'About the age of fourteen I was almost every night unhappy in my sleep from frightful dreams. Sometimes hanging over a frightful precipice, and just ready to drop down; sometimes pursued for my life, and stopped by a wall, or by a sudden loss of all strength; sometimes ready to be devoured by a wild beast. How long I was plagued with such dreams I do not now recollect. I believe it was for a year or two at least; and I think they had not quite left me before I was sixteen. In those days I was much given to what Mr. Addison, in one of his "Spectators," calls "castle-building;" and in my evening solitary walk, which was generally all the exercise I took, my thoughts would hurry me into some active scene, where I generally acquitted myself much to my own satisfaction; and in these scenes of imagination I performed many a gallant exploit. At the same time in my dreams I found myself the most arrant coward that ever was. Not only my courage, but my strength failed me in every danger: and I often rose from my bed in the morning in such a panic, that it took some time to get the better of it. I wished very much to get rid of these uneasy dreams, which not only made me very unhappy in sleep, but often left a disagreeable impression on my mind for some part of the following' day. I thought it was worth trying whether it was possible to recollect that it was all a dream, and that I was in no real danger. I often went to sleep with my mind as strongly impressed as I could with this thought, that I never in my lifetime was in any real danger, and that every right I had was a dream. After many fruitless endeavours to recollect this when the danger appeared, I effected it at last, and have often, when I was sliding over a precipice into the abyss, recollected that it was all a dream, and boldly jumped down. The effect of this commonly was, that I immediately awoke. But I awoke calm and intrepid, which I thought a great acquisition. After this my dreams were never uneasy, and in a short time I dreamed not at all.

'During all this time I was in perfect health; but whether my ceasing to dream was the effect of the recollection above-mentioned, or of any change in the habit of my body, which is usual about that period of life, I cannot tell. I think it may more probably be imputed to the last. However, the fact was, that for forty years after I dreamed none, to the best of my remembrance; and finding from the testimony of others that his is somewhat uncommon, I have often, as soon as I awoke, endeavoured to recollect, without being able to recollect anything that passed in my sleep. For some years past I can sometimes recollect some kind of dreaming thoughts, but so incoherent that I can make nothing of them.

'The only distinct dream I ever had since I was about sixteen, as far as I remember, was about two years ago. I had got my head blistered for a fall. A plaster which was put upon it after the blister pained me excessively for a whole night. In the morning I slept a little, and dreamed very distinctly that I had fallen into the hands of a party of Indians, and was scalped.

once thought of it." She then composed herself, and soon fell asleep again. In about another hour she cried out, in a dreadful fright, "I see the boat is going down." The Major again awoke her, and she said, " It has been owing to the other dream I had, for I feel no uneasiness about it." After some conversation they both fell sound asleep, but no rest could be obtained for her. In the most extreme agony she again screamed, "They are gone, the boat is sunk!" When the Major awakened her, she said, "Now I cannot rest; Mr. D'Acre must not go; for I feel, should he go, I should be miserable till his return: the thoughts of it would almost kill me." 'She instantly arose, threw on her wrapping gown, went to his bedside, for his room was next their own, and with great difficulty she got his promise to remain at home. " But what am I to say to my young friends whom I was to meet at Leith at six o'clock?" " With great truth you may say your aunt is ill, for I am so at present. Consider you are an only son, under our pro-tection; and should anything happen to you it would be my death." Mr. D'Acre immediately wrote a note to his friends, saying he was prevented joining them, and sent his servant with it to Leith. The morning came in most beautifully, and continued so till three o'clock, when a violent storm arose, and in an instant the boat and all that were in it went to the bottom, and were never more heard of, nor was any part of it ever seen.

'I often heard the story from my father, who always added, "It has not made me superstitious; but with awful gratitude I never can forget my life, by Providence, was saved by a dream."' - Blackwood's Magazine, 1826.

[In Chambers's 'Book of Days,' vol. ii. p. 188, the writer of the above letter is identified as Lady Clerk, of Penicuick, nee Mary D'Acre.]