A pupil of Anton Rubinstein, the great pianist and composer (1829-1894), tells this story. It may be found in _Harper's Magazine_ for December, 1912, under the title _A Girl's Recollections of Rubinstein_, by Lillian Nichia. "One wild, blustery night I found myself at dinner with Rubinstein, the weather being terrific even for St. Petersburg. The winds were howling round the house and Rubinstein, who liked to ask questions, inquired of me what they represented to my mind. I replied, 'The moaning of lost souls.' From this a theological discussion followed. "'There may be a future,' he said. "'There is a future,' I cried, 'a great and beautiful future. If I die first I shall come to you and prove this.' "He turned to me with great solemnity. "'Good, Liloscha, that is a bargain; and I will come to you.' "Six years later in Paris I woke one night with a cry of agony and despair ringing in my ears, such as I hope may never be duplicated in my lifetime. Rubinstein's face was close to mine, a countenance distorted by every phase of fear, despair, agony, remorse and anger. I started up, turned on all the lights, and stood for a moment shaking in every limb, till I put fear from me and decided it was merely a dream. I had for the moment completely forgotten our compact. News is always late in Paris, and it was in _Le Petit Journal_, published in the afternoon, that had the first account of his sudden death. "Four years later, Teresa Carreno, who had just come from Russia and was touring America--I had met her in St. Petersburg frequently at Rubinstein's dinner-table--told me that Rubinstein died with a cry of agony impossible of description. I knew then that even in death Rubinstein had kept, as he always did, his word." Here again, we are at liberty to accept the testimony regarding the remarkable and complex coincidence, and to disregard what is really an expression of opinion in the last sentence. Whether Rubinstein remembered his compact in his dying hour, or the impression produced upon his far-away pupil was automatically produced by some obscure telepathic process, the dying man having in his mind no conscious thought of his promise, or some intervening _tertium quid_ produced the impression, could never be determined by this incident alone. PREVISIONARY DREAM BY CHARLES DICKENS This incident in the experience of Charles Dickens (1812-1870) is to be found in the standard biography by Forster, III, pp. 484-5 (London, 1874). On May 30, 1863, Dickens wrote: