uppermost in my mind. For instance, last year a member of my family went out on Saturday afternoon with one of my cars, saying he did not know just where he was going, but would be back “before morning,” that he and another boy were going to look up some school friends.

About one o’clock I woke up suddenly, feeling dizzy and ill, and with a terrible pain in my left shoulder. In the morning I found that the boy had not returned and I still felt ill. I had not the slightest idea where the boys had gone, as the friends were at a school in Providence, R. I., but did not live there.

To wait for a telephone message seemed the sensible thing to do, but I felt urged to go somewhere, but did not know where. It was so strong, however, that taking a friend who could drive, I started out, and before leaving the yard I heard the car number repeated several times, and then the name of a nearby city. Feeling utterly foolish, but saying nothing, I drove to the town and almost at once saw the car at a garage with the top crushed. Hurrying inside, I found the boys both bandaged, the driver’s left shoulder injured. He had been trying to telephone me, but no one answered. The car had skidded and turned over at one o’clock, and they had both been so badly shaken that they had been obliged to wait until daylight to get help.

During the Summer, repeated at more or less regular intervals, the feeling of a certain scene has come to me. I wake with a sensation of a confusion of sounds and a feeling of rapid motion, of being carried or blown along and becoming lighter and lighter, until there is no substance or personal feeling at all; yet the air is clear and very fragrant, as if from many invisible flowers. After a while I seem to settle down softly on a huge platform or open building, along both sides of which, as far as the eye can follow, are long wooden boxes.