"Yes, Lilian, whispering what?"

"These words—only these—'Ye will need one
another.'  But then, suddenly, between my upward
eyes and the two forms they had beheld, there
rose from the earth, obscuring the skies, a vague
dusky vapour, undulous, and coiling like a vast
serpent, nothing, indeed, of its shape and figure
definite, but of its face one abrupt glare; a
flash from two dread luminous eyes, and a young
head, like the Medusa's, changing, more rapidly
than I could have drawn breath, into a grinning
skull. Then my terror made me bow my head,
and when I raised it again, all that I had seen
was vanished. But the terror still remained,
even when I felt my mother's arm round me
and heard her voice. And then, when I entered
the House, and sat down again alone, the
recollection of what I had seen—those eyes—that
face—that skull—grew on me stronger and
stronger till I fainted, and remember no more,
until my eyes, opening, saw you by my side, and
in my wonder there was not terror. No, a sense
of joy, protection, hope, yet still shadowed by a
kind of fear or awe, in recognising the countenance
which had gleamed on me from the skies
before the dark vapour had risen, and while my
father's voice had murmured, 'Ye will need one
another.' And now—and now—will you love
me less that you know a secret in my being
which I have told to no other—cannot construe
to myself?—only—only, at least, do not mock me
—do not disbelieve me. Nay, turn from me
no longer now:—now I ask to meet your eyes.
Now, before our hands can join again, tell me
that you do not despise me as untruthful, do not
pity me as insane."

"Hush—hush!" I said, drawing her to my
breast. "Of all you tell me we will talk
hereafter. The scales of our science have no
weights fine enough for the gossamer threads of
a maiden's pure fancies. Enough for me—for us
both—if out from all such illusions start one
truth, told to you, lovely child, from the heavens;
told to me, ruder man, on the earth—repeated
by each pulse of this heart that woos you to
hear and to trust;—now and henceforth through
life unto death—'Each has need of the other'—I
of you—I of you! my Lilian—my Lilian!"

DR. WILKINS'S PROPHETIC DREAMS.

INSTANTANEOUS and, in case of need, secret
communication has advanced within a few years
through the successive phases of a wild vision,
a bare possibility looming in the distance, a
reality too strange to be fully appreciated, and
an ordinary matter of fact. That it was a short
time ago the first, is as certainly true as that it
is regarded now as a mere sixpenny convenience,
but, like many other of the most important and
interesting discoveries of modern science, before
even the knowledge of which it is born had come
into the world, telegraphy had its prophetic
announcement. Shortly after the discovery of
printing, and the religious and political
ferment that followed closely upon that discovery,
there was an amount of speculative prescience
among the pursuers of science that has at no
other time been equalled. Men were not
overloaded with facts, and they allowed their
imaginative and poetic faculties full play. Very vague
and uncertain, no doubt, was the glimpse of
futurity they got; but it was often real, and
much of it has since been fully verified.

It is now just two centuries ago that the
Honourable Society of Gray's Inn selected as
their preacher the Reverend Dr. John Wilkins,
at that time a puritanical clergyman, in the forty-
sixth year of his age, not unknown to his
contemporaries, but chiefly remarkable for his great
skill in what were then called "the mathematicks."
Preachers were then, as now, selected for
the Inns of Court with the liberal toleration that
looks straight at a man's worth, and Dr. Wilkins
was an able, earnest clergyman, as well as the
author of works on the physical science of his
day, which might even at present be considered
little recommendation to a society of gentlemen
learned in the law. He was one of that
small but distinguished body of learned men
to whom England is indebted for the foundation
of the "Royal Society for the improvement of
natural knowledge"—a body which has since
included, and still includes, most of those who
have chiefly distinguished themselves in the
pursuit of science in England. Appointed
Warden of Wadham College, Oxford, in 1648,
during the troublesome political disturbances of
the great rebellion, Dr. Wilkins does not seem
to have meddled much with politics, but, marrying
a sister of Oliver Cromwell, then Protector of
England, he naturally attached himself to the
ruling party. His time, however, at Oxford was
occupied in pursuits congenial to his tastes, for
there were held at his rooms those meetings,
commenced at the lodging of Dr. Petty, at which were
assembled the Honourable Mr. Robert Boyle, Dr.
Willis, Mr. Ashmole (founder of the Ashmolean
museum), Dr. Seth Ward (afterwards Bishop of
Salisbury), Dr. (afterwards Sir Christopher)
Wren, Dr. (afterwards Sir William) Petty, and
many others. These kindred spirits discussed
subjects antiquarian, astrologic, medical, and
mechanical, rather than political, and laid the
foundation of a club which afterwards ripened
into the much more important institution we have
named.

At the Restoration, Dr. Wilkins, who had
retained the appointment of master of his college
after his marriage, contrary to the statutes and
by a dispensation from Cromwell, was, of course,
ejected, and, coming to London, his fortune was
for some time at the lowest ebb, for he was
out of favour both at court and at Lambeth,
and could hardly expect much preferment.
He did not, however, for this reason slacken in
the pursuit of what then passed for natural
philosophy, but continued to communicate on
such subjects with his scientific friends. He
also formed one of a party who met at Gresham
College, first, to hear the lectures there given,
and afterwards for "mutual converse," every
Wednesday afternoon during term time at three