The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1880-01-22
PrenlOnitOry Dreams.


One winter evening, about fifty year
ago, post-chaise, with single gentle
man inside it, drove up to the little inn
on the pentland firth, in the north Of
Scotland, where passengers who were 90
ing to cross to the Orkneys usually spent
the night. The gentleman, whom we will
call Mr.. Mac T., was the owner of
large estate, and an old house which had
belonged to his family for hundreds OF
years, in the Mainland, or chief of the
Orkney Islands, and was now about to
visit his property. It was clustering,
stormy night, but that only made more
pleasant the cigar and the glass of wills.
key, and the cracking wood fire by
which Mac r. sat chatting with the
landlord, who was an old friend both OF
his father and himself, and who was
proud of entertaining the ''young laird"
as he called him, with his widest tales
of adventure on the sea. They did not
however, SIT late, for the Orkney packet
sailed very early in the morning. and
Mac T. soon found himself in the COSY,
wellappointod little bedroom. The
wind was chanting q grand Berserker
melody, and the sea was roaring a deep
bass accompaniment. Mac T. loved those
sounds for they had often been the lullaby
Of his childhood, ana soon tell asleep.
For some hours he slept without an
image or thought reaching his mind;
but at length, when the morning was
glimmering gray in the east, strange
dream came to puzzle him. He dreamt
that he was in the ancient banquettlng-
hall of his old house in the Mainland. Sit
ting at the head of very long table. The
banqueting hall was now in reality al.
most ruin, but in his dream Mac T.
saw it hung with tapestry ana blazing
with hundred lighs. The table was
we'll filled on both sides, and he thought
he glanced curiously down its length to
see who his guests were. As he looked
| he shuddered in his dream. Those who
sat at the table with him wers all dead
ancestors for many generations back. He
knew their faces and dresses we'll from
their portraits in the picture gallery.
Next to him sat his own father, who had
died about year before. And at the
bottom of the table sat fair -haired man
In dress of skius, who was Morse chief
tain, the founder Of the family. Itseem-
ed to him that he sat for some moments
| as it spellbOund, while the spectres MUIR
INJURED together in low, hollow tones. At
length they all rose, and slowly, one by
| one, in turn, left the hall. But before
they went, each one paused at the door,
| and turning, raised his hand in warn
ing attitude, fixed his eyes on Mac T.,
and said in deep voice, the word "Be-
warel'
"The packet starts in twenty minutes,
sir" cried loud voice at the door, rous-
ing Mac T. suddenly from sleep. Con-
fused at first, yet soon remembering
where he was, he sprang out of bed and
began hurriedly to dress himself. Beng
a bad sailor, his first glance was natural
" enough at the sea, close to which the
inn stood. The wind had risen in the
night. The waves Numbered on the
shore; and the little Orkney packet was
tossed up and down like a limpet
shell. As he gazed, his strange dream
rose up with sudden distinctness before
! Mac rs mind. He was infected with
good deal of Scotch superstition. Be-
sides, he did not much like the looks of
the sea, and so he resolved not to go out
till tomorrow. That day the Orkney
packet was lost with every man on board,
and Mac T. and his little wife, who was
lett at home with the babies, had to
| thank that warning dream ror his life
The other instance we have to tell is
quite as singular. Many years ago the
Rev. Mr.. N. held q small living in the
widest part of West Somerset. The par
ish church stood on bleak hillside, and
Mr.. N. was bachelor, logged in the farm
house close to it. Among his small flock
there was none in whom the clergyman
took more interest than in Mary the pref
| ty daughter of the farmer, his landlord.
When Mary was about twenty Mr.. N.
was much troubled by finding that she
had formed an attachment with Jack
Townsend, the cleverest workman and
the most worthless fellow on the farm.
One autumn night the clergyman
dreamed that Mary stood at his bedside,
and cried out in an imploring voice,
''Come out on to the hillside!" The i'm
| preston left on his mind on waking was
so distinct that, if he had not know the
door was locked so that no one could en-
ter the room, he would have thought
Mary must in reality have been there.
Feeling, however, sure that it was only
a dream, he composed himself once more
to sleep. But scarcely had he closed his
eyes when Mary was again there, calling
to him to come out on the hillside. Sew
en- several times he tried t. sleep, and
seven times the phantom came back, al
ways with the same cry.
At length, mastered by an almost IRE
sistible impulse, he rose, dressed himself,
and went out on the hill. He walked
some distance, but could see nothing ex-
cept the heather-bells waving in the
moonlight; could hear nothing but a DIS
tant sheep-bell tinkling softly, and the
stream warbling below in the valley
He was just going back, when suddenly
shrill cry reached him, seeming to
come from neighboring combe. Hurry.
ing IL that direction, he saw at the bot
tom Of the combe two figures, those of
man and woman, apparently struggling
with each other. As he drew near, the
man ran away and the woman fell to the
ground. When he came up he 1ouud that
it was Mary. She had only tainted, and
he soon brought Eer to herself Then bv
| degrees she confessed to him that her