Mothers less privileged, though humanly speaking, happier, in that they have not been called for the supreme sacrifice, have also had prophetic vision in the measure of the greatness of the soul that they were bringing into the world.

Samson's mother dreamed of the birth of her mighty son, who was promised as a deliverer of Israel in that he was to "begin to deliver Israel out of the hands of the Philistines."

Likewise to Hagar, the outcast handmaid, came the vision of her boy and the prophecy of his greatness. Notwithstanding law, conventions and the Chronicle's evident sympathy for Sarah, there is something dominant in Hagar's personality; its sheer strength has wrested verse after verse from the unwilling historian. Two of her dreams are given, almost unwittingly, as it would seem, while those of Sarah are ignored. Both dreams are characteristic, replete with the humanity that fits them to all time. To the black-browed woman of the desert, stung by the insults of a mistress whose race she secretly despised, these visions brought comfort in their forecasts for her boy, while to the modern student they are perfect alike in psychology and content.

In the first dream, deserted by Abraham, who has left her fate in Sarah's hands, Hagar has fled into the wilderness and worn with fatigue and excitement has fallen asleep beside the fountain on the road to Shur. An angel appears and counsels her return to Sarah. Although her aching sense of wrong has banished the waking thought, her condition, her desolation, and of all things the welfare of her unborn child urges the dream-self to adopt the prudent course. And then, whether through divine miracle, or whether owing to the psychological gratification of a suppressed wish expressing in a dream, comes the angelic prophecy that calms the hot heart and cools it to wisdom.

"And he (the child Ishmael) will be a wild man; his hand will be against every man, and every man's against him; and he shall dwell in the presence of all his brethren." - Genesis xvi, 11.

The rebellious soul's obedience of the angelic mandate to return is indubitable proof of the dream's potency.

The character of Hagar's later dream evinces the same faultless psychology, or the miraculous force of angelic interposition, according to the individual viewpoint. Again trouble had arisen between the two strong women of Abraham's household, and again Hagar had gone forth into the desert, this time with her son at her side. Abraham had risen early and had provided her with a loaf of bread and a bottle of water. When the water and bread were gone Hagar left her child in the shadow of a shrub and went off a little way in order not to see his death. Despair had driven anger from her heart; she asked no revenge and Sarah was forgotten in the parching misery of the wilderness. Then came the dream or vision that promised her safety for Ishmael and showed her the well with water.

Ishmael's rivalry of Sarah's son played no part in this wish-dream wrung from the depths of the mother's heart; her one desire, that of his safety, found its answer in the dream of her delirium on the desert, and in the angel's message.

The faith of the early Christians frequently manifested in mother's dreams, forecasting the triumphs, persecutions, and even the martyrdoms awaiting their unborn children.

Doubtless the recollection of her dream of a miraculous light emanating from her side until it illuminated the entire world served to comfort the high-born mother of St. Colum-ban when her sturdy son set forth from Ireland to brave the perils of Upper Burgundy, and the prophecy of the light met its verification in the Saint's canonization when, after having founded the monasteries of Luxeiul and Fontaine and having braved the wrath of King Thierry, he was called to his rest in his own monastery amongst the Apennines.

All the waters of the Thames seemed pouring through the pious bosom of Rohese, mother of Thomas a Becket, as she dreamed of her child to come and the symbolism of the dream was justified as she watched the tide of her son's career. From the ebb of his father's failure it rose to the high shoals ft of the Archbishopric of Canterbury, on then, through the flood-tide of fortune and the shallows of kingly favor, back to the ebb again and to the humiliation of death and defeat, to rise again to sainthood.

The mother of Æthelwold of Winchester is said to have seen a golden eagle flying from her own mouth before her son was born, an augury of the golden speech that was to win the souls of men and to earn the title of Saint.

Amalberga, the mother of St. Gudula, dreamed of the wonderful light that is not of earth before her child was born. Perhaps it is for this reason that St. Gudula is represented as carrying a lantern with an angel kindling it. To her are attributed the powers of healing the sick, of mending broken bones and of curing deformities in children. She was the daughter of Count Witgin of Brabant and Charlemagne built and richly endowed a monastery in her honor.

St Euthymius was heralded to earth by his mother's dream. The martyr Polyeuctus appeared to her, saying: "Thy prayer, O Dyonisia, is heard; depart in peace and when the child for whom thou prayest is born let him be named Euthymius, the well-beloved." This saint, who loved the deserts, converted the Empress Eudosia to Catholicism.

Monica, the mother of St. Augustine, dreamed of him before his birth, and long afterwards when he had gone beyond her care; he himself acknowledges the efficacy of her prophecy and prayer.

"And Thou sentest Thine hand from above and drewest my soul out of that profound darkness, my mother, Thy faithful one, weeping to Thee, far more than mothers weep the bodily deaths of their children. For she, by that faith and spirit which she had from Thee, discernest the death wherein I lay and Thou heardest her, O Lord. . . . For whence was that dream whereby Thou comfortest her? . . . For she saw herself standing on a certain wooden rule and a shining youth coming towards her, cheerful and smiling on her, she herself grieving and overwhelmed with grief. . . . He having inquired of her the cause of her grief and of her daily tears, and she answering that she was bewailing my perdition, bade her rest contented and told her to observe that where she was there was I also. And when she looked she saw me standing by her on the same rule. ..."