THE DREAM.

I had a dream which was not all a dream.---Byron. THE following story was narrated to me by a gentleman of strict veracity. He was an officer in the army, and the circumstance occurred nearly forty years ago, upon his returning with his regiment to England, after an absence of long duration. He was obliged to repair to London immediately after his arrival, whence he purposed setting off for the north of England, where his family was then residing. After many delays, occasioned by business at the war office, he concluded his arrangements, and determined to leave town on the third of November. The night preceding his departure arrived, and he fell asleep in excellent health and spirits; but awoke from his slumber in the utmost horror, for he had been disturbed by a dream; whose dreadful subject was heightened by a minuteness and circumstantiality seldom to be observed in these fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train.' It was some minutes before he could recollect himself, or feel assured that he was actually in safety; but at length, recalling his weakened energies, he smiled at his vain fears, and once more composed himself to rest.

He slept, and again the same vision appeared to him with added terror. He thought that he was travelling through a beautiful country, fresh with verdure, and rich in cultivation; when, as he journeyed on, rejoicing in the hilarity which shone around him, the prospect became suddenly changed; the green hills and smiling valleys were transformed to a bleak and barren heath; dark clouds obscured the heavens, and night suddenly came on. Presently he reached a building, which, at first, bore the appearance of a church; but, as he appoached nearer, proved to be an inn. He entered the gate which led to the house, but found the greatest difficulty in proceeding. Sometimes his feet seemed fastened to the ground, and an hundred times he stumbled over impediments which appeared to lie in his path, the nature of which he was prevented by the darkness from discovering.

in the scene.

Still, with that blindness and obstinacy which usually characterize the dreamer, he continued to advance, until at last, the moon shining out, he found himself standing alone in a church-yard, and casting his eyes beupon a grave-stone before him, Colonel Bheld his own name sculptured on the marble! Struck with surprise, he looked again, but it was no longer there; and, passing through the church-yard, which now afforded no obstruction to his steps, he entered the inn. The vision then became confused, and nothing was clearly defined, until he found himself in his chamber. Here a sensation of fear seemed to hang upon him, and he was oppressed by the feeling of intense expectation, so often experienced in dreams. Still the church-yard appeared as a prominent feature The room seemed surrounded with windows, yet all presented the same ghastly spectacle of graves and tomb-stones, gleaming white in the moonshine; which seemed, as he gazed upon them, to gape beneath his eyes. At last he went to bed, but scarcely had he laid his head upon the pillow, when the door of his chamber was slowly opened, and he beheld a figure, in whom he recognized the landlord of the inn, advancing towards him with a knife in his hand, followed by another holding a lanthorn. Agonized by fear, the dreamer strove to shriek for help and mercy, but his tongue, refusing to perform its office, clave to the roof of his mouth. At this crisis his agitation awoke him, and he found himself sitting upright in his bed; cold drops were hanging on his brow, and he trembled as if in an ague fit; nor were his feelings much less unpleasing after the first agitation was subsided. In justice to Colonel B-'s character, which might otherwise suffer in the reader's estimation, from his indulging ideas so little consonant with his reputation as a soldier, I must remind him, that, at the period of my narrative, travelling did not possess all the ease and accommodation it now enjoys Stage coaches were yet in their infancy; the inns had sometimes a very ill name; the roads were bad, and, occasionally, frequented by such as

scrupled not at saying 'Stand!' to a true man; so that a long journey was then regarded as a matter not only of consequence, but even hazard. In these days of peaceful travelling and genteel accommodation for man and horse,' some ridicule would justly attach itself to him whose sleep should be disturbed by an approaching journey; but forty years go people might have dreamed of being murdered in the road between London and York, without incurring the charge of unreasonable timidity.

The colonel, rousing himself from these sombre meditations, made a solemn resolution to dream no more,' and, falling into a peaceful and undisturbed slumber, he awoke next morning without a trace of the childish feelings which had so lately agitated him. The information he received on rising, however, did not increase his exhilaration; he had determined to make the journey on horseback, attended by a favourite servant, but, to his great vexation, he found that the man had been taken seriously ill in the course of the night, and was now totally unable to proceed. There was not time to procure another attendant, and he was therefore obliged to advance alone.

The day was pleasant for the season, and the apprehensions of the preceding night quickly vanished from his thoughts. As evening approached, he quickened his pace towards a village which appeared at a little distance, and where, his horse being fatigued, he hoped to obtain quarters for the night. The shades of evening were falling thick around him as he entered the village; the chill blast of a November night moaned through the trees; it was a lonely place, and the colonel began to doubt, from its wretchedness of appearance, if it could afford accommodation for himself and his horse. At length he thought he could distinguish a sign-post in the distance; he quickened his pace, and soon became convinced that he was approaching some house of entertainment; but, as he came nearer, a slight turning in the road disclosed to him another object; he started, and, for a few moments, felt more than

Was it possible?

he liked to own, even to himself. No, it could not be; the twilight had deceived him :' but a few paces convinced him that it was no delusion, for exactly opposite his intended lodging stood the village church, with its usual accompaniment of graves and tomb-stones.

His immediate impulse was to pass the house without farther hesitation; but, recovering from his first surprise, he now began to reason with himself upon the folly and impropriety of suffering his imagination to be so acted upon as to refuse the shelter which was thus offered to him, and which the situation of his horse rendered almost necessary; while, by proceeding, he risked the chance of being benighted in a part of the country entirely unknown to him; and what motive could be assign for acting thus? A dream forsooth! a nightmare occasioned by a disturbed mind, or a hearty supper! No, an officer in the British army would not allow himself to be led astray by every turn of a distempered fancy; he would enter the inn.

By the time this manly resolution was adopted, Colonel B- had arrived at the place of his destination; where, having examined the house, his determination began to waver. It was situated quite at the extremity of the village, and rather apart from any other habitation; and, whether it was really so, or that the distempered state of his nerves influenced his judg ment, he knew not, but it certainly appeared to him that the place wore an aspect of seclusion and gloom very unlike the air of cheerful comfort which usually characterizes an inn.

While deliberating within himself, the landlord appeared at the door; he was a ferocious-looking person, with an expression of sullen malignity in his countenance; looked as if he had not been shaved for a month; and his manners, if not decidedly uncivil, were so disagreeable and abrupt, that if the traveller's resolution had before began to falter, the sight of the innkeeper soon overthrew it entirely; and, having inquired the distance of the nearest town, which he found

to be very trifling, Colonel B.

gave the spur to his jaded horse, and the church-yard, the gloomy inn, and the ferocious innkeeper, were soon left far behind. Fate now seemed determined to atone for her former unpropitious treatment; after riding about half a mile, the traveller reached a town whose cheerful appearance afforded a contrast the most striking to the lonely village he had just quitted. The inn, a pleasant-looking place, stood surrounded by other houses, and nothing like a church-yard was to be descried. Rejoicing in his good fortune, Colonel B- dismounted, and entered the house: he was conducted into a room whose naturally-pleasant aspect was now heightened by the blaze of a cheerful fire; the attendants were civil; the supper excellent; and, as he enjoyed the luxury of his present situation, he blessed the friendly warning which, by exciting his apprehensions, however unnecessarily, had induced him to exchange a bad lodging for one so full of comfort and convenience.

The evening passed rapidly away, by means of the usual amusements of a solitary night at an inn, eating and yawning; and, at ten o'clock, the colonel desired to be shown to his apartment. As he looked round the pleasant chamber to which he was conducted, his mind again reverted to the lonely inn, and its appearance of desolation and misery; but, although acknowledging the superiority of the quarters he had chosen, and never for a moment repenting of his choice, he yet could scarcely help blushing as the events of the day passed in review before him. In his present state of ease and security, his spirits exhilarated and his limbs at rest, he marvelled that his mind could have been disturbed, or his actions controlled, by a cause so trivial and childish; and the result of these, his calm meditations, was, a secret resolution of never disclosing the circumstance to a single human being.

He now began to prepare himself for bed: while he was thus engaged, his attention was attracted by the moon, which, shining in all the lustre of a clear autumn night, shed a stream of radiance through an aperture of