I had no thought of violets of late, The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feet In wistful April days, when lovers mate And wander through the fields in raptures sweet. The thought of violets meant florists' shops, And bows and pins, an... Read more of Sonnet at Martin Luther King.caInformational Site Network Informational
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The Scar In The Moustache






This story was told to the writer by his old head-master, the Rev. Dr.
Hodson, brother of Hodson, of Hodson's Horse, a person whom I never
heard make any other allusion to such topics. Dr. Hodson was staying
with friends in Switzerland during the holidays. One morning, as he
lay awake, he seemed to see into a room as if the wall of his bedroom
had been cut out. In the room were a lady well known to him and a man
whom he did not know. The man's back was turned to the looker-on.
The scene vanished, and grew again. Now the man faced Dr. Hodson; the
face was unfamiliar, and had a deep white scar seaming the moustache.
Dr. Hodson mentioned the circumstance to his friends, and thought
little of it. He returned home, and, one day, in Perth station, met
the lady at the book-stall. He went up to accost her, and was
surprised by the uneasiness of her manner. A gentleman now joined
them, with a deep white scar through his moustache. Dr. Hodson now
recalled, what had slipped his memory, that the lady during his
absence from Scotland had eloped with an officer, the man of the
vision and the railway station. He did not say, or perhaps know,
whether the elopement was prior to the kind of dream in Switzerland.

Here is a dream representing a future event, with details which could
not be guessed beforehand.





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