suspected of it was apprehended. Sir Astley, being greatly interested,
accompanied the officers with their prisoner to the gaol, and he and
they and the accused were all in a cell, locked in together, when they
noticed a little dog which kept biting at the skirt of the prisoner's
coat. This led them to examine the garment, and they found upon it
traces of blood which ultimately led to conviction of the man. When they
looked around the dog had disappeared, although the door had never been
opened. How it had got there or how it got away, of course nobody could
tell. When Bransby Cooper spoke of this he always said that of course
his uncle had made a mistake, and was convinced of this himself; Bransby
used to add that no doubt if the matter had been investigated it would
have been shown that there was a mode of accounting for it from natural
causes. But I believe that neither Sir Astley nor his nephew in their
hearts discarded entirely the supernatural."
Mr. Ballantine added an incident which some may think is accounted for
by a telepathic impression followed by auto-suggestion which lowered the
mental alertness of the player.
"There was a member of the club, a very harmless, inoffensive man of the
name of Townend, for whom Lord Lytton [the novelist] entertained a
mortal antipathy, and would never play whilst that gentleman was in the
room. He firmly believed that he brought him bad luck. I was witness to
what must be termed an odd coincidence. One afternoon, when Lord Lytton
was playing and had enjoyed an uninterrupted run of luck, it suddenly
turned, upon which he exclaimed, 'I am sure that Mr. Townend has come
into the club.' Some three minutes after, just time enough to ascend the
stairs, in walked that unlucky personage. Lord Lytton as soon as the
rubber was over, left the table and did not renew the play."
BEN JONSON'S PREMONITION BY APPARITION
This eminent dramatist, contemporary of Shakespeare (1573?-1637),
visited the Scottish poet, William Drummond, who took notes of his
conversations which he afterwards published in the form of a book. One
incident which Jonson related and Drummond recorded may be found in _The
Library of the World's Best Literature_ under the title, _Ben Jonson_.
"At that tyme the pest was in London; he being in the country--with old
Cambden, he saw in a vision his eldest sone, then a child and at London,
appear unto him with the mark of a bloodie crosse in his forehead, as if
it had been cutted with a shord, at which amazed he prayed unto God,
and in the morning he came to Mr. Cambden's chamber to tell him; who
persuaded him it was but ane apprehension of his fantasie, at which he
sould not be disjected; in the mean tyme comes then letters from his
wife of the death of that boy in plague. He appeared to him (he said) of
a manly shape, and of that grouth that he thinks he shall be at the
resurrection."
RUBINSTEIN'S DEATH COMPACT
A pupil of Anton Rubinstein, the great pianist and composer (1829-1894),
tells this story. It may be found in _Harper's Magazine_ for December,
1912, under the title _A Girl's Recollections of Rubinstein_, by Lillian
Nichia.
"One wild, blustery night I found myself at dinner with Rubinstein, the
weather being terrific even for St. Petersburg. The winds were howling
round the house and Rubinstein, who liked to ask questions, inquired of
me what they represented to my mind. I replied, 'The moaning of lost
souls.' From this a theological discussion followed.
"'There may be a future,' he said.
"'There is a future,' I cried, 'a great and beautiful future. If I die
first I shall come to you and prove this.'
"He turned to me with great solemnity.
"'Good, Liloscha, that is a bargain; and I will come to you.'
"Six years later in Paris I woke one night with a cry of agony and
despair ringing in my ears, such as I hope may never be duplicated in
my lifetime. Rubinstein's face was close to mine, a countenance
distorted by every phase of fear, despair, agony, remorse and anger. I
started up, turned on all the lights, and stood for a moment shaking in
every limb, till I put fear from me and decided it was merely a dream. I
had for the moment completely forgotten our compact. News is always late
in Paris, and it was in _Le Petit Journal_, published in the afternoon,
that had the first account of his sudden death.
"Four years later, Teresa Carreno, who had just come from Russia and was
touring America--I had met her in St. Petersburg frequently at
Rubinstein's dinner-table--told me that Rubinstein died with a cry of
agony impossible of description. I knew then that even in death
Rubinstein had kept, as he always did, his word."
Here again, we are at liberty to accept the testimony regarding the
remarkable and complex coincidence, and to disregard what is really an
expression of opinion in the last sentence. Whether Rubinstein
remembered his compact in his dying hour, or the impression produced
upon his far-away pupil was automatically produced by some obscure
telepathic process, the dying man having in his mind no conscious
thought of his promise, or some intervening _tertium quid_ produced the
impression, could never be determined by this incident alone.
PREVISIONARY DREAM BY CHARLES DICKENS
This incident in the experience of Charles Dickens (1812-1870) is to be
found in the standard biography by Forster, III, pp. 484-5 (London,
1874). On May 30, 1863, Dickens wrote:
"Here is a curious case at first-hand. On Thursday night in last week,
being at my office here, I dreamed that I saw a lady in a red shawl with
her back toward me (whom I supposed to be E--). On her turning round I
found that I didn't know her, and she said, 'I am Miss Napier.' All the
time I was dressing next morning I thought 'What a preposterous thing to
have so very distinct a dream about nothing!' and why Miss Napier?--for
I never heard of any Miss Napier. That same Friday night I read. After
the reading, came into my retiring-room, Mary Boyle and her brother, and
the lady in the red shawl, whom they present as 'Miss Napier.' These are
all the circumstances exactly told."
I can imagine the late Professor Royce saying thirty years ago--for I
much doubt if he would have said it twenty years later--"In certain
people, under certain exciting circumstances, there occur what I shall
henceforth call _Pseudo-presentiments_, _i.e._, more or less
instantaneous hallucinations of memory, which make it seem to one that
something which now excites or astonishes him has been prefigured in a
recent dream, or in the form of some other warning, although this
seeming is wholly unfounded, and although the supposed prophecy really
succeeds its own fulfillment."
Apply this curious theory (which has probably not been urged for many
years) to the incident just cited, and see how loosely it fits. What was
there about three persons, one a stranger coming to Dickens after he had
finished a reading from his own works, to "excite" or "astonish" him,
make his brain whirl and bring about a hallucination of memory, an
illusion of having dreamed it all before? It was the most commonplace
event to him. Besides, as in most such cases, he had the distinct
recollection of his thoughts about the dream after waking, thoughts
inextricably interwoven with the acts performed while dressing! Besides,
a pseudo-presentiment should tally with the event as a reflection does
with the object, but in the dream Miss Napier introduced herself, while
in reality she was introduced by another.