I DREAMED out of the past, a shaft of light striking up, over, and through my life, I see myself standing on the edge of an immense sheet of gleaming sullen water. A river in full flood brimming from bank to bank with an opaque oily blackness of swiftly-flowing water. A tidal river flowing through bleak flat-land to the sea. There I stand looking across to the faintly-seen dark ridge of bank on the other side. I stand waiting, hesitating to cross, wishing to do so, and not deterred by thought of danger; as how could I walk through those rolling masses of black water with safety.

Suddenly as I watch there comes up out of the distant horizon; gleaming over the water, turning it in places to pure silver and gold, with black blue and green lights on its heaving tide, a great shaft of light. The light strikes up over the sky, and is reflected on the water. A dream vision of northern lights piercing the darkness of a dream horizon. Then across the wide stretch of murky river faintly comes a voice. A well-known familiar voice, so familiar that even in the half-lit night I can make out the figure on the further side.

" Do not try to cross, it is too dangerous. I will come to you. Stay where you are. I will come to you, I will cross to you." The voice came clear out of the gloom. Then I awoke.

N.B.—In my mind for years, but evidently, at a call for help, it came to be written.