The child had been suffering from slight fever, and was but just convalescent. We had removed to Naples, to procure better medical advice. It was now the month of November; yet the air was balmy as in the first days of Spring. Ella reclined on a couch near the window; her mother, seated near, passed her hand fondly over the splendid hair which quite inundated the pillow and swept the ground. In a few moments the young girl was in a deep sleep. Evelyn still continued to caress her. Turning to me, after a pause, she said: “If I could only know whether Reginald is alive or dead, I think I should be less wretched.” As her mother spoke, I beheld Ella raise herself to a sitting posture. Her eyes were dilated, as if she saw something in the distance. Evelyn, alarmed, would have awaked her; but I motioned her to silence. The child slowly raised her arm, and pointed with her delicate finger to something she appeared to see; then, in a clear, ringing voice, like and yet unlike her own: “I see a large army move across a plain, like an ocean of verdure. Oh! it is so wide—so wide—the groves of trees are like islands, here and there; and oh, mama, how beautiful! See the palaces, the domes—all gold and azure. See the white columns and terraces. What a lovely place!” She paused a moment; and then, suddenly, almost screamed, catching her mother’s arm: “Oh! look—look at that brave officer, on a grey horse—see his white plumes dance. He draws his sword; he fears nothing. Oh! it is—it is Reginald. Reginald, do not go there—there is blood—blood! Mama, take me away! They fight—they are wicked. I will not see this horrible blood!” Ella covered her eyes, and fell back on the sofa. Her limbs were convulsed, her chest heaved for a few moments, and then happily she sank into a deep and peaceful sleep, in which she remained for some hours. When she awoke, she appeared more cheerful than usual, and seemed to have utterly forgotten her dream—if dream it could be called. The occurrence was so remarkable, that I wrote it down in my journal, with the date; and later, when I had become familiar with the phenomena of clairvoyance, and the mesmeric trance, I considered this as one of the most remarkable instances of the kind on record. Another month, and we had almost ceased to hope for the letter. When it came, it was thus: Before Lucknow, November —, ’57.