ONE morning, during the War, I had a most vivid dream of being chased by two Germans with fixed bayonets, and I'd almost reached safety when one of them stabbed me in the right shoulder. The shock woke me, and, on looking at the clock, I found it was about 6:45 a.m. When I got downstairs I remarked that something had happened to my husband and related my dream, only to be laughed at. I heard nothing at all from, or of, my husband for fifteen days; then I had the usual official notification, saying that he was in hospital with severe gun-shot wounds to the head and left shoulder. Some few weeks later I went to see him in hospital and found that it was his right shoulder that was in bandages, and, of course, told him my dream. He looked at me in such a queer way that I asked him what was the matter, and this is what he told me: The morning he was wounded, they were ordered to attack at 6:30, and they hadn't got very far from their trenches when he was hit in the right shoulder with a piece of shell which sent him spinning into a shell hole, where he lay unconscious for two or three hours. When he recovered consciousness he saw me standing on the edge of the shell hole, beckoning him, and, with great difficulty (for his right arm was quite useless) managed to scramble out and follow me. He was joined by two wounded Germans. When I'd gone some distance, I stopped, so did he and one of the Germans; the other one went on and was blown to bits by a shell which exploded just in front of us. Then I went on and took him safely to the dressing-station, where he collapsed. To this day he declares I saved his life. The Shell-wrecked Church THE experience I shall never forget happened to me while serving with the Dublin Fusiliers in France. My battalion had just come out of the trenches and we were billeted in different villages near at hand—my company in the village of Courcelles. In this village was a shell-wrecked church, and my billet was a broken-down cottage just opposite. One evening I took a stroll through this church and, to my amazement, I heard the sound of deep and heavy breathing. Thinking someone was asleep, I had a good look round but found nothing. Looking across the road I saw my chum talking to an officer and I went over and asked them to come over and listen. When they heard the noise my chum turned deathly white, and they asked me what it was or who it was. I was just as wise as they were. We searched about the church, even to moving about the stones and bricks, but found nothing. The same night, when asleep in the ruined cottage opposite, my chum woke me up with a startled cry, “Cyril, look quick, the Virgin Mary!” Looking up, I was astonished to see a white figure gliding through the room and out of the broken window across to the church and into it. We went all about the church the next morning but all was quiet. What could it have been? Vision of Brother