We were white-headed, but she was not; in the sweet and unvexed spiritual atmosphere of the Bermudas one does not achieve gray hairs at forty-eight.
I had a dream last night, and of course it was born of association, like nearly everything else that drifts into a person's head, asleep or awake.

On board ship, on the passage down, Twichell was talking about the swiftly developing possibilities of aerial navigation, and he quoted those striking verses of Tennyson's which forecast a future when air-borne vessels of war shall meet and fight above the clouds and redden the earth below with a rain of blood.

This picture of carnage and blood and death reminded me of something which I had read a fortnight ago--statistics of railway accidents compiled by the United States Government, wherein the appalling fact was set forth that on our 200,000 miles of railway we annually kill 10,000 persons outright and injure 80,000.

The war-ships in the air suggested the railway horrors, and three nights afterward the railway horrors suggested my dream.

The work of association was going on in my head, unconsciously, all that time.