LEAVES FROM AN INDIAN DIARY.

Evening Star, Issue 8772, 12 March 1892, Page 1 (Supplement)

LEAVES FROM AN INDIAN DIARY.

[By A Vetbban.] No. LII. Aa everybody is just now talking of ghosts, and "Mark Twain among the prophets," I may as well mention one or two very singular cases. I may premise by saying that when the first of these occurred I should have scouted the idea of being supposed to be a believer in any such nonsense, and even now that we read so muofi about and are supposed to have accumulated such an amount of evidence on telepathy, I think I should prefer to reserve my judgment. The human mind is wonderfully susceptible of the veriest breath of influence, and many cases that are put forward in all sincerity as perfectly genuine could be traced to some almost imperceptible germs of thought from which they have originated, and, by the force of imagination, expanded into full-blown telepathic facts. But to our tale. After the Mutiny was pretty well crushed out, in November, 1858,1 had got to Mooltan on my way to New Zealand on sick leave. The Native regiments there had months before been disarmed, but for all that they had broken out and attacked the detachment of the Bombay Fusiliers with clubs and swords. They had been beaten off, hunted, and utterly dispersed, so that there was no reason to expect, especially so late in the day, any fresh rising from the handful of men left. However, one night after going to bed I dreamt that my friend with whom I was staying came and knocked at the door of my bedroom, saying he wanted to speak to me, and that he then proceeded to tell me there was to be a rising that night, and explained what arrangements he proposed making for the defence of the house in case of an attack. I then awoke, and for some time lay awake, but at laßt went to sleep again. Presently I was awakened by my friend knocking at the door, calling me out and telling me there was to be a rising, and what he proposed doing, etc., etc., exactly as I had previously dreamt it. When he called me I knew exactly what he was going to tell me, and could have repeated word for word his own programme to him. However, no rising took place. The next ease came to me from a reliable source two days ago. The writer is in Edinburgh, and on the 13th November went to see a friend of his, Dr M , who then told him he had had a wretched dream the previous night, to the effect that his brother in Australia was dead, and on his deathbed kept saying " Where is Jim?"— i.e., his brother the doctor. The dream made Buch an impression on him that he noted it on a calendar on his mantelpiece. About a month afterwards the writer was again with Dr M—, when a letter arrived from Australia telling of his brother's death on the 12th November, and saying that be had been calling out: " Where is Jim ?" The writer goes on to say this is a fast, for I saw the letter opened and afterwards read it myself. The third case is a little different. A good many years ago I had a great friend, Jim Vallings, with whom I kept up a correspondence, though a very desultory one, writing about once a year or so. We were both busy, and had little time for private letters, so that by degrees Jim was almost fading out of my memory, for it U wonderful how time wipes out the past aswith a sponge. I had been working latejme night over Borne calculations, and having brought them to a satisfactory conclusion, I went to bed rather tired. It was a dark night, without moon or starlight, and I had slept about a couple of hours, when I awoke with a sudden start, and there in that dark room I became aware of a presence. There was nothing tangible or visible, and yet the presence could be felt and seen, for, gazing Into the dark, I became aware of an indistinct form, which something told me was Jim Vallings. There was no sound and no movement, but somehow I knew something had happened to my old friend. I cannot say I felt frightened at that shapeless form, but there was a terrible sense of oppression upon me, and a horror that made the perspiration break out all over me. I tried to speak, but could not do so. There was that nameless, formless something before me that would neither move nor speak. At last I stretched out my hand, and getting the matches atrnck a light. But beyond the match the darkness seemed greater than ever, and peer aa I would I could not make out anything; bo I lighted the candle, but though the oppression was still upon me nothing could I see to

account for it. I jumped out of bed, and walked round the room with the candle i» my hand. The door and window were shut, there Were no curtains or hangings, ■• olothea over the end of the bed or on a chair to account for the form I had seen. With the movement I found the sense of oppression leaving me, and 1 threw open tiie window to cool my self. I found a very gentle rein had just commenced, and the fresh air eoon made me feel better. Still, the knpmmo» of what had occurred was so very strong upon me that I got hold of my note book off the dressing table in the next room and made an entry of all that had happened, with the date and the honr. Then, shutting the window and'blowing ont the candle, I turned into bed and slept Bonndly till the usual hour in the morning. The next day or two I awaited developments, for I was certain I should hear something of Jim, who lived only 100 miles off. After the second day I began to feel fidgety and anxious, so I sat down and wrote to Jim, asking him what he had been doing at the time of which I had made an entry in my book. After the delay of a few days more came a letter telling me that dear old Jim had been work> ing as usual on the date I mentioned, ana had gone to bed at his ordinary and slept well, and at the time of writing he was well and hoped I was the same, and whtf the dickens was I after.