“We didn’t sleep well.  I was dreaming that Fanti went mad when Mary wakened me, and said she had dreamed Fanti went mad, and turned into a cat, and we threw him into the fire.”

Thus, as several people may see the same ghost at once, several people may dream the same dream at once.  As a matter of fact, Fanti lived, sane and harmless, “all the length of all his years”. {4}

Now, this anecdote is credible, certainly is credible by people who know the dreaming family.  It is nothing more than a curiosity of coincidences; and, as Fanti remained a sober, peaceful hound, in face of five dreamers, the absence of fulfilment increases the readiness of belief.  But compare the case of the Swithinbanks.  Mr. Swithinbank, on 20th May, 1883, signed for publication a statement to this effect:—­

During the Peninsular war his father and his two brothers were quartered at Dover.  Their family were at Bradford.  The brothers slept in various quarters of Dover camp.  One morning they met after parade.  “O William, I have had a queer dream,” said Mr. Swithinbank’s father.  “So have I,” replied the brother, when, to the astonishment of both, the other brother, John, said, “I have had a queer dream as well.  I dreamt that mother was dead.”  “So did I,” said each of the other brothers.  And the mother had died on the night of this dreaming.  Mrs. Hudson, daughter of one of the brothers, heard the story from all three. {5a}

The distribution of the fulfilled is less than that of the unfulfilled dream by three to five.  It has the extra coincidence of the death.  But as it is very common to dream of deaths, some such dreams must occasionally hit the target.

Other examples might be given of shared dreams:  {5b} they are only mentioned here to prove that all the waking experiences of things ghostly, such as visions of the absent and of the dead, and of the non-existent, are familiar, and may even be common simultaneously to several persons, in sleep.  That men may sleep without being aware of it, even while walking abroad; that we may drift, while we think ourselves awake, into a semi-somnolent state for a period of time perhaps almost imperceptible is certain enough.  Now, the peculiarity of sleep is to expand or contract time, as we may choose to put the case.  Alfred Maury, the well-known writer on Greek religion, dreamed a long, vivid dream of the Reign of Terror, of his own trial before a Revolutionary Tribunal, and of his execution, in the moment of time during which he was awakened by the accidental fall of a rod in the canopy of his bed, which touched him on the neck.  Thus even a prolonged interview with a ghost may conceivably be, in real time, a less than momentary dream occupying an imperceptible tenth of a second of somnolence, the sleeper not realising that he has been asleep.

Mark Twain, who is seriously interested in these subjects, has published an experience illustrative of such possibilities.  He tells his tale at considerable length, but it amounts to this:—­