IX THE LAW OF THE FUTURE The Value of Dreams and Presentiments T \HE unknown and unseen possibilities of life are tremendous. On the evening of November the 25th, in the year 1864, three brothers, who had each chosen the theatrical profession as a life calling, sat with their mother in a box in a splendid metropolitan theatre in New York City. Their names were Junius Booth, John Wilkes Booth and Edwin Booth. One brother achieved worldwide fame, one attained a terrible notoriety as the assassin of Abraham Lincoln, and one was lost in obscurity. If that proud and happy mother, seated yonder behind the rich tapestry of a beautifully-equipped modern playhouse, could have had a vision of the hour when the blighting blast of a universal condemnation should descend upon the unprotected name and reputation of John Wilkes Booth, what chilling winds would have swept through the corridors of her soul. Who knows? Who can tell what the future may have in store for any one of us? T. DeWitt Talmage, walking with a friend one day through a broad residential avenue in the commercial metropolis of the United States, pointed to a row of houses-homes of wealth, culture and beauty -and exclaimed: "Haunted houses! Haunted houses! In one an idiot child; in another, a drunken father; in the third, a dissipated son; in the fourth, a blasted reputation; in the fifth, a withered love; in the sixth, memories of a wandering girl; and in the seventh, the shadow of bankruptcy-in each home a skeleton! Haunted houses! Haunted houses!" Who knows what ghostly shadows may hover over the home life? Who knows? I saw General U. S. Grant in the supreme hour of his life, when he had returned from Europe a world-honoured hero. I was a youth at the time and the famous general was passing through my native city-Philadelphia. Arches spanned the streets. Well-worded mottoes heralded the returning soldier as "The greatest hero of the nineteenth century." Along the pathway of the procession every available inch of standing room was occupied. Every window framed a score of faces. The top of every house, shop and store was rimmed with hero worshippers. Youthful forms adorned every stray lamp-post and every convenient telegraph pole. Such a congestion of humanity it had never been my privilege to gaze upon. While with the approach of the carriage containing the great citizen, whom the Republic delighted to honour, women wept and men lost themselves in a frenzy of enthusi In that hour who ever dreamed of debt and disease? Who ever imagined, in that hour, that the hero honoured by such universal applause would be compelled to struggle with agonizing diseases and cruel poverty? Who knows? Who knows? Grant was a man of strict integrity, and having endorsed the note of his favoured son for an amount equal to all his earthly possessions, he found himself, by a strange turn of circumstances, responsible for every dollar of the endorsement. So he handed over his possessions to another-his farm near St. Louis, his home in Philadelphia, a house in Chicago, all his personal property of whatever sort, his military trophies, swords presented to him by citizens, superb caskets, the gifts of great cities, souvenirs presented to him in China and Japan-even the flags and standards won on the field of battle. Everything! Everything! Disease followed in the wake of debt and death marked a sad period to all. Who knows? Who knows? Sir Walter Scott had a brother by the name of Daniel. He went to the West Indies and in time of war proved a coward. Sir Walter made no reference to him in any of his writings. His name was never mentioned in the family. He was buried secretly. No mourning was worn for him. He was always spoken of in the family as "Our relative." Who knows? Who knows? "From the same cradle's side, From the same mother's knee, One to long darkness and the frozen tide, Nobody knows what the future will reveal-therefore humanity has always been superstitious about the future. Astrology-the supposed effect of the stars on the destiny of man-was the first attempt of the human mind to reduce these superstitions to a science. And even to-day there are men and women who study passing events with a keen eye on the future. Napoleon found that the picture of Josephine had been accidentally broken in his knapsack, and he exclaimed: "Has anything happened to Josephine? Is she sick? Has she been untrue to me?" Great men have sometimes been superstitious about numbers. It was said that James A. Garfield had a favourite number-it was the number " 4." His friends affirmed that it shadowed him through life-"4"-" 44"-" 444." He always found it and it always found him. The most remarkable coincidences have occurred in the lives of thoughtful persons. Robert Burns had an inspiration which always came to him with the opening of the spring. His thoughts blossomed when the buds began to break. Spurgeon had a sure sign a season of depression-which always preceded every great spiritual victory and ingathering of converts. Charles Dickens affirmed that the best things in his life always "happened on Friday." "This day I have paid the purchase money for Gad's Hill Place. Strange, too, it's Friday. And I had offered to settle a half dozen times, but the lawyers were not ready." Charles Stewart Parnell remarked to a friend: "Something always happens to me in October!" He died in October, 1891. Dr. Lyman Beecher feared the month of September. All the deaths in the Beecher family seemed to occur in the month of September. The famous preacher feared the approach of the ninth month in the calendar and breathed a sigh of relief when it had passed. Cromwell won several great battles on September the 3d. It was his great day. He died on September 3, 1658, his dying hour being marked by one of the greatest storms that ever swept over the Islands of the Northern Sea. Death seems to cast its shadow before. In ten thousand cases men have had a distinct intimation that they were going to die. Admiral Nelson, as brave a sea dog as ever stood on the deck of a vessel, made the most thorough preparation before his last battle and went back and kissed the picture of his child again and again. Lincoln, the night before his assassination, had a strange dream. He dreamed that he was on a raft-drifting, drifting, drifting. "Every time I have had that dream an important event has come into my life," he said. After his tragic death the members of his cabinet recalled his prophetic remark. That Chicago merchant prince, John V. Farwell, known the world over as the friend and champion of Dwight L. Moody, says, in his "Recollections," "I met Mr. Moody at a banquet, sad and depressed. I said: 'Moody, what is the matter? You are usually so bright and cheerful.' His answer was, 'I don't know, but it seems to me that something terrible is about to happen."" That night his companion in evangelistic work, Philip P. Bliss, went down to death in the great railroad accident at Ashtabula, Ohio. It |