…exhibition — and, on coming down to breakfast, learned of the death of a very dear friend.On another occasion, a day or two before I heard of the death of an old schoolfellow of mine,I dreamed I was fishing in a deep pool overgrown with rushes, when the first thing I caught — or at least which caught me, for I was eventually eaten by it — was a leviathan shark. I can see it now — a huge, slimy, blue-backed thing with a glistening white belly, eyes twinkling with devilish glee at the prospect of so sure a meal, and an enormous, gaping mouth furnished with what seemed to me interminable rows of saw-edged teeth. Snap, in I went, and the next instant the most frightful, the most excruciating agonies shot through me as a thousand spike-like points crushed into my flesh. For some seconds after I awoke I…

…suet roly-poly — spotted monkey, my kiddie calls it — bathed in butter sauce. Now, to tell you the truth, sir, its lather a favourite pudding of mine, still they need not have given me half of it. And then, sir, when I had helped the last piece down with my fork and was feeling like a stuffed Christmas stocking, on came dessert and wine.”What! You won’t have a glass of port?”Mrs. Montague cried, looking at me with a pained expression in her big, innocent blue eyes. ‘Oh, you must have one, Constable, just one! Come, you can’t refuse a lady!’”The sergeant, ma’am!’ I gasped, for I could hardly articulate a sound owing to the pudding and — potatoes; ‘ if the sergeant smells port, ma’am, I shall be discharged!’”You needn’t be afraid of that. Constable,” Mrs. Montague laughed. ‘We will give you some peppermints, which I can guarantee will…

…I believe there are people who dream the same dreams repeatedly, even down to the most minor details. One of the dreams I am continually dreaming is as follows: I am walking along the sea-front of some popular watering-place, which, judging by the style of houses and appearance of the people, I should say was abroad. The sun is shining, the sea exquisitely blue; whilst, to enhance the beauty of nature, a band is playing, and playing remarkably well, some gay operatic music. What I see, what I feel, what I think, has about it nothing of the unmistakeable idiosyncrasy of a dream, but all is rigorously self -consistent. I am enjoying myself to the utmost, when, on turning round, I perceive behind me a tramp — a man with a shock head of red hair, and features that are ineffaceably stamped on my memory. He is a blight,…