FATAL PRESENTIMENTS.

'Tis the sunset of life teaches mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. Lochiel's Warning.

MR EDITOR,
      IT is a common practice with sceptics, and other narrow-minded persons, to reject as fabulous every fact, however well authenticated, for which they are unable to account, and to bestow sundry hard epithets upon those who are weak enough to believe that there are things, both in heaven and earth, which are not dreamt of in our philosophy. As one of the latter class, I must, of course, be content to be pronounced credulous and imbecile, for entertaining a firm belief in many things which the wise men of this generation will probably pronounce incredible, or set down to the account of some morbid affection of the mind; but having a great faith in human testimony, when it is honest, disinterested, and consistent, and when the facts recorded fell under the immediate observation of those by whom they were related, and who could have no possible motive to embellish or mislead, I must be excused for not suffering any antecedent improbability, resulting, in a great measure, if not altogether, from the imperfection of our knowledge, to weigh against such unexceptionable evidence. In my view of the matter, nothing can be more unphilosophical, than to refuse assent to a statement merely because it is extraordinary or uncommon, and although the testimony in support of it be ever so clear, consistent, and trust-worthy; for, admitting that a statement of this kind will require more evidence to authenticate it than one of an opposite kind, and in some measure conformable to our previous experience, it does not surely follow that mere abstract improbability, which is only relative, is sufficient to neutralise all evidence, and destroy every ground of reasonable belief. This were, indeed, to cut off one of the most important sources of human knowledge, and, by leading us to make our own experience the measure of our faith, to seal up the instruction derivable from history, and to oppose an effectual bar to human improvement.

      No fact is better authenticated than this, that many men, distinguished for personal bravery, and the most intrepid contempt of danger in its most appalling forms, have, on the eve of battle, been overwhelmed with a fatal presentiment that they would not survive the combat; and that, in no instance, so far as I have been able to learn, has this presentiment been falsified by the event. The self-doomed victim has, in every case, fallen as he had foretold and anticipated. I shall mention a few of the numerous accounts of this prophetic anticipation of death which have come to my knowledge, and then adventure a few remarks on a phenomenon as singular as it is interesting.

      A young officer of great merit, belonging to the 92d Regiment, was observed, on the day before the battle of Corunna, to be peculiarly low-spirited and dejected; which was the more readily remarked, as he was in general gay, cheerful, and full of spirit. Several of his brother officers inquired the reason, and received no answer; but on getting an opportunity of conversing alone with one of them to whom he was much attached, being of the same name, and from the same part of the country, "M.," said he, "I shall to a certainty be killed to-morrow; I know I shall, and you will see it." His friend and countryman tried to laugh him out of this notion, and said it was childish, and unworthy of a man who had so often beheld the eye of the enemy, to harbour such forebodings. The next day, after the heat of the action, the two young men met by accident, and he who the day before had derided the gloomy imagination of his friend, accosted the other with "What, M.! I thought you were to have been killed; did I not tell you that you should not?" The unfortunate young man replied that nothing could convince him that he would ever see the sun of that day go down; and, strange as it may seem, the words had scarcely escaped from his lips, when he was struck in the left shoulder by a cannon-shot, and instantly expired.

      There are few regiments in the service which have not some anecdotes of this sort to record. I shall mention one or two more which were communicated to me by officers of great respectability and intelligence, who only stated such facts as were consistent with their own personal knowledge. A Lieutenant M'D., of the 43d Regiment, felt this presentiment so strongly on the eve of one of the battles in the Peninsula, that he sent for an officer, (Captain S.,) a countryman of his own, but belonging to a different regiment, (the 88th,) and requested him to take charge of several little things, and see them conveyed home in safety to his relations, particularly his mother. Captain S., in surprise, asked him the reason why he, who was in perfect health, should think of making such arrangements? To which M'D. replied, " Yes, I am in perfect health, but I know I shall never return from the field of battle." Knowing M'D. to be a particularly brave man, (at that moment he wore on his breast several medals which had been given him by the Commander-in-Chief, in testimony of the high approbation which his conduct in the field had repeatedly called forth,) and never having heard him express himself in such terms before, Captain S. was lost in astonishment, and his first impression was, that poor M'D. had caught some febrile infection, and that his mind was wandering. He therefore proceeded to remonstrate with his young friend, though in the gentlest terms, and to endeavour, if possible, to rally him out of that desponding presentiment which appeared to have taken such deep hold on his imagination. M'D. heard him calmly, and without taking any notice of what he said, repeated his request in such a cool and collected manner, as to leave no doubt that he was in the full and perfect exercise of all his faculties; Captain S. having therefore given him a promise that all his wishes should be complied with, they separated, and each went to his post. On the following day, after the tumult and melée of the battle had subsided, the British arms being, as usual, victorious, a number of the officers met, to congratulate one another on their safety. When Captain S. joined the party, he immediately inquired after his friend M'D., but none of the survivors had seen him, or knew any thing of his fate. The conversation of the preceding day now rushed upon his mind, and, without saying a word, he instantly returned to the field to search for him among the wounded, the dead, and the dying. Nor was the search in vain. He found him already stript of part of his regimentals, but knew him at once, his head and face being untouched. Captain S. became deeply affected, and could not help melting into tears as he bent over the lifeless body of the brave and gallant youth, fore-doomed to so premature a fate.

      The same thing happened in the case of Serjeant Macdonald from Lochaber, one of the bravest fellows who ever drew a sword or carried a halbert, and who had been at least in ten or twelve general engagements, in each of which he had distinguished himself. On one occasion, however, he was so greatly overwhelmed with the presentiment of death, that, on the day of battle, when his regiment was ordered to advance, his limbs refused to do their office, and his comrades had literally to support and assist the man to whom they had been accustomed to look up as an example and model of a brave soldier. In about half an hour thereafter, he was shot through the head, and died without a struggle.

      A private of the name of Mackay, a man of the most reckless, daring, and eccentric character, used to be the delight of the bivouacs of the 42d, during the Peninsular War. He had a great deal of that coarse but effective wit and drollery, which never fail to call forth a peal of inextinguishable laughter: he abounded in anecdotes and stories, which he told with a remarkable degree of naiveté and humour; and often did he beguile the watches of the night, as poor Allan did to Mungo Park, "by singing the songs of our dear native land." The moment Mackay made his appearance, hunger, and thirst, and fatigue were forgotten; the soldiers clustered around him, like a parcel of school-boys eager to witness a cockfight, and, seating themselves round the watch-fires, thought only of listening to the joke, the tale, or the song. Even some of the officers did not disdain to mingle in these parties, and to acknowledge the powerful fascination which hung on the lips of this unlettered soldier. Nor was his humour, mirth, and song, confined to the march and the camp; in the thickest of the enemy's fire he was the same person as in the bivouac. "Never," said the officer who communicated to me these particulars, "never shall I forget the impression made upon my mind by hearing Mackay's full and deep-toned voice pealing forth 'Scots wha ha'e wi' Wallace bled,' under the destructive diagonal fire from the enemy's artillery on the heights above the village of St. Boes. A soldier only knows the effect of such an incident at such a moment!" Yet this singular man was seized with one of those fatal presentiments of which I have been speaking. On the eve of the battle of Toulouse, he suddenly became thoughtful and silent. His previous character rendered this change more apparent, and his comrades crowded round him to inquire the reason, being at first inclined to gibe him with what they called his "methodist face;" but on observing his dejected look, the wild and unearthly expression of his eye, and the determined obstinacy with which he resisted all solicitations to join their party, as usual, they stared at each other with astonishment, and ceased to annoy him. It was, moreover, his turn to go on duty to the outposts, and he soon left them. On his way to his post, he met a young officer, who had shown him much kindness, and whose life he had been instrumental in saving. "Ha! Mackay!" said the officer, "is it you? Bless me, how ill you look! — what is the matter with you, — are you unwell? Stay, I will go to the Colonel, and request him to allow some one else to take your duty." "I thank you kindly, Mr M." said Mackay, respectfully saluting the officer; "I am not unwell, and had rather go myself. But I have a favour to ask of you; you have been always kind — very kind — to me, and I am sure you will not refuse it." "What is it? What is it? Speak it out at once, man," said Mr M. "It is borne in upon my mind that I shall fall to-morrow," rejoined Mackay; "here are ten dollars; will you take charge of them, and send them to my mother? You know where she resides; and — and — if it were not too much trouble," he added, his voice faltering, "you might tell her, her son never ceased, till his last hour, to implore the blessing of Heaven on her aged head, or to reproach himself with having disobeyed, and left her solitary and destitute." The tears now flowed down his weather-beaten cheeks. Mr M. was deeply affected, and taking the money in silence, broke away from Mackay, in order to conceal his emotion. Mr M. retired to his quarters, oppressed with the melancholy feelings which this strange scene had occasioned, but anxious, at the same time, to persuade himself that it was a mere hallucination of fancy, and that the poor fellow's mind was touched. On the succeeding day, however, when the remains of the regiment were mustered, after the battle, which had cost so many valuable lives, Mackay was missing; but the tears of his surviving comrades sufficiently indicated that his presentiment had been fulfilled. He had fallen late in the action, beside one of the redoubts, pierced with more than twenty bullets.

      The last instance of this kind I shall mention is one which will probably make a greater impression than any of the preceding, as it is derived from an authority which, on such a subject, must, I should suppose, prove decisive. Napoleon, on the 7th of May 1796, had surprised the passage of the Po at Placenza, while Beaulieu was expecting him at Valeggio; and General Laharpe, commanding the grenadiers of the advanced guard, fixed his head-quarters at Emmetri, between Fiombio and the Po. During the night, Liptay's Austrian division arrived at Fiombio, which is only one league from the river, and having embattled the houses and steeples, filled them with troops. As the position was strong, and Liptay might receive reinforcements, it became of the utmost importance to dislodge him; which was effected after an obstinate contest. Laharpe then executed a retrograde movement, to cover the roads leading to Pavia and Lodi. In the course of the night, a regiment of the enemy's cavalry appeared at his outposts, and created considerable alarm, but, after a few discharges, retired. Nevertheless, Laharpe, followed by a piquet and several officers, went forward to reconnoitre, and particularly to interrogate, in person, the inhabitants of the farmhouses on the road. Unfortunately, however, he returned towards the camp by a different road from that by which he had been observed to set out; and the troops being on the watch, and mistaking the reconnoitring party for a detachment of the enemy, opened a brisk fire of musketry, and Laharpe fell dead, pierced with the bullets of his own soldiers, by whom he was greatly beloved. "It was remarked, that, during the action of Fiombio, throughout the evening preceding his death, he had seemed very absent and dejected; giving no orders, appearing, as it were, deprived of his usual faculties, and entirely overwhelmed by a FATAL PRESENTIMENT." General Laharpe was one of the bravest men in the Army of Italy; a grenadier both in stature and courage; and, though a foreigner by birth, (a Swiss,) had raised himself to the rank of a General Officer, by his skill and gallantry^*." (Napoleon's Memoirs, III. 172.)

* Not remotely connected with this subject is the following anecdote, upon the authenticity of which the reader may rely: On the night before Massena's attack on Lord Wellington's position, on the Sierra de Busaco, the troops, not expecting that the enemy was near, had laid down on the summit of the ridge to take a little rest; and numbers, both of the men and officers, overcome with fatigue, naturally fell asleep. Among the latter was the gallant officer who then commanded the Connaught Rangers. He had not slept, however, any length of time, when he started up, apparently in great alarm, and calling one of the officers of the same regiment, who had laid down quite close by him, said, "I have just had a most extraordinary dream; such as I once had before, the night before a battle. Depend on it we shall be attacked very soon." The young man immediately went forward, and after looking between him and the horizon, and listening for a while to every sound and murmur wafted on the night-breeze, returned, and reported that all was still. The Colonel was satisfied, and they again laid down; but, in less than half an hour, he started up a second time, exclaiming, in strong language, that ere an hour elapsed they would be attacked! On seeing the Colonel and his young friend throwing aside their cloaks, and moving off, several of the officers around them took the alarm; and it was time, for, on examination, it was found that the enemy's columns of attack were ascending the heights, with the utmost secrecy and expedition. It is known that they had reached the summit, and that some of their battalions had deployed into line before the British were ready to attack them. They were then charged, broken, and driven down the hill with great loss. It is remarkable that the same gallant officer, now a General, had a similar dream in Egypt, on the morning of the 21st March, before the British position was attacked by the French under cover of the darkness. — The reader will find a case nearly parallel in the 7th Chapter of the Book of Judges.

      Similar details might be multiplied to almost any extent; but the above are sufficient to serve the purpose I have at present in view; and the question that now presents itself for consideration is, Supposing these facts to be perfectly authentic, which on the strongest moral evidence I believe them to be, is it possible, consistently with any known principle or attribute of the human mind, to offer any explanation of this remark. able phenomenon? It is obvious, from the preceding anecdotes, that this "fatal presentiment," as Napoleon calls it, cannot be considered as an hallucination of mind, engendered by cowardice or fear, as, in all the instances that have been communicated to me, or I have come to the knowledge of, it has happened to men of approved courage, and of great firmness and intrepidity of character. One of the most striking concomitants of this prophetic anticipation of death is the overweening conviction that it will be inevitably realized; a conviction so strong as not to be shaken by either argument or ridicule; the man, therefore, who marches to battle, assured, in his own mind, that he will never return, by that very act, and in the peculiar circumstances, gives the most decisive proof of constancy and resolution, of his mastery over the passion of fear, and of his superiority to the weakness with which some minds are overwhelmed by the certainty of death. In the conflict of antagonist passions, the more powerful of course prevails, and determines human conduct; in other words, man always acts from the stronger motive.

      Nor is it consistent with the principles of reason, or even the doctrine of chances, to hold, that the realization of these fatal forebodings is to be ascribed to accident alone. The result of all the information I have been able to collect on the subject is, that in no case has the presentiment been falsified by the event; and, to say the least, it is very improbable, that, in so many instances, the prediction should be followed by the accomplishment, were there nothing more in the matter than a morbid imagination on the one hand, and a remarkable coincidence, like that of repeatedly throwing the same dice, on the other. Soldiers, and particularly veteran soldiers, familiar with danger and death, are not liable to be troubled with hypochondriac affections, or phantoms of visionary terror, the progeny of ennui or jaded epicurism; the evils they suffer and feel are physical, not mental; their life has too much of stern reality to be embittered by the phantasmagoria of the brain; food and rest after fatigue, and after battle, victory, and glory, are, in general, the prime objects with which they concern themselves. It is therefore highly improbable that such gloomy forebodings as those of which I have been writing should, in the first instance, be occasioned by any distempered affection of the mind; and it is no less improbable that the constant fulfilment of the prediction should be a mere accidental coincidence. I have heard at least a hundred anecdotes of the kind of which I have now given some specimens; and the result was invariably the same in all. Now, I say, that it would be absolutely miraculous were the dice (supposing them not loaded) to turn up a hundred times, in succession, the same numbers. It ought likewise to be remarked, that this is one of those predictions which cannot be said to produce its own accomplishment; soldiers, exposed to an enemy's fire, can scarcely increase or diminish, by any act of their own, the hazards to which all are equally exposed.

      Upon what principle, then, are we to account for the appalling certainty of approaching death thus irresistibly "borne in" upon the mind? By what secret intimation is it thus, in some instances, assured of the near approach of an event, which, to the vast majority of men, "clouds and shadows rest upon" till the fatal moment when it is revealed? Whence the overwhelming conviction with which the presentiment is accompanied? I confess I cannot tell; but I believe the fact, because the moral evidence in favour of it is, to me, irresistible. The physiology of the mind is a subject of which we are, and will for ever continue, in total ignorance. It may have latent powers, which only a particular combination of causes can call into action; and that combination may be of rare occurrence, and beyond the reach of our inquiries, when it does happen. Many of the lower animals are gifted with a presentiment of danger, the manner of acquiring which is probably as mysterious as that which we are considering; and this seems to be given them by Nature for their preservation. Man is, in general, placed in a less enviable situation, because he has reason, instead of instinct, as his guide. Yet it has been believed, in all ages, that men have been, occasionally, forewarned of their approaching dissolution, and that "sounds, by no mortal made," are intelligible to "death's prophetic ear." This belief, probably, I may add, certainly, originated from the observation of facts similar to those I have mentioned; but how, at the "sunset of life," "coming events cast their shadows before," is a mystery which we shall never be able to penetrate. It is equally impossible, I suspect, even to conjecture, with any degree of plausibility, whether these premonitions result from any internal consciousness, or external agency, — from some latent power of the mind suddenly called into action, or from the immediate influence of that Mighty Being of whom it is only an emanation. Be this as it may, it is the business of philosophy to accumulate facts, not theories, and where these are few, and the connecting principle doubtful, to avoid all hasty generalizations^*.

I am, yours, &c.           
CASSIUS.     

      Edinburgh, Feb. 6, 1824.

* Having confined myself to military anecdotes, illustrative of the presentiment of approaching and inevitable death, I shall advert, in this note, to the well-known case of Henri IV. That truly great prince, on the night immediately preceding the day on which he fell by the knife of Ravaillac, "could take no rest, and was in continual uneasiness," and, "in the morning, he told those about him that he had not slept, and was very much disordered. Thereupon, M. de Vendome entreated His Majesty to take care of himself that day, and not to go out; FOR THAT DAY WAS FATAL TO HIM." (Pere de l'Etoile.) The King, however, treated this advice with derision; and as one La Brosse had predicted that he would fall on that day, he seemed resolved, like Cæsar, to brave the ides of March, and, if possible, to give the prophet the lie. This disturbance and disorder continued unabated, till the very moment that he formed the resolution to go abroad in the afternoon. Mathieu, in recounting his discourse both before and after dinner, adds, that "he could not stay one moment in any place, nor conceal his irresolution and disorder;" and that striking his forehead with his hand, he exclaimed, "My God! there is something here which strangely troubles me; I know not what is the matter!" The assassin, who was on the watch for his opportunity, hearing that the King had ordered his carriage, muttered to himself, "I have thee — thou art lost!" and the dreadful prediction was fulfilled. We are informed by Sully, that Henri lived in perpetual apprehension of assassination; and it is therefore quite probable that the prediction of La Brosse, coupled with the constant dread that he would, in this way, be immolated, to satiate the implacable rage of his enemies, may have occasioned that undefinable irresolution and disorder for which he himself was unable to account. It may therefore be doubted whether the state of Henri's mind, immediately preceding his death, can be considered as that of a person labouring under a presentiment of his approaching fate. He derided, or affected to deride, La Brosse's prediction; he appears to have been oppressed by no overmastering conviction that his hours were numbered; he only felt an unusual restlessness, and a disorder of the brain, which might have been produced involuntarily by the causes already mentioned. The circumstance, however, was altogether too remarkable to be passed over.

ADDITIONAL INSTANCES OF "FATAL PRESENTIMENTS."

MR EDITOR,
      NOT long ago, there appeared in your Magazine, an interesting paper containing a number of instances where individuals, immediately previous to their death, had had revealed to them presages of its near and certain approach. Every body, I believe, has heard or read something of this sort; and, consequently, the author of that article might have multiplied his examples to nearly any extent. But there are two cases of this presentiment so very remarkable in themselves, and at the same time so perfectly authentic, that I am surprised they should have been overlooked or omitted, especially as they are to be found in a work "which," Dr Johnson says, "the critic ought to read for its elegance, the philosopher for its arguments, and the saint for its piety;" I mean, "Some Passages of the Life and Death of John Earl of Rochester," by Bishop Burnet.

      The first of these is nearly in all respects similar to the majority of the anecdotes related by your correspondent.

      "When he (Rochester) went to sea in the year 1665, there happened to be in the same ship with him Mr Montague, and another gentleman of quality; these two, the former especially, seemed persuaded that they should never return into England. Mr Montague said he was sure of it: the other was not so positive. The Earl of Rochester and the last of these entered into a formal engagement, not without ceremonies of religion, that if either of them died, he should appear and give the other notice of the future state, if there was any. But Mr Montague would not enter into the bond. When the day came that they thought to have taken the Dutch fleet in the port of Bergen, Mr Montague, though he had such a strong presage in his mind of his approaching death, yet he generously staid all the while in the place of danger. The other gentleman signalized his courage in a most undaunted manner, till near the end of the action, when he fell, on a sudden, into such a trembling, that he could scarce stand; and Mr Montague, going to hold him up, as they were in each other's arms, a cannonball killed him outright, and carried away Mr Montague's belly, so that he died within an hour after. The Earl of Rochester told me, that these presages they had in their minds made some impression on him, that there were separate beings, and that THE SOUL, EITHER BY A NATURAL SAGACITY, OR SOME SECRET NOTICE COMMUNICATED TO IT, HAD A SORT OF DIVINATION: but that gentleman's never appearing, was a great snare to him, during the rest of his life."

      The second case differs in one respect from the foregoing, and from all those adduced in the paper on Fatal Presentiments. I shall give it in the Bishop's words.

      "He told me of another odd presage that one had of his approaching death, in the Lady Warre, his mother-in-law's house: The Chaplain had dreamt that such a day he should die; but being by all the family put out of the belief of it, he had almost forgot it: till the evening before, at supper, there being thirteen at table, according to a fond conceit that one of these must soon die, one of the young ladies pointed to him, that he was to die. He, remembering his dream, fell into some disorder, and the Lady Warre reproving him for his superstition, he said, he was confident he was to die before morning; but he being in perfect health, it was not much minded. He went to his chamber, and sat up late, as appeared by the burning of his candle, and he had been preparing his notes for his sermon, but was found dead in his bed the next morning! These things, he said, made him incline to believe the soul was a substance distinct from matter, and this often returned into his thoughts."

      In the eyes of some persons, these, and all similar anecdotes, will appear as nothing but mere phantasmata of the brain, which, like all other visionary hallucinations, would have attracted little or no observation, were it not for the accidental coincidence between the presage, engendered by a morbid affection of the mind, and the event, which, to hasty and superficial thinkers, gives it something of the air and character of prophecy. And, in support of this view, it may be, and in fact has been argued, that no record has been taken of the (supposed) innumerable instances in which "presages of approaching death" have been belied, because they are little calculated to interest the imagination, or gratify the love of the marvellous; whereas, on the other hand, every case where accident has produced the accomplishment of the omen, has been eagerly seized hold of and retailed for the gratification of superstitious and credulous anecdote-mongers; that of the vast numbers, for example, who have died in battle, there have been exceedingly few who had any other presentiment than that created by the natural and ineradicable principle of fear, from which no human being is altogether exempt, when death, in a thousand forms, is every instant staring him in the face, — still fewer who, abandoning the confidence which every man has in his own good fortune, firmly believed they would not survive a particular conflict, — and only a rare instance now and then, where chance has given to a diseased state of the mind the colour of prophecy, by the apparent fulfilment of a hap-hazard prediction; and, lastly, that the principles of human nature being, upon the whole, uniform in their operation, it must be self-evident, that examples of this pretended species of divination would be as numerous as they are found by experience to be the reverse.

      It is impossible for any one to deny that there may not be a good deal of truth in all this. Every circumstance of an extraordinary, not to say supernatural kind, running counter to the general experience of mankind, rare in its occurrence, and perhaps embellished in the relation, ought doubtless to be received with extreme caution, and accredited only on the best evidence, narrowly examined by the rules of a strict logic. But, on the other hand, if we are to reason at all, we can only reason from such facts, properly authenticated, as we have come to the knowledge of; and it is a very insufficient ground for wholly rejecting these facts as unworthy of regard, that none of a contrary description have been put upon record; in other words, to meet testimony by hypothesis. For instance, it is a very unsatisfactory explanation of the point presently under consideration, to allege that there may have been innumerable cases of fatal presentiment not verified by the result. The question, in all reasoning, is, not what may have happened, but what conclusion are we to draw from facts which nobody disputes? Nor is there much in the argument drawn from the supposed uniformity of the general principles of human nature, and the consequent congruity of feeling among all men on certain subjects. As was properly remarked in the former paper, the physiology of the mind is a subject but little known, and probably destined to remain for ever involved in obscurity; but the phenomena of dreams and of madness demonstrate, that there exist relations among our ideas, of which, in ordinary circumstances, we are perfectly unconscious, and, with all our best ingenuity, incompetent to solve or explain. It is, therefore, most unphilosophical to pronounce a fact incredible because it is rare, or unworthy of examination because it harmonizes not with the common course of our experience; and it is utterly absurd to erect our general consciousness into a standard by which to try those anomalies and exceptions, so to speak, peculiar to a spiritual being, of many, if not perhaps the greater part, of whose properties we are still in complete ignorance.

      Many of the ancient philosophers believed that the mind was endowed, to a certain extent, with a power of prescience totally distinct from and independent of that conjectural sagacity in regard to the future, which is derived from enlarged and comprehensive experience of the past; and Cicero, in different parts of his philosophical works, gives us to understand that he entertained a similar belief. In fact, this is a tenet which has been common to men in all ages, embodied in their popular poetry and traditions, and disputed only in periods of sceptical refinement. And if we admit — as I think we must, if we reason at all on the subject — that every action and every event occur in conformity to general laws, — in other words, that there is no such thing as contingency either in human actions or the course of events, but that each must be determined by an adequate motive or cause, — there seems nothing repugnant to reason, or inconsistent with what we already know of the mind, in admitting the possible existence of such a faculty, though, for wise purposes, its operation is confined within narrow limits, and we are kept in salutary ignorance of the things yet to be. If there be no contingency, every thing is necessary, and, what must inevitably happen, may, for any thing we know to the contrary, be sometimes, and to a certain extent, foreseen even by man in his present imperfect state. It has been often remarked, that men have a presentiment of approaching disaster and calamity, while prosperity, even when it comes suddenly, is seldom or never preceded by any presage of its approach. This is, no doubt, a wise provision, as it is of more importance to men to receive a premonition of coming evil than of coming good. But we think a different solution may be given. All the powers and faculties of man are devoted primarily to his preservation, and are most violently called into action when it is endangered. Hence, even the very instincts of his nature frequently give him a sort of salutary presentiment indispensable to his safety. It is upon this principle that we would account for the presentiment of evil being so much more powerful than that of good, which requires no harbinger to prepare us for its approach. But for the very same reason that we have sometimes a general and indefinite presentiment of coming evil, which may, in fact, prove complex in its character, we may have a distinct presage of the approach of death, which is one event, and in itself the most awful we are called upon to meet in the present state of our being.

      I am therefore of opinion, that Lord Rochester's "impression, that the soul, either by a natural sagacity, or some secret notice communicated to it, had a sort of divination," comes much nearer the truth than any conclusion hitherto drawn by those who have speculated on the subject. It is much to be regretted, that a man of Bishop Burnet's acuteness and "natural sagacity" should have suffered a matter so interesting to pass without offering a single remark on the subject.

      The anecdote of the chaplain shows, that such presentiments as those I have been writing of are not confined to men exposed to the perils of war, and is at least one authentic instance of such presages communicated by dreams; χαἱ τ' ὄναρ ἐχ Διός ἐςτι.

ONIROPOLOS.      

Gaslight translation: from Greek: "And dreams are from Zeus."