainted with a lady, in whom this faculty is in some degree
developed, who has evinced it by a consciousness of the moment when a
death was taking place in her family, or among her connections, although
she does not know who it is that has departed. I have heard of several
cases of people hurrying home from a presentiment of fire; and Mr. M——
of Calderwood was once, when absent from home, seized with such an
anxiety about his family, that without being able in any way to account
for it, he felt himself impelled to fly to them and remove them from the
house they were inhabiting; one wing of which fell down immediately
afterward. No notion of such a misfortune had ever before occurred to
him, nor was there any reason whatever to expect it; the accident
originating from some defect in the foundations.
A circumstance, exactly similar to this, is related by Stilling, of
Professor Böhm, teacher of mathematics at Marburg; who being one evening
in company, was suddenly seized with a conviction that he ought to go
home. As however, he was very comfortably taking his tea, and had
nothing to do at home, he resisted the admonition; but it returned with
such force that at length he was obliged to yield. On reaching his
house, he found everything as he had left it; but he now felt himself
urged to remove his bed from the corner in which it stood to another;
but as it had always stood there, he resisted this impulsion also.
However, the resistance was vain, absurd as it seemed, he felt he must
do it; so he summoned the maid, and with her aid, drew the bed to the
other side of the room; after which he felt quite at ease and returned
to spend the rest of the evening with his friends. At ten o’clock the
party broke up, and he retired home and went to bed and to sleep. In the
middle of the night, he was awakened by a loud crash, and on looking
out, he saw that a large beam had fallen, bringing part of the ceiling
with it, and was lying exactly on the spot his bed had occupied.
A young servant-girl in this neighborhood, who had been several years in
an excellent situation, where she was much esteemed, was suddenly seized
with a presentiment that she was wanted at home; and, in spite of all
representations, she resigned her place, and set out on her journey
thither; where, when she arrived, she found her parents extremely ill,
one of them mortally, and in the greatest need of her services. No
intelligence of their illness had reached her, nor could she herself in
any way account for the impulse. I have heard of numerous
well-authenticated cases of people escaping drowning from being seized
with an unaccountable presentiment of evil when there were no external
signs whatever to justify the apprehension. The story of Cazotte, as
related by La Harpe, is a very remarkable instance of this sort of
faculty; and seems to indicate a power like that possessed by Zschokke,
who relates, in his autobiography, that frequently while conversing with
a stranger, the whole circumstances of that person’s previous life were
revealed to him, even comprising details of places and persons. In the
case of Cazotte, it was the future that was laid open to him, and he
foretold, to a company of eminent persons, in the year 1788, the fate
which awaited each individual, himself included, in consequence of the
revolution then commencing. As this story is already in print, I forbear
to relate it.
One of the most remarkable cases of presentiment I know, is, that which
occurred, not very long since, on board one of her majesty’s ships, when
lying off Portsmouth. The officers being one day at the mess-table,
young Lieutenant P—— suddenly laid down his knife and fork, pushed
away his plate, and turned extremely pale. He then rose from the table,
covering his face with his hands, and retired from the room. The
president of the mess, supposing him to be ill, sent one of the young
men to inquire what was the matter. At first Mr. P—— was unwilling to
speak, but on being pressed, he confessed that he had been seized by a
sudden and irresistible impression that a brother he had then in India
was dead. “He died,” said he, “on the 12th of August, at six o’clock; I
am perfectly certain of it!” No arguments could overthrow this
conviction, which, in due course of post, was verified to the letter.
The young man had died at Cawnpore, at the precise period mentioned.
When any exhibition of this sort of faculty occurs in animals, which is
by no means unfrequent, it is termed _instinct_; and we look upon it, as
what it probably is, only another and more rare development of that
intuitive knowledge which enables them to seek their food, and perform
the other functions necessary for the maintenance of their existence and
the continuance of their race. Now, it is remarkable, that the life of
an animal is a sort of dream-life; their ganglionic system is more
developed than that of man, and the cerebral less; and since it is,
doubtless, from the greater development of the ganglionic system in
women that they exhibit more frequent instances of such abnormal
phenomena as I am treating of, than men, we may be, perhaps, justified
in considering the faculty of presentiment in a human being as a
suddenly-awakened instinct; just as in an animal it is an intensified
instinct.
Everybody has either witnessed or heard of instances of this sort of
presentiment, in dogs especially. For the authenticity of the following
anecdote I can vouch, the traditions being very carefully preserved in
the family concerned, from whom I have it. In the last century, Mr.
P——, a member of this family, who had involved himself in some of the
stormy affairs of this northern part of the island, was one day
surprised by seeing a favorite dog, that was lying at his feet, start
suddenly up and seize him by the knee, which he pulled—not with
violence, but in a manner that indicated a wish that his master should
follow him to the door. The gentleman resisted the invitation for some
time, till at length, the perseverance of the animal rousing his
curiosity, he yielded, and was thus conducted by the dog into the most
sequestered part of a neighboring thicket, where, however, he could see
nothing to account for his dumb friend’s proceeding, who now lay himself
down, quite satisfied, and seemed to wish his master to follow his
example, which, determined to pursue the adventure and find out, if
possible, what was meant, he did. A considerable time now elapsed before
the dog would consent to his master’s going home; but at length he arose
and led the way thither, when the first news Mr. P—— heard was, that a
party of soldiers had been there in quest of him; and he was shown the
marks of their spikes, which had been thrust through the bed-clothes in
their search. He fled, and ultimately escaped, his life being thus
preserved by his dog.
Some years ago, at Plymouth, I had a brown spaniel that regularly, with
great delight, accompanied my son and his nurse in their morning’s walk.
One day she came to complain to me that Tiger would not go out with
them. Nobody could conceive the reason of so unusual a caprice; and,
unfortunately, we did not yield to it, but forced him to go. In less
than a quarter of an hour he was brought back, so torn to pieces, by a
savage dog that had just come ashore from a foreign vessel, that it was
found necessary to shoot him immediately.